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“What if something gets damaged?”
“It’s a sex party, not a keg party. We have security, and anyone who gets out of hand is sent on their way. And we have a cleaning crew come in afterwards. They put all our furniture back in storage until the next party.”
He was serious. Unbelievable.
“What do you mean, furniture?”
“Well, what do you think the people fuck on? The cold, hard floor?” He rolled his eyes so hard, I wondered how they didn’t pop out of his head.
He could be awfully touchy.
“Well, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. I mean, do you bring in a dozen beds or something? How would I know what people fuck on at sex parties?” Now I was getting pissy.
A few heads turned our way. Shit.
He rolled his eyes again. Apparently, he’d had no idea that I, his best friend, was such a total dumbass. He sighed deeply, pushed to the brink of his patience.
He spoke very slowly and quietly, as if lecturing a naughty little kid. “We bring in cushy sofas and tufted mattresses. The finished look is kind of bohemian and harem-ish, with floaty fabrics, rugs, sumptuous materials, giant floor cushions. That sort of thing.”
I guess if I were going to a sex party, I’d want it to be kind of nice.
Now, it was my turn to lower my voice. “And are people just having sex…everywhere? Like a giant orgy?” While it all sounded awfully bizarre, thinking about it left me... Well, never mind. I didn’t need to be thinking of things like that when I’d probably never be having sex again.
“No! People come in with partners, or women come alone—men can’t come in by themselves, they must have a date—some people keep to themselves, and some hook up with others. It’s really whatever you want, so long as it’s all consensual.”
“Can you just hang out and watch?” I had to admit, and maybe it was from the wine I’d just drunk, that something about having sex in public sounded kind of hot.
Blu called the waiter over and ordered after-dinner drinks. I’d have to fast for days after this meal to fit into my wardrobe. The skinny bitches in Pilates called them their hungry days. Like a wrestling team, they’d starve themselves until they made weight.
“Yeah, you can watch as long as you’re not creepy about it. Anyway, what do you say? You could make a lot of money letting us use your space.” His face lit up in with a hopeful smile, revealing the gap between his teeth that I loved so much. That, coupled with his red hair and freckles, gave him a deceptively innocent air. Especially now that I knew he ran freaking sex clubs.
And that he wanted to hold them in my gallery.
I’d do anything for Blu. I really would. But a sex party? In my art gallery?
“Yeah, I don’t think so. I can’t risk it.” I took one more bite of my dessert and put my fork down. I had to stop. I scooted my plate toward Blu. He’d finished his own, already.
“Shit, Av, did it occur to you that this might bring you some new art collectors? I’m serious, our vetting process eliminates all but the city’s highest rollers. These people buy art. Lots of it, for lots of money.”
Um, no, I had not considered that.
How stupid was I?
He continued his sales pitch. “See? This could be beneficial to you in more than one way.” He pushed my tiramisu back toward me, and handed me my fork, as if that would sway my decision.
My resolve was melting, dammit.
“Do you think I could maybe check out one of the parties? Just to see what they’re like?” I mean, what was the harm?
He slammed his hand on the table. “Now you’re talking, baby. I’ll take you to one.”
My mind immediately flew to the all-important question of what I would wear. Normally, I’d feel free to go out shopping, but with Devon cutting me off, well it looked like I’d be making do with what was currently hanging in my closet. I actually might not be able to shop for a while, when I stopped and thought about it.
So I pushed the tiramisu back to Blu. I wasn’t taking any chances on my clothes not fitting. At least until I knew I could shop again.
I leaned toward him with my hands folded under my chin. “Tell me more.”
Chapter 8
