Club Deep: The Complete Series

by Wylder, Penny

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  One

  As I open the door to the coffee shop, the blast of air conditioning is a welcome change from the hot Phoenix sunshine, but it can’t save me from my sister’s voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Keith Overton asked about you.”

  I sigh. Of course, the one thing my sister wants to talk about is my love life. “The same Keith Overton who used to call me ‘Christine with the extra fifteen?’”

  “Oh, come on. He only said that because he liked you.”

  “Call me crazy, sis, but I prefer men who don’t insult me.”

  There’s an audible sigh. “Well, some people are beginning to wonder if you prefer men at all.”

  “Are you kidding me?” My voice comes out way too loudly, and every head in the café turns to look at me. A blush rises to my cheeks and I look down at the floor and lower my voice. “I’m not a lesbian. Even if I were, it’s nobody’s business. Why the hell does anyone in that town care about who I’m dating?”

  “You know people here,” she says in that sickly sweet voice that she uses to tell me to ‘be nice.’ “We all just want to see you settled down and happy.”

  I grind my teeth together. I don’t know how many times I’ve had this conversation with my family, and every time I do, it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other. It’s like I’m speaking an alien language or something. “Hold on, Catherine.” I’ve reached the front of the line. “I’ll take the biggest iced coffee you’ve got.”

  I move to the side and take a deep breath, preparing myself. “Catherine, I’m not sure why no one believes me when I say this, but I am happy. I’m much happier here in Phoenix than I would be in Aguila. I don’t want to ‘settle down.’ So chill, okay?”

  There’s that sigh again. “We’re not city people, Christine. You’ll see soon enough. You’ll be right back here with your family.”

  “Aguila is ninety minutes from here. It’s not like I moved across the country. And no, I don’t think I will be seeing that anytime soon.” And even if I did, I wouldn’t be going back for pricks like Keith. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date or done…anything else, but still, I’m not that desperate.

  “Oh, you will.” The smug certainty in her voice is enough to make me punch a wall. “And that’s what I told Keith. He wants to have dinner with you when you get back into town.”

  The barista calls my name and I grab my cup of iced coffee with my mouth hanging open. “You told Keith I would have dinner with him?”

  “Of course. He’s a nice man, and he’s better than any of those city men that will use you and leave you.”

  “I swear to God, Catherine. This needs to stop. I’m not going to dinner with Keith. I am not moving back. I am not—”

  “Come on, Christine,” she cuts me off. “We both know that you’re not going to get many other offers. So you should pay attention to the ones who might actually want you.”

  My mouth drops open, and even though I’ve already drawn more than enough attention to myself, my voice rises. “Excuse me?”

  Catherine laughs, and my stomach drops. Chills run over my body, and I feel like I’m shrinking. “Well you’re not exactly the kind of person to turn a lot of heads. So I’m just trying to look out for you. If you go out with Keith, you might actually have a chance of not ending up alone.”

  I swallow, trying to think of something to say. She’s right, men aren’t exactly lining up at my door. But Keith Overton? Not exactly my dream of Prince Charming. But do I have other options? Catherine is still talking, something about how Keith has really made something of himself since high school.

  Turning, I’m ready to get out of this coffee shop before everyone in here knows my life story, and slam into another body. A tall, hard body, who’s holding hot coffee. The top of his drink pops off at the same time that mine does and we’re both soaking in liquid caffeine. My mouth is open again, my shirt suddenly soaked through. “Catherine, I have to go I just spilled my coffee.”

  I hang up, cutting her off in the middle of what I’m sure was a fascinating monologue on the merits of Keith Overton, the misogynistic fat-shamer. “I’m so sorry,” I say, lunging for the nearest napkin dispenser. Coffee is all over the floor and everyone is staring at the girl who clearly doesn’t have her life together and these napkins aren’t nearly up for the job of cleaning up the huge puddle on the floor.

  I reach for more and a large hand stops me. “Are you all right?” The voice is so deep that it rumbles across my skin leaving chills. It makes me freeze, and I turn to see the man I collided with. Though the only reason I can tell that is because there’s a giant coffee stain on the front of his shirt. I was so pre-occupied with Catherine that I hadn’t even looked up. And what a damn shame that would have been. He’s tall, and that’s not just because I’m a shorter-than-average human, he towers over everyone else in the café. And he’s gorgeous. This man is exactly my idea of prince charming. Tan skin that speaks of the outdoors and maybe some Native American heritage, and that coffee is doing me some favors because his shirt is clinging to him and doesn’t leave any question about just how ripped he is. The fact that I’ve been in a dry spell suddenly rears its head. I would be very happy ending my dry spell with somebody like that. The only word my brain is thinking is ‘Yum.’

  He smiles, and I laugh, suddenly aware that I’m just staring. “Yeah, I think I’m okay. I’m really sorry about your shirt, though I’m not sorry that it got me off the phone.”

  “Don’t worry, I have other shirts,” he says, “And it sounded like an unpleasant conversation, so I’m happy to help.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what you were arguing about?”

  I start to mop up the coffee again, “Just my sister trying to set me up with this horrible guy from high school and telling me I won’t find—” My words come to a screeching halt. This isn’t something you tell a perfect gorgeous stranger. “It’s nothing.”

  He pulls me aside as the girl from behind the counter starts to mop up the mess. “I’m really sorry,” I say to her.

  She shrugs. “It happens.”

  He’s still looking at me. This intense look that makes the blood rise to my cheeks and feel the urge to step closer. “If your sister was telling you that you would never find anyone, she couldn’t be more wrong.”

  I blink, stunned. His voice holds nothing but sincerity and something deeper. “Thanks.” My heart is beating in my chest and I feel breathless in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

  “I’m serious,” he says. “I have a feeling you have no idea how beautiful you are.”

  My face is on fire. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. He can’t be serious. Is he serious? I’m not beautiful. I’m completely average and always have been. I have no idea what to say to something like that, so the first thing in my mind comes out. “Are you sure I can’t reimburse you for dry cleaning your shirt? People affected by my clumsiness deserve some form of compensation.”

  Seriously, Christine? That’s what you say to the man who just called you beautiful? Nice move.

  He chuckles, “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Dinner, then.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I even think them. “Or a drink. Just to let me say that I’m sorry.” I mean, I know I sound a little desperate, but he so gorgeous that I don’t want him to leave the coffee shop without at least giving it a shot. And since he said those nice things, maybe he’ll want to. Even if it’s out of pity.

  His mouth—how I hadn’t noticed his mouth is beyond me, it makes me think of kisses and gasping and other naughty things—tips up into a smile. “I would like nothing more than to have dinner with you, but I can’t tonight. I have some prior responsibilities. But,” he reaches into his pocket and takes a card from his wallet, “if you come to Club Deep, tonight or any night, I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink.”

  “Okay.” I say, st
ill a little spellbound by his face and voice. “I’m Christine. Christine Everett.”

  Taking my outstretched hand, he shakes it gently, and I’m overwhelmed by the way my tiny hands are swallowed up by his. “Hudson Carlisle. Maybe I’ll see you again, Christine.”

  I’ve never understood that stereotype of loving the way someone says your name until this moment. It makes it sound like a new and intimate word that you’ve never heard before.

  He smiles, something playful and hopeful at the same time, and he lifts my hand to that wonderful mouth and presses his lips to the back of it. Definitely Prince Charming. My skin tingles where he touched it and I can’t stop staring as he leaves. As he leaves, the view of him from the back is almost as good as the view from the front, and that’s saying something. Realizing I still haven’t looked at the card he gave me, I look down. It’s all black, with a silky finish that’s not quite matte. His name isn’t on it, hardly anything is. Just some small silver lettering.

  Club Deep

  Be who you really are

  And on the back, their website. My stomach sinks. There’s no phone number, no way to directly contact him. I head out to my car. With an adrenaline shot like the one he gave me, who the hell needs coffee? Besides, I’m not going to waste any time before finding out what the hell Club Deep is. He seemed like he might actually be interested if he didn’t have ‘responsibilities.’ So if this is the only way to see him, then maybe I’ll go. How bad could it be?

  Two

  The Desert Rose Photography Studio is quiet today. The last couple of weeks have been crazy with all the high-school homecoming celebrations and portraits, but now we’re in that period where everyone has had quite enough pictures, thank you very much. I’m hoping that in the downtime I’ll be able to take some time and work on my own stuff, but we’ll see how it goes. Right now though, I’m engrossed in a website. Club Deep’s website, to be precise.

  This is not at all what I expected.

  The homepage is dark, the background a subtle picture of dancing women in silhouette. Their tagline the only text on the homepage: “Be who you really are.”

  But it’s the ‘About’ page that really gets me. Club Deep is a sex club. A real-life actual sex club where people go to do…well it seems like pretty much anything. There are pictures of themed rooms for sex, packages for private rooms and pictures of a massive dance floor. I didn’t realize that these things existed outside of movies and books. This isn’t something I would have ever considered doing, but the way he—Hudson—said it so casually, If you come to Club Deep.

  What would it be like to go to a sex club? Maybe not even to have sex, but to just see what it’s like? To see what kind of people actually go. And if I happen to run into Hudson while I’m there, then that’s all the better, right? The thought makes me blush almost as much as I did when he called me beautiful. Even when I wasn’t in the middle of a dry spell as wide as the Sahara Desert, this is not usually something I would think to do. I’m not that daring.

  I click on the tab labelled ‘hours and rates’ and I look over the schedule. I’ve never been a lucky person, but something about running into him earlier and then seeing this page feels like my luck just might be changing. They’re having a special event tonight, a masquerade party since Halloween is a few days away. You have to buy a special ticket for the party, but it’s not expensive. No wonder he said he had responsibilities. If I had bought a ticket to a secret sex costume party I’d make sure that I went, too.

  Oh wait…I just bought a ticket, too. Oops.

  It’s almost four o’clock. I’m out of here in a half an hour which is plenty of time for me to hit up a store for a costume and not be there too early. I have a feeling it’s more awkward than polite to show up for a sex party early. Then you’re by yourself just waiting for other people to show up? No. That sounds like a terrible idea. What should I wear?

  The door to the back office opens, and out comes Sandra, my boss, who’s the most laid-back woman I’ve ever met. She’s a hippie through and through in the best way. She looks around the studio, “Do we even have any appointments today?”

  I laugh under my breath. “No. And I already cleaned the studio.”

  She shrugs, “Oh well. They’ll all be back for Thanksgiving family photos.”

  “Won’t that be fun.”

  Sandra swats me lightly on the arm, but she’s laughing. “Well, at least we’ll try to make it fun.”

  We both know that holiday family photos are the worst. Half the family doesn’t want to be there and it’s hell trying to get them all to smile and have their eyes open at the same time. But I stay here because Sandra pays me well and gives me plenty of time to pursue my own photography goals. She pokes her head over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  I blush, trying to close the window before she can read, but she starts to laugh loudly. A laugh that I’ve only heard a few other times, filling up the studio. “I knew you hadn’t had any in a while, but I didn’t think that’s the way you’d do it. Good for you.”

  “Good?” I’m trying to ignore the burning in my cheeks.

  “Of course! You think I’m going to judge you for that? If you knew what went on when I was younger you’d be redder than you are now.”

  This isn’t happening. I close the browser window and pretend that I’m buried in a hole where no one can see me. “Spare me those details, please.”

  Sandra waggles her eyebrows. “I don’t know, maybe it would give you some ideas.”

  A stab of pain goes through me. She’s right. I’m not that interesting a person, not that talented, not that beautiful. It’s one of the reasons I left Aguila. I was exactly what everyone said I was—completely average and on track to stay there and do nothing and be nobody. Just like Catherine said on the phone, I’m probably going to end up alone. But just for tonight, I thought it would be fun to imagine what a man like Hudson would see in me. I didn’t lie to Catherine, I am happier here in the city, and I have ambition. I want to be a successful photographer, and I love that Sandra is helping me with that goal. But she’s not wrong, I’m not a person that would do something crazy like this. Or at least I wasn’t until I spilled coffee on a ridiculously handsome man named Hudson.

  “Sandra,” I say, “This is embarrassing.”

  “Sweetie, at my age, nothing is embarrassing. Throw me a bone.”

  I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. “I…ran into a man this morning,” I say. “He mentioned this club.”

  She grins, “And you want to go see him?”

  “Yeah...”

  “Good for you, girl,” she says. “It’s a costume party?”

  I laugh nervously. “Yes. But I think there might be more lingerie than actual costumes.”

  “Ooh,” she smirks. “Sounds fun. Maybe I’ll buy a ticket.” The look on my face must be horrified because she starts laughing again. “I’m just kidding, dear. I’m too old for all that. Well, I’m not, but I understand why you wouldn’t want to go to a sex party with your boss.”

  “I mean…I’m not going to stop you,” I say nervously.

  Sandra rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry. I have no plans to infringe on your sexy time.”

  “Oh,” I hold out a hand, “I don’t plan on—I’m not going to—” my breath is shallow in my chest, and the words come out in a whisper, “have sex. I just think it would be fun, intriguing, to see what one of these things is like.” The thought of going to this and actually having sex is overwhelming and embarrassing. Even if Hudson did call me beautiful…

  Sandra raises an eyebrow. “So… you’re telling me you bought a ticket to a party you would never normally go to, to see a man you’ve only just met, and you’re not going to fuck him?” Blood flames in my cheeks again and she nods like she’s gotten a confirmation. Oh, God. Next time I need to do my research at home. I love Sandra but this isn’t something I want to talk about with her. “Keep telling yourself that, dear. But when the time co
mes, I hope you get some.” She glances at her watch. “We’re not going to have any walk-ins at this point. Go get yourself something sexy.”

  “You sure?”

  “Course I’m sure! But I want details tomorrow.” She laughs as the blush comes back into my face and I hurry out the door before she can embarrass me further. She won’t be getting any details out of me, that’s for sure. Though I’m sure she’ll tease me until I’m blushing brighter than a tomato. I already can’t believe I’m doing this. But here I am, driving to a lingerie store. For something I’m going to wear. In public. What am I getting myself into?

  Three

  “This might be the worst idea I’ve ever had,” I say to the mirror. I’m in the only lingerie store I know of, and they do have a hell of a selection, but nothing feels right. I’m currently wearing a bright red babydoll dress that feels garish and like I’m trying way too hard. This was probably a mistake. It feels like I’ve already tried on the entire store, and I don’t know that I’m going to find something that I’m comfortable in—if that’s even possible when shopping for something you’re going to wear to a sex party.

  “Hello?” A chirpy voice calls from outside the dressing room.

  I open the door a crack and peek out at one of the sales assistants I’ve seen walking around the floor. “Hi.”

  “Can I help you find anything? I heard what you just said, and maybe I can help.”

  Groaning, I open the door further. She works in lingerie—I’m sure she’s seen plenty of women in it. “As embarrassing as it is,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m going to a Halloween lingerie party tonight. I’ve never done anything like this, and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  Her face lights up. “That’s awesome. I can totally help you.”

  “You sure? I think I’ve tried on the entire store.”

  “I’m sure.” She looks down at what I’m wearing. “It’s not your worst idea ever, but I understand why it’s not what you’re looking for. Too bold if it’s your first time.”