“Mine can't even remember my birthday. Or when we got married,” Michelle complains, “he says he was too drunk.”
They all laugh but in reality, it’s not far from the truth. He was intoxicated at their wedding and did make a scene.
“You got the best,” Nichole moans.
“Of the worst,” Lucy adds.
“Lucy, are you ever anything but a raging bitch?” Michelle asks her.
“Yeah, why the mood tonight?” Nichole groans, “is Adam pissing you off again?”
“He’s still convinced I cheated on him."
“Didn't he do the cheating?” Chelsey asks.
“Exactly why he’s paranoid,” Lucy snorts, “because he had an affair.”
“Did you ever find out who the homewrecker was?” Chelsey pumps her for information. “Is she a client or someone he met?”
Stella and the rest of the women stare intently at her, and for once, Lucy clams up. “Just some bimbo he met online.”
Jess sighs, “Are the kids doing okay?”
“Yeah, they’re adjusting. It takes time,” Lucy sighs, “especially when their parents can’t seem to ever be on the same page.”
Nichole grunts, “I keep telling Max he’s on his way out if he doesn't get his shit together.”
Jess offers, “Let me hook you up, Lucy.”
“Ah, I think I’m good.”
“Why, are you seeing someone?" Michelle squeals.
“Kind of, I mean, no, but I’m not ready.” Lucy grumbles, “Adam did a number on me.”
“That's bullshit and you know it.” Jess sips her refilled champagne glass.
“Give me some time to focus on the kids and getting Adam settled in his new place. He's constantly calling and texting, always forgetting this or that.”
“He just wants a reason to talk to you." Michelle sounds confident of this. "I bet you guys get back together.” She's a hopeless romantic. Whimsical at heart, it doesn’t help she devours steamy novels from other decades and romanticizes everything, even arranged marriages like in her books.
“Over my dead body.” Lucy shoots Michelle a dirty look.
“Want me to ask Grant to come over to fix a couple things?” Stella asks. “He can help with moving the rest of Adam’s stuff out.”
Lucy pats her elbow. “Thanks, but that's not his job. Adam’s lazy, and it's his problem.”
“Yeah, but the sooner he's all moved out, the better,” Jess says, giving Stella a high-five in agreement.
“I forgot how much I missed my bitchy best friends,” Michelle smiles at the group.
“This scene is ridiculous.” Nichole whistles, eyeing the club, “I can't believe the amount of crystals and chandeliers and lights.”
“It shines bright like a diamond,” Chelsey adds. “Speaking of, what the hell is on your finger, Stel?”
Stella blushes, “My new wedding band.”
Nichole grabs her left hand. “That's gorgeous.”
“He has such good taste,” Michelle murmurs.
“I know,” Stella agrees.
Jess eyes her hands. “When did you get that?”
“A couple hours ago.”
Nichole asks, “What about your old one?"
“I don't know, guess he felt it was time to upgrade.”
Lucy seems perturbed. “Hope he doesn't upgrade you.”
“Aw, rude, Lucy, always so heartless.” Nichole jabs her in the ribs as the rest of the ladies laugh at the typical Lucy response.
Michelle quips, “No wonder Adam left.”
“He didn't leave, I did,” Lucy points out, “or better yet, I asked him to move out.”
“Not everything is always about winning.” Nichole sticks her tongue out at Lucy.
“You guys are so annoying.” Lucy motions the waitress over. “Let’s get this evening started and stop this boring pillow talk. You all sound like Debbie Downers and this is a celebration in honor of our very own Stella McKinney. Now who wants to do a round of shots?”
And with that, the six women toast to Stella’s cosmetics line and Lucy's impending divorce.
12
The Perfect Stranger
The dance floor’s crowded, the smell of body odor mixed with perfume and pot smoke linger out into the hall, where she restlessly stands.
This is risky.
But she loves a challenge and he craves the thrill.
Standing with her hips pressed into the wall, she keeps her head down, staring at the shiny black tiles cut into diamond shapes. All she has to do is wait for him to appear, but her fingers eagerly tap the sides of her skirt, the energy of the jam-packed club drawing her in. She reaches up inside the black leather, forgetting whether she opted to forgo panties tonight or not.
A whoosh of air as her hands tease bare skin.
A blank canvas he can rub his tongue over.
Sucking her lip, she grazes her thigh gently, following his instructions for her to keep her face lowered. As her eyes drill a hole into the patterned floor, she feels a hand lightly skim her bare shoulder. Goosebumps automatically appear where his fingers vacate. She starts to raise her chin at his touch.
“Don’t you dare,” he whispers fiercely.
“No…” She blinks rapidly at her toes, “but why?”
“Did I say you could look up?”
She shakes her head furiously.
“Then obey me.” He stands next to her, his cologne wafting over her, wrapping her in a cocoon like she bathed in it herself. It’s intoxicatingly, the heady aroma of mandarin and a strong, manly scent, something like pepper.
“I’m going to tell you what to do and you’re going to do it so we don’t get caught.” He pinches her chin between his forefingers. “Do you understand?”
She can only nod.
“My wife has a whole bunch of friends here and they could come by at any moment, drinking and having to piss.”
“You want me to look straight at your wife or avoid her?”
“Fuck you, is what I want you to do.” He twists her towards him. “You’re going to stand in line for the bathroom…”
She retorts, “Sounds sexy.”
He pinches her arm. “Not the regular women’s one, the unisex one they have.”
Nodding, she stares at her maroon nail polish, noticing a chip. Did that happen when he was bending her over in his office and bringing her to the brink of madness?
“You’ll get in line and I’m going to knock twice for you to let me in.”
“Why don’t you just stand behind me and we’ll go in together?”
“That’s too obvious.”
“What happens when we leave together?”
“We won’t.”
She opens her mouth, but his fingers close her lips. “Shhh … just do what I tell you. No more questions.”
“This seems like a lot of work.”
“I’ll make your visit here worthwhile.” He cups her breast through the thin fabric. “Now get in line.” He brushes a soft kiss on her ear lobe. “See you in a few.”
There’s a couple people in front of her, and she waits, impatient, her eyes focused on the drunken girl’s back in front of her. Suddenly nervous, she thinks of the potential outcomes. They could get busted, either by the discerning public waiting for their turn to use the restroom or by his wife and her friends.
But she can’t stand the thought of letting him down. He has that power over her.
The girl in front of her takes her time in the bathroom, she’s worried that she’s puking her brains out, but she stumbles out in one piece with fresh lipstick, and in record time, so she must’ve turned her attention to her face.
Looking both ways, she twists the handle to the single stall bathroom. Inside, it has a large mirror in one corner, then one over the sink. A toilet and urinal are in the other corner. This is the perfect place for a secret tryst.
Taking a deep breath, she locks the door behind her.
Glancing at her flushed complexion
in the mirror, she grips the quartz countertop and stares at her reflection. If they get caught, will they just kicked out, or will it be akin to a public indecency charge, she wonders.
Nah, they’re in a private place.
Two knocks land on the door, firm and loud.
Just like him.
She turns the handle, unlocking it. Slowly she starts to open it, jumping back when she’s almost bowled over by his presence.
“You made it.”
“I did.” He clicks the lock behind him. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I hoped so…”
“Of course.”
“It’s just so risky…”
“With the people outside?”
“Among other things.”
“Then stop talking and let’s do what we do best.” He eyes the mirrors in satisfaction, licking his lips. “This is perfect.”
Without saying another word, he pulls her over to the counter. “I want you to watch in the mirror at the view of us fucking in the big one behind us. I don’t want to see your eyes move, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Watch me, watch you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t let your eyes drift to anything else.”
“Yes sir.”
“Perfect.” He leans forward to give her a kiss. Before she can say another word, he’s pushing her against the sink, her hands gripping the edge as he runs his fingers up her thighs, caressing both sides. Grant groans appreciatively at the fact she didn’t bother with panties.
“Such a good girl, not making it any harder for us to have this time,” he whispers, nibbling on her earlobe. As his mouth moves down her cheek and into her neck, she involuntarily shivers. As he instructed, she keeps her eyes trained on the mirror, watching him as he pulls his hard cock out, bending her over, his pupils dilated as he slams into her. The sex is frantic, and hard, for each thrust she pushes her hip bones back, shoving into him with an intensity of two people that need each other in the moment. Their eyes are locked, his are fiery, the raw energy making him eager. He pulls her arms behind her, twisting them, as they go back and forth. She tunes out the vibrations of the music, the intermittent knocks on the door, and watches his facial expressions as he groans in pleasure. Their movements match the oscillations of the DJ booth, like they’re in synchronicity with each beat.
The last heave unleashes both of their orgasms, and he collapses against her body, his hands dropping her arms. She rests them, half-leaning over the sink, as he nuzzles her with his tongue before giving her one long, final kiss.
“That was amazing.”
She’s breathless, the only energy left to expend leads her to nod her head in agreement. He cups his hand in the faucet and takes a drink, his face damp with sweat. He grabs a paper towel from the dispenser, holding one underneath the water. Wiping his brow, he examines his image, fanning himself with another paper towel.
He wets another one, handing it to her. “You need anything else?”
“No, I’m good.” She pats her forehead and cheeks, not wanting to mess up her makeup.
“I’m going to go back out there.” He lays a hand on her arm. “That was the best. Thank you for doing that.”
“Always.” She gives him a small smile, her hands smoothing down her skirt.
“Count to one hundred and ten before you come out.”
“Why one hundred and ten?”
“Because I said so.” He gives her a playful slap on her ass. “Make sure you lock it right after I go out there.”
“Such an arbitrary number,” she teases.
“Such a bratty girl.” He tugs on a lock of her hair. “Talk soon, okay?"
“Yeah.” She watches him unlock the door, squeezing it open just enough to let himself out. Locking the door, she leans against it, her ragged breathing finally starting to slow as she reaches the number he dictated.
Swiping some lip gloss on, she breezes out, trying to act like she hasn’t been getting bent over in the bathroom.
For some reason, there isn’t a line.
She thought for sure she’d be walking out into angry stares and resting bitch faces.
A sign’s hanging on the door. In black Sharpie, it says, “Out of Order. Please use the men or women’s restroom down the hall.”
Giggling, she rips it off the door. About to toss it in the garbage as she exits the club, she reconsiders.
This is the perfect souvenir to remember the night by.
13
Stella
Stella’s having a wild night, swaying drunkenly on the dance floor, the bright lights and fog machines making her feel like she’s in her early twenties. She doesn’t remember much after her second shot, the tequila Lucy insisted on drinking burning her throat.
Bile starts to rise as she hurriedly dashes to the bathroom, making it to the porcelain toilet in time to spew the contents of her dinner covered in a liquid bath. Stella sinks back, her heels scuffed as she wipes a hand across her mouth.
Brutal, she thinks as she stares at her peaked complexion in the mirror, her eyes wide and her skin clammy. She rinses her mouth out and then pops in chewing gum, hoping the mint flavor will alleviate the taste of her bad decisions.
Making her way through the throngs of people back to their booth, she notices Nichole on the dance floor, grinding against a muscular man who’s wearing a tight V-neck tee. Giving her internal praise, she flounders on the couch in their booth, glad to be away from the hammering dance floor. The sound isn’t any less boisterous over here, but at least she’s not smashed in between sweaty bodies trying to balance a drink. She can be more subdued over here, watching her friends go between a tight-knit circle and then disappear with a stranger, only to regroup again when the next song comes on.
Chelsey limps towards the booth, holding a broken heel in her hand. “Ouch,” she moans in pain, “damn heels.”
“What happened?”
Sinking down beside Stella, she confesses, “I thought I was limber enough to get down on the floor, but it was my heels that couldn’t handle it.”
Stella gives her knee a squeeze. “Well, at least we know you outdid your shoes.”
“Yeah, and rolled my ankle in the process.”
“How do woman wear these when they get older?”
“They don’t.”
Chelsey starts to say something, then abruptly stops, her eyes darting to the wrought iron balcony above the fray where a bouncer and a Middle Eastern man are engaged in heated conversation with a Lucy lookalike.
“Oh my God, what’s Lucy doing upstairs?” Chelsey shrieks. “Did she pick a fight with the bouncer?”
Rolling her eyes at the ceiling, Stella groans, “Who doesn’t she pick a fight with?”
“And is that Grant?” Chelsey shrills. “I thought he did the drop off and run, since he hates clubs.”
“What do you mean?” Stella raises her eyes above the bright glint of the lights, momentarily blinded. “Where?”
Chelsey points as a clean-shaven guy matching Grant’s description steps out from behind the bouncer and shakes the hand of the well-dressed individual.
“He usually does…” Stella’s just as perplexed. “I thought he was having a drink on the other side of town.”
Chelsey squeals. “He’s such a good husband, I bet he wanted to surprise you.”
“Maybe,” Stella shrugs, “but it’s weird he hasn’t come down here.”
“You’re probably his next stop.” Chelsey puts a hand over her eyes, focused on the men and Lucy. “Give him a minute. Who is that guy he's talking to?”
“No idea,” Stella murmurs, watching as they both lean over the railing for a second, Grant still half-hidden by the bouncer as if he’s purposefully trying to remain out of sight. The man whispers something in Grant’s ear and he chuckles, lips twisting into his signature lopsided smile, one of his signature traits. As Lucy shifts from one high heel to the other, she thrusts a hand on her hip, a def
inite Lucy move.
“Yep, that’s our girl.” Stella remarks, “devil in the red dress.”
“That man’s cute,” Chelsey shrieks. “I hope Lucy gives us an introduction.”
Deciding to shoot Grant a text, Stella fumbles for her purse. Glancing around the booth, it's not in the pile with the rest. If her purse is missing, so is her cell phone and wallet.
“Shit,” Stella scrambles down on the ground, pawing frantically at the tablecloth covering the table.
“What’s wrong?” Chelsey screams over the music.
“My purse,” Stella reaches underneath the stand holding the champagne, sweeping her hands around in the dark space. “It’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?” Chelsey slides down beside her. “They’re supposed to be watching our stuff.”
“Apparently not,” she mutters, “because it’s disappeared.”
After letting out a string of cuss words, Chelsey flags down their waitress, who immediately brings a bouncer over when the word ‘stolen’ is mentioned. He’s short but stocky, and if he isn’t on steroids, he’s at least pumping iron seven days a week at the gym. His forearms bulge out of his tight-fitted t-shirt, which looks like a child’s size on him.
“What did your purse look like?” he asks, pulling out a notepad and pen from his back pocket. Stella gives him the color, brand, and details along with the contents.
Nichole shows up at their booth with a different guy - this time a tall, bald one, who follows her like a puppy dog, his hands wrapped around her waist like he’s afraid to let her out of his sight. Seeing the waitress and bouncer standing there with narrowed eyes, she squawks drunkenly, “What’s wrong with everybody? Someone get mugged?”
The joke falls flat as everyone stares at her.
“Okay … then what happened?” Nichole stammers.
“Stel’s purse is gone,” Chelsey snaps.
“You girls have yours?” The bouncer looks between Chelsey and Nichole.
They both nod after confirming their clutches are in the corner of the booth. “Can you please check the contents, just to be sure nothing’s missing?”
The Perfect Stranger Page 8
