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“One-night stands?” she asks. “Hell yes. One way to get over a man is to get under another one. Rebound sex would be good for you.”
I look around the room. It’s pretty crowded for a hotel bar. I wonder if this is the norm, or if there’s a convention. There are dozens of men dressed in suits. It’s happy hour, and I’d say the male-to-female ratio is around sixty-forty. Several guys at the bar are minding their own business, drinking and watching the baseball game playing on the television above. Clearly they’re only here to unwind after a long day. Some are gathered at their own tables, engrossed in conversations and laughing. And then there are the prowlers, the ones watching and waiting for an opening to pounce.
“If I was sure I wouldn’t be kidnapped, killed, or walk away with some unnamed STD”—or end up with a man like Victor—“I’d totally have a one-night stand.”
“Even then, how do you know if he’ll be any good? He could be a fumbling idiot who fucks you like a jackhammer against the wall for his own selfish pleasure.”
I twist my lips to the side. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“Maybe.” She leans forward, a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes. “If there was a place that could guarantee all those things and more, would you go?”
Curiosity piqued, I raise my brows. “Does such a place exist?”
Nodding slowly, she scans my face, carefully considering her next words. “It’s very private. The only way in is if you’re invited by a member.”
Propping an elbow on the table, I rest my chin in my open palm. “Are you a member?”
“I might be.” She presses her lips together, amusement twinkling in her eyes.
Lowering my voice, I ask, “Is it one of those sex clubs?” The corners of her mouth curl up in amusement, and my eyes go wide. “Like BDSM?”
“No.” She snorts. “The BDSM clubs you read about in romance books are nothing like real-life BDSM clubs.”
Heather goes on about this private club, the differences between BDSM and fantasy. I don’t bother to tell her about my Google searches. I admire her for her ability to speak so casually about such a taboo subject. The entirety of it all is fascinating. The idea of a safe place where you can experience your deepest fantasies seems almost too good to be true.
“No whips and chains or anything, right?” I’m only half kidding.
“Only if you’re into that,” she winks, then bursts into laughter. “I’m kidding. It’s not that hardcore. Besides, you can’t just walk into a room and have sex. You have to be invited.”
The idea of being in charge of my own sex life seems almost insane after seven months of being with Victor. Taking back control would be liberating. A fresh start.
No, a restart.
“So what if I just wanted someone to rub my feet?” I joke.
“Then get a pedicure.” She flicks her wrist, waving the suggestion away. “Be more creative, Makayla.”
“Hmm.” I take a moment to think about it. “I’ve always fantasized about hooking up with a stranger. No names. Just the two of us in a dark room except for the slivers of moonlight peeking through the blinds, allowing him just enough light to play with my body.”To make me feel desired.
“Wow.” Heather fans her face. “That’s hot.”
“I know, right?” I laugh. “Take me to this club.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she says with a laugh, shaking her head. “We’ll talk about it later,” she adds as a waiter approaches the table with a round of drinks we didn’t order.
“Where did these come from?” I ask.
“They’re from a secret admirer.”
I wonder if Victor would have the audacity to show up here. The answer is abso-fucking-lutely.
I crane my neck to scan the bar, searching for a familiar face. “Which one?”
“He left.” He sets the drinks on the table. “They’re safe, I promise. I made them myself.”
“Thank you,” Heather says.
“Would you mind bringing us the check?” I ask.
