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“Just about.”
“Couple more hours and we can head out.”
“Is it…” She looks up at me, searching my eyes when my question trails off. “Is it always this wild?”
She shakes her head. “No. But it’s Christmas and they booked girls who do… extras, which they usually don’t have.”
“I guess that explains it. Those men are all married, aren’t they?”
“Most, yeah,” she agrees sadly.
“Men are pigs.”
“And all girls are filthy sluts,” a deep voice comes from behind me, making my entire body jolt in shock.
“Excuse me?” I bark, utterly affronted, until I turn around and findhimstaring back at me.
“Just proving a point,” he says, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. “You can’t judge everyone by a few actions.”
“A few, have you seen what’s going on in there?” I ask.
“If the girls weren’t willing and offering themselves up, then the men wouldn’t take what’s on offer.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to come up with an argument but failing miserably.
“So why aren’t you in there getting your rocks off?” I ask, before slamming my lips shut the second the words tumble out.
“Maybe it’s not my scene,” he confesses, finally lifting the bottle to his lips and swallowing some of the cool water.
My eyes follow the movement of his throat until I hit his black shirt. It’s different to the one he was wearing earlier. I guess that just proves my point about this being his house.
I almost ask why he felt the need to change, but I thankfully manage to trap those words behind my lips. The answer is obvious, really. He isn’t any different to those men. He’s just not so… public about it.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
A smirk curls up at one side of his mouth.
“Apparently so. Here,” he says, taking one of the glasses of neat vodka from my tray. “You need to loosen up a bit. You could be in worse places than here tonight.”
Without another word, he crushes the bottle in his hand, throws it into the bin and stalks off.
“He’s not wrong. Just one, I won’t tell.”
My lips part to tell Charlie that I don’t drink. But then one of the dancers walks past me butt naked and steals her own drink from the side, and I have a change of heart.
What harm can one drink do? Hopefully, it’ll help me forget this night ever happened.
The vodka burns all the way down my throat and no sooner have I swallowed it am I coughing.
“Not your drink of choice?” Charlie teases.
“What gave it away? Why do people drink this? It’s like battery acid.”
She shrugs. “I’m more of a gin girl, myself.”
“Is that better?”
“Neat? No, not really.” She laughs. “That warmth in your belly right now, that’s what it’s all about. Tonight will get easier, I promise.”
