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“It would be much easier to believe you if you would tell me your name.”
“That’s not how this works, Angel.”
“Isn’t it? You promised me you’d tell me your name if I went to the club with you last week.”
“Yes, I did.”
“So tell me.”
“I don’t recall putting a time limit on it,” he says, this time with a sly smile. “I simply said I’d tell you, and I will. Just not yet.”
Anger curls up my spine. “You know my name. Francesca, Frankie for short. You know I’m a junior editor at Lovely magazine. You know where I had dinner tonight.”
“All information that you voluntarily gave me.”
“And why won’t you volunteer any information to me?”
“Why destroy the fantasy?”
“Maybe this isn’t my fantasy,” I say. “Maybe my fantasy is to meet a man who’s truthful with me, who’s open with me, and who lets me see his fucking face.”
“I’m afraid that’s not me, Angel.”
“Frankie. The name is Frankie, not Angel.”
He frowns. “Perhaps you’re not the woman I thought you were.”
“How can I be? I don’t know anything about you. I have no idea what kind of woman you’re looking for.”
“Perhaps I’m not looking for a woman at all.”
“Seriously?” I take another gulp of my soda. “What is it with you?”
“This is why you came here this evening? To find me and pick a fight?”
I sigh and drain the rest of my Diet Coke. Then I turn to him. “No. I didn’t come here to find you, and I don’t want to fight with you, Phantom.” I shake my head. “You know how ridiculous that sounds? Me calling a grown man Phantom?”
“So you don’t enjoy the fantasy?”
“We were in the role-playing room, Phantom.”
“I told you I don’t role-play.”
“And that’s a big fucking lie. You’re hiding behind a mask. You’re pretending to be some opera ghost. Erik with a K. You won’t tell me anything. For example, I know you were at The Glass House tonight. And I know you messaged with me.”
“Why would I be in a chat room with you?”
“For the ar—” I close my mouth quickly. I can’t tell him I’m writing the article. Then he’ll know about my research. “Curiosity. I’m curious about your lifestyle. Who wouldn’t be?”
“You’re wrong,” he says. “That is not my name. I was not chatting with you earlier.”
“Right. And you weren’t at The Glass House, either.”
He does not reply.
“Tell you what, Phantom,” I say. “I’ll make you a deal. You can take me back down to the club tonight. Now. And I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. In exchange? You take off the mask when we’re done.”
“I’m afraid that’s not how the game is played, Angel.”
“It’s Frankie, and you admit it’s a game?”
“I admit it’s a fantasy,” he says.
“Why can’t you engage in your fantasy unmasked?”
“Because I like doing it this way.”
“What if I chose to wear a mask?”
“No one is stopping you from doing that, Angel.”
“Damn it. It’s Frankie.”
“You’re not making this easy for me, Frankie.” He leans in and whispers, “Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?”
I suppress a shudder.
Yes, I know. Because I want him just as much.
Why? How can I be so physically attracted to someone I’ve never seen? Who’s making me so damned angry? When he fucked me last time, I was naked, but he wasn’t. I haven’t seen his face, and I haven’t seen his body.
So strange.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Were you hoping to find someone else tonight?”
“What if I were?”
I scrunch my napkin in my hand. “Then I’m not sure I want to keep our date for tomorrow evening.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be…intimate with you if you’re seeing someone else.”
“I see.”
That’s it? He sees? “Why are you here?” I demand.
“Because I like to come here.”
“You like to come to find people to play with.”
“If that were the case, I would go straight to the club. Why stop in the bar?”
“You’re not really answering my question.”
“Aren’t I?”
“So this is your MO. You answer my questions with questions. It’s getting old, Phantom.” I cross my arms.
“Perhaps I just came in here for a drink.”
“You already had a drink tonight at The Glass House.”
He doesn’t reply.
“Let me make my position clear,” I say. “I don’t want to keep our date tomorrow evening if you’re sleeping with anyone else.”
“Oh?” He grins. “You think you make the rules now?”
“I absolutely think I make the rules about who I sleep with. It’s something I feel strongly about. I don’t have multiple sexual partners.”
“Ever? I assure you I always practice safe sex, and I’m tested regularly.”
“I’m always safe as well,” I say. “That’s not really the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The point is that I feel strongly about it. I suppose you think that makes me some kind of square.”
“No.”
“Call it a hard limit, then. I don’t want to have sex with you if you’re having sex with anyone else.”
