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I’m not even going to question how he got my room number. He was clever enough to get my name from Lily before I even spoke to him, I’m sure he’s charming enough to have a letter delivered to my room. I tear it open and the page is filled with the same neat handwriting, the black ink stark and almost harsh in the morning light.
Through my hungover haze, I realize I’m just staring at the words and not actually reading. I need to focus.
Emma, I hope you got a good night’s rest.
He then outlines the terms of the bet we made last night. I will spend three days with him as his submissive, and if I win and want to walk away, I get one hundred grand. If he wins, he gets me for another month.
I understand that you had a lot to drink, and if you’re no longer willing to make this bet, I would understand. However, if you’re still willing, text me your address and I’ll have a car pick you up on Friday at eight A.M. You won’t need to bring anything with you.
Hoping to hear from you,
Matthew Forester
His phone number is written below his signature, and suddenly I have anxiety that I didn’t feel last night in the middle of my buzz and the afterglow of the best orgasm that I’ve ever had. Three days alone with him where I have to obey him? Now, in the light of day, I’m not sure I can handle that.
But you know what? He didn’t say that I had to text him today, and if he doesn’t even want to send the car until Friday, I have some time to think, and even with Lily’s endorsement, you can be sure that I’m going to Google the hell out of this guy when I get back to my apartment. I put the letter in my bag and take a shower, gather my things and grab breakfast downstairs before checking out. In that amount of time I manage to avoid obsessing over the elephant in the room. Actually, the elephant in my brain. But as I’m heading to my car, I can’t take it anymore. I text my friend Jess, who is probably my best friend since Lily and I drifted apart.
Need a vent and advice session. Meet me at my place when I’m back?
She responds right away.
How long till you’re there?
I tell her my ETA and she agrees to meet me and to bring the nachos. Now all I need to do is make it two hours alone in the car without thoughts of Matthew circling endlessly in my mind. Yeah, right.
* * *
I try everything, but the entire ride back I’m thinking about our fifteen minutes, and by the time I get back to my apartment on the outskirts of Atlanta, I’m so turned on I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have invited Jess over after all. But her car is already outside my building, and she’s going to be expecting some major gossip, so that ship has sailed and disappeared over the horizon.
Jess opens the door as I arrive—she must have heard me struggling with my suitcase coming up the stairs. Only two nights away from home and I swear, I packed my entire life. That’s one nice thing about Matthew’s plan; I don’t have to bring anything. Which is both terrifying and kind of relieving. I hate packing and I consider it one of the banes of my existence, along button-gaps on shirts and the fact that donuts have calories.
“So,” she says when I’m barely through the door, “what’s going on?”
“Wine first, talk second.”
She points to my coffee table. “It’s already poured.”
“Geeze, woman,” I laugh. “You really want to know what happened.”
“That and I was bored. Andrew is out of town this weekend and I was reduced to starting Grey’s Anatomy over from the beginning.” She shoves some nachos in her mouth so I can barely understand her. “This seemed more interesting.”
I kick off my shoes and flop onto my favorite chair, not bothering to move my suitcase from by the door. That can wait. “So, the wedding was… interesting.”
“How so?”
I take a bite of the nachos and relish the crappy cheese and salsa. Nothing makes you feel better after a hangover and a long drive than junk food. “It turns out that my friend, Lily, lives the BDSM lifestyle and I had no idea.”
Jess’s jaw drops open, and she stares. “Oh my god, that’s why the thing on the invitation said it would be non-traditional.”
I snort. “Yeah, you could say that. More than half the people there were into it, too. There was a couple at my table—who were really nice and shockingly normal—but she sat at his feet the whole time.”
“No. Fucking. Way! Dude, that’s wild. You don’t really think about people who do that getting married or going to weddings, but they’re still people. I feel like my mind has been blown.”
