by Jo Adler
“Afraid not,” I reply. “Between the amazing night and the rush to leave for my trip, it somehow slipped my mind.”
“You’re a piece of work, Adam. You finally meet a boy that you like, but then you allegedly forget to ask for his number. Are you trying to sabotage another potential relationship?”
“Would you fucking drop that routine,” I say as sharply as possible. “You’re not my shrink.”
“But I am your friend,” Devon replies after a long silence.
“I know that, buddy. And I’m grateful for that fact every day of the week.”
He heaves a sigh. “But?”
“But I don’t need a babysitter.”
Devon snickers. “True. You need a fucking heart surgeon to go in and see if that particular piece of equipment was somehow eviscerated by that self-centered asshole.”
“Which one?” I ask with a weary laugh. “There have been so many over the years.”
“You little shit,” he says. “I’m talking about Brent. Unless there’s an even more recent ex-boyfriend that I haven’t heard about.”
I know that Devon’s concern is genuine. He’s been my friend longer than anyone that I know. And although he can be the biggest pain in the ass, he’s also helped me navigate some dicey periods in the past: the death of my parents; the time my business almost went under when the accountant embezzled nearly a million bucks; and, my youngest brother’s suicide. But the boyfriend stuff I can handle on my own.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say. “I appreciate you inviting me tonight, but I can manage that part of my life on my own.”
He snorts a laugh into the phone. “Since when?”
“Since right now,” I say. “And I love you like a brother, okay. I truly appreciate you looking out for me.”
“Alright,” he says. “But I feel obligated to make the offer one more time. Do you want me to get Nick’s number before he leaves?”
“Is he really still there? I thought he was only being polite when he agreed to stay and enjoy the suite.”
Devon’s laugh is high and bright. “You wore out the poor boy, Mr. Fuck Machine. The last time I walked by that suite, the Do Not Disturb sign was still on the doorknob.”
“Maybe he forgot to remove it,” I say.
“No,” Devon says. “He’s still here. I let myself into the room a half hour ago just to make sure everything was okay. Your beautiful boy was fast asleep. He looked even more scrumptious than I remembered from earlier in the evening.”
I feel my cheeks growing warm. “Don’t you fucking touch him,” I warn my friend. “He’s too good for a strumpet like you, Devon.”
“Well, isn’t that rich? If I’m a strumpet, honey, what does that make you?”
“I’ve changed,” I say, wondering if it’s true. “I don’t want to sleep with every boy that comes into my line of sight. I did that after my last breakup.”
“Yes, you did,” Devon comments. “And what did it get you? I mean, besides a lot of sleepless nights and some truly kinky sex.”
“It’s how I met Brent,” I answer. “And I seem to recall that you met Blake during that same period.”
“True enough,” Devon says. “So maybe this is our second time, huh? We both met someone new tonight. Now we just have to see if there’s anything substantial beneath all the humping and grunting and being balls deep in a tight, hot hole.”
I laugh. “You’re so poetic, Dev. Like the voice of an angel reciting the words of Shakespeare.”
“Or like an angel taking it up the—”
“Alrighty then!” I say quickly. “Looks like traffic’s lighter than expected. My car is arriving at Teterboro ahead of schedule.”
“When are you back in town?” he asks.
“It’s a short trip,” I reply. “If things go well, I should be home tomorrow. If not, it might be Tuesday or Wednesday. This client is either exceptionally fast with her decisions or she needs an inordinate amount of handholding.”
“So you and she are perfectly matched,” Devon says with a snarky giggle.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He laughs again. “Don’t worry about it. Let me know how it goes with the new boy when you’re back in town.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say.
“Excuse me?” Devon scoffs. “What was that text you sent earlier? Didn’t you say it was the best fun you’ve ever had in bed?”
“It was,” I tell him. “But I’m not expecting anything more than just one night of bliss. I mean, how often do we meet someone and it’s better than perfect?”
9
▬ ☼ ▬
NICK
When my eyes blink open in the unfamiliar room, I look around and try to answer one simple question: Where the fuck am I?
As I turn over in the bed to search for my phone, someone nearby clears their throat. I flick my eyes toward the sound and see a guy on the opposite end of the room. He’s carrying a stack of white towels and staring at me with scorn.
“Are we finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?” he huffs. “I hate to disturb you, but you’re way past checkout time.”
I’ve never seen the guy before. He looks a few years older than me, with short brown hair, a gold hoop in his left ear and a patchy beard. The thick arms, trim waist and barrel chest suggest that he’s fit and well-built, and there’s a glint of malice in his eyes that reminds me of the bullies that used to torment me when I was a kid.
“Who are you?” I ask, pushing up onto my elbows.
He smiles, revealing crooked teeth the color of bleached bone. “Blake,” he says. “I’m Mr. Sinclair’s head of security here at Dirty Secrets. I also pitch in with housekeeping whenever Sylvia needs an extra pair of hands.”
As I process the reply, the previous evening comes rushing back. I was at Dirty Secrets Social Club. I met a man. We went to a room. He fucked me like—
“This is for you,” Blake says, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “It was on the vanity in the bathroom.”
After he drops the packet on the bed, I open it quickly. There’s a short note printed in crisp black lettering:
Nick …
Thank you for a night of magic and mystery.
Until we meet again … Adam.
“You obviously made an impression,” says Blake.
I look up. “Sorry?”
“The note,” he says. “I mean, c’mon. ‘A night of magic and mystery’? Adam isn’t known for being an easy mark. You must’ve really rocked his world.”
“You read this?”
He smiles. “I was straightening the bathroom.”
“But it’s clearly addressed to me.” I hold up the envelope with my name on the front. “It was personal.”
Blake sneers. “Where do you think you are, bud—The Ritz-Carlton? This is Dirty Secrets. We operate with a different set of rules here.”
“Well, that’s pretty fucked up.” I grit my teeth to stop from blurting the rest of what’s on the tip of my tongue. “Privacy should be respected no matter where you are.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Are you going to call him?”
I look at Adam’s note again, examining the strong handwriting, the black ink, the light gray card. It didn’t cross my mind when I read it the first two times, but there’s no phone number or email address.
Blake says something that I don’t quite catch, so I ask him to repeat it.
“The hot tattooed daddy,” he says. “Are you gonna call him?”
I’m definitely getting a hostile vibe from the guy, so I simply nod my head and smile.
“How tipsy were you last night?” he asks. “Seems like you might still be a little fuzzy around the edges.”
I take a breath, check quickly under the blankets and feel a small measure of relief to see that I’m wearing my boxer briefs.
“Where are my clothes?” I ask.
He points toward the hallway. “In the dressing area. Our housekeeping staff washed and
pressed everything for you at Mr. Sinclair’s direction.”
His voice sounds familiar. It takes me a few moments, but I slowly assemble another piece of last night’s puzzle. I was in the elevator. Adam lowered my pants as we kissed. His hands were warm as they explored my ass. And then—
“I do hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Blake says. “But you should put yourself back together and move on down the road. We need to clean the suite to prepare for this evening. Mr. Sinclair has a friend coming in from Barcelona to stay for a week. He requested early access to the room so he can sneak in a nap before this evening’s festivities.”
“What kind of festivities?” I ask.
Blake sneers. “I’m sorry, but we really only share that sort of information with members,” he says with a frosty, arrogant tone.
“I was just curious,” I tell him. “Nothing more than that.”
“Sure. But you know what that did for the cat, right?”
There’s something more in his voice than disdain. There’s a cold, hard edge of bitterness and anger. It surprises me so much that I suddenly feel fear mixed in with the usual anxiety that accompanies awkward social situations.
“What do you think then?” Blake says. “Can you be out in fifteen minutes?”
I throw back the blankets and slide from the bed. While he drags his gaze slowly down my body, I assure him that I’ll hurry to get dressed and leave the room.
“Thanks, dude,” he says on his way to the door. “And good luck with your new sugar daddy. Adam usually likes guys a bit more attractive than you, but maybe he’s lowering his standards for a change.”
10
▬ ☼ ▬
NICK
Oliver is in the kitchen making a Bloody Mary when I walk into the apartment at noon.
“You look like shit,” he says. “That must’ve been a fucking hot night.” He smiles. “And yes, pun intended!”
I glare at him, leave my phone and keys on the kitchen table and head for the refrigerator.
“Want a cocktail?” He taps a spoon on the pitcher. “I ground the horseradish myself and used their best vodka.”
“I’m okay, thanks,” I tell him, retrieving a bottle of Perrier. “I need water, not alcohol.”
He rolls his eyes. “Is that another tip from Dede?”
“No, asshole. It’s another tip from just about everyone with half a brain.”
“Clutch your pearls, girls!” Oliver trills. “Somebody’s in a foul mood. That must mean no sex with the tattooed love god from last night.”
I glare at him as I gulp water for a few seconds. Then I put down the bottle, dry my mouth on a paper towel and flick my finger against the back of his neck.
“I’m not in a foul mood,” I say firmly. “I’m just a little discombobulated from the weird morning.”
He smiles. “Does that mean daddy woke you up with some more sweet love?”
“I wish.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising,” Oliver replies. “Tell me everything.”
I drink more water before describing the strange conversation with Blake at Dirty Secrets.
“Did he really say that?” Oliver asks when I finish. “‘Good luck with your sugar daddy’?”
“Yep. Those exact words.”
“Well, that’s pretty fucking rude.” Oliver sips his Blood Mary. “Someone should tell that queen that—”
“He’s not a queen,” I say quickly. “In fact, he’s the exact opposite.”
Oliver grimaces. “Oh, honey! Those are the worst kind of queens. They go out in the world looking all rough and tumble with bulging muscles and deep, booming voices. But the second you get them in the bed, they’re squealing like a little girl and wearing all kinds of Agent Provocateur. Do you remember Colby’s ex?”
I don’t, but I nod. “What’s Agent Provocateur?”
Oliver’s face lights up. “Oh, they’ve got the best lingerie on the planet! It’s a British company that Jean-Michel introduced me to. Just truly, totally, positively high glamour for days!”
“I’m sure you looked spectacular in it,” I say.
His eyes go wide. “Looked? As in past tense? I’ve got every stitch of it in the other room, doll. Want a little fashion show later?”
I shake my head. “I’ll pass, but thanks.”
“You’d just be jealous anyway,” he says with a sigh. “Wondering why your big new tattooed daddy didn’t surprise you with a pair of ding dong briefs or a babydoll wrap with marabou trim.”
“Okay, I may regret this later,” I say, “but what are ding dong briefs?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Oliver’s eyes widen even more. “They’re just the best,” he gushes. “Picture this, okay? Black sheer mesh briefs with scalloped edges along the waist, a little bow in front and ribbon ties on both sides with pompoms.”
“Wow!” I try not to laugh. “Those sound—”
“Hold up!” Oliver cuts in. “The best part is on the back. They use metallic thread to embroider the words ‘ding dong’ right across your perky little butt.”
“Well, like I started to say, those sound so you, Ollie.”
He mumbles a few colorful words while giving me the evil eye. Then he returns the vodka to the freezer and sits down at the table.
“So?” he says, sipping from his glass.
“So what?”
“How was the tattooed stud?” he asks.
“Amazing,” I reply. “He’s the most incredible man that I’ve ever met.”
“More incredible than me?” Oliver’s lower lip juts out. “More incredible than your best friend in the whole wide world?”
“Not now,” I say. “I can’t do that weirdness right now.”
“It’s not weirdness, babe. I was joking.”
I lean back against the counter and drink from the bottle until it’s nearly empty.
“Was there anything about me that you didn’t tell Adam last night?”
Oliver furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”
“Your little chat by the bar in the main room,” I reply. “You told him my name and a bunch of personal details.”
He rolls his eyes “I didn’t tell him anything top secret. Just your name and the fact that you’re a painter. Maybe he’s psychic or something.”
“What all did you guys talk about?”
“Relax, babe. We chatted about the club and how his la di da rich BFF owns the place and how Adam’s an architect and—”
“Then how did he know my name?” I demand. “Who told him that I’m from Colorado? And that I used to live in Jersey City?”
Oliver puckers his mouth. “Um, maybe Mr. Hunk-O-Rama reads minds.”
“I’m serious,” I say. “Besides my name, Adam knew a bunch of stuff about me.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” Oliver sips his drink again. “Besides your name, the only thing that he asked me was if we were lovers.”
I blurt out a laugh. “You’re fucking kidding me!”
He glowers at me. “I don’t get you, Nick. You meet a hot daddy. You have mind-blowing sex. You find out that the guy is clairvoyant. And you get all pissy about it? Think of how amazing it’ll be the next time you hookup with him: he’ll know in advance whether or not you want to be spanked, bound and gagged or diapered—all without a peep on your part!”
“Don’t do that either,” I say. “I’m really not in the mood for silliness. I just want to drink some water, take a shower and then go to bed.”
He smiles. “Your place or his?”
I frown. “What?”
“Are you going to Adam’s place,” he says, “or is he coming here?”
“It’s not like that.” But wouldn’t that be fucking perfect? “I’m going to bed by myself to catch up on the sleep that I didn’t get last night.”
Oliver jumps around, clapping his hands and wiggling his hips. “I knew it! I knew it! I just fucking knew it!”
“You knew what?”
>
“That you guys would hit it off,” he says. “When Adam came up and started talking to me last night, I had a feeling in my gut that you and he would be a wonderful match. I mean, to be perfectly honest, there was a moment where I secretly thought he was coming over to talk to me. You know? Like, he was interested in what I have to offer. But then I thought, Shut the fuck up, Oliver. A man that hot is not going to be into a slightly chubby guy with thinning hair, questionable posture and one foot on the slippery slope toward Double Chin City.”
“But I thought you met someone last night,” I say. “Isn’t that what you texted me?”
“It was positively horrendous!” He heaves another sigh. “I mean, you’ve heard about the Hindenberg and the Titanic and The Bubonic Plague, right?”
I smile, nodding silently.
“Well, my experience last night with Stanley was worse! It was literally the single most dreadful night of my entire fucking life.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “What happened?”
Oliver starts to answer, but his voice cracks.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” I tell him. “It must’ve been really…well, we don’t need to dwell on the bad stuff. Just tell me that you’re okay. He didn’t, like, hit you or anything, did he?”
“No,” Oliver answers. “He fell asleep.”
“Oh, so…”
“Nothing,” he says. “No kissing. No touching. No sucking. No fucking. I told Stanley that I was going into the bathroom to freshen up a little. And I was gone for maybe, like, forty minutes. And when I got back into the bedroom, he was snoring so loudly the panes of glass in the window were rattling!”
I blurt out a laugh.
“It’s not funny!” Oliver shouts. “The guy was snoring and drooling and farting in his sleep! I mean, can you believe it?” He runs both hands up and down his sides. “You get this much hotness behind closed doors and you have the fucking gall to fucking fall asleep?”
“What about before he dozed off?”
“What about it?” He thinks for a moment or two. “Well, you know, it wasn’t awful. Stanley knows a lot about business and finance, which I totally need help with now that Jean-Michel turned out to be a troll. But I wanted to get laid last night.”
