The Bangover

by Valente, Lili

  No sooner has the thought drifted through my head than our driver pulls to a stop in front of a perfectly normal looking adobe ranch house set back from the street. Colin opens the door and swings out of the car with a tight “thank you” to our driver as I scoot out behind him.

  “Have a nice night. Be safe,” the man says, lifting a hand. I return the wave and shut the door before turning to inspect the sex lair with a sharper eye.

  But it still looks benign. Tasteful black solar lamps light the cobblestone path to the front door, the porch boasts a cozy wooden swing and two rocking chairs, and the curtained windows glow with welcoming orange light. It’s not even that loud. I strain my ears, but all I catch is faint music emanating from somewhere within.

  I glance up at Colin, who’s staring at the ranch with a curiously blank expression on his face.

  “Hey, you okay?” I shift my purse full of cat to one arm so I can reach out and take his hand with the other.

  “I want to be a father someday,” he says softly, “but not like this. I’ve always been so careful, using condoms even when my partner was on the pill or had the shot or whatever. Because I didn’t want to be that guy, the one who was never around. Like my dad.” He glances down at me. “Or your dad.”

  I squeeze his fingers. “And you won’t be. If this baby is yours, you’ll step up and be a part of his or her life. You might not be able to be around as much as other fathers, but you’ll still be there. Your kid will know you and know that you care, and that goes a long way.”

  He pulls in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out with an uncertain nod.

  I want to say something else, something wise and insightful that will make him truly feel better, but my dad finally disappeared for good when I was five years old, and my mother is a sick person who never should have had children. What I know about parenting can fit inside a thimble and still have enough room left over to get a spider drunk.

  So I just squeeze his hand again and say, “I’ll be right here when you come out, okay? You’ve got this.”

  He shakes his head. “No, you’re coming in. If you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

  “What? Why?” I ask, digging my heels in when he tries to pull me toward the path leading to the front door.

  “Because it’s a sex club, Larry,” he says, widening his eyes at me like he’s beginning to wonder if I have any sense at all. “Don’t tell me your curious little storyteller mind isn’t dying to see what’s in there.”

  I waver, but resist being tugged onto the paving stones while I hitch a sleepy-looking Murder higher on my hip. “I have no desire to watch strangers having sex.”

  “Then don’t go down to the basement,” he says, nodding his head toward the house. “The first floor is chilling out space, the second floor is private rooms, and the third floor is where the food and entertainment is.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Private rooms. You said that before, but why go to a sex club to have sex in a private room?” I ask, my resolve weakening as my curiosity increases. “Why not just have sex at home in a private room?”

  “Because these private rooms have fun things inside them, my sweet sex-club virgin,” he says, mischief dancing in his eyes. “If you play your cards right, maybe I’ll give you a tour before we leave.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m sure Regina would love that.”

  “Then Regina can leave,” he says, his jaw going tight again. “She’s the one who insisted we meet here. She can deal with the fallout.”

  “She also insisted you come alone,” I remind him.

  “Which proves she knows nothing about me. If she did, she’d realize how little I enjoy being told what to do.”

  “This is not going to end well,” I say with a sigh, “I can feel it already.” But when Colin tugs on my arm again, I allow him to lead me down the path and up the stairs to the front door. There, Colin gives a strange syncopated knock, and a moment later a woman in a cute straw cowboy hat and overalls opens the door.

  “Hey, C, good to see you,” she says, grinning as she motions us inside.

  “You, too, L,” Colin says warmly, making it obvious he feels comfortable here, or at least with this woman. “Been a minute since I’ve been in this neck of the woods.”

  “It has, but we’re always thrilled to have you in town.” She hands Colin an iPad from atop a small desk set against one wall of the snug foyer. The space is partitioned into its own cozy nook by a thick blue curtain hanging in a semi-circle around the door, with nothing but the desk and a water cooler visible from this side of the veil.

  “If you’ll just sign in here,” Cowgirl L says, “and check the box for one guest in attendance, I’ll get your lady set up with the nondisclosure agreement.” My brows shoot up, but our host rushes to reassure me, “It’s just a standard NDA, stating that you won’t share anything you see here and vice versa. It’s to protect everyone’s privacy and make sure this remains a safe space for all of us.”

  I nod. “Of course. I just didn’t expect paperwork at a, um… At a place like this.”

  Cowgirl grins. “Half of us are lawyers, hon, so we’re all about red tape with our whips and chains.” She laughs as she takes the iPad from Colin and swipes until a signature page pops up on the screen. “But we’re a chill group, don’t worry. The biggest rule is no names, just initials, and no entering a private play space if there’s a red scarf on the door handle. Anything else, I’m sure C will help you figure out.” Cowgirl turns Colin’s way as I skim the form and sign it. “You won’t need an attendant tonight, I’m assuming, since you’re not a dungeon player?”

  Dungeon player? Good grief, what am I doing here? The only thing I like to do in dungeons is set fictional torture scenes in them.

  I start to turn around, but Colin discreetly grabs my arm.

  “Actually, I’d love to hire someone for an hour or two. Not for us, for him,” Colin nods toward my purse.

  Cowgirl turns to look, staring for a long moment before she gasps and presses a hand to her chest. “Oh my God, you’ve got a cat in your purse. That’s a first.” She laughs. “I’ve seen a lot of things smuggled in here, but never a pussy in a purse.” She reaches for the bag. “Aw, and he’s a cute one. Hand that sweet baby over. I’ll cat-sit for you guys; no need to pay anyone to do it.”

  I hesitate. “Are you sure? He can be a handful, and if there are any fish or mice around, he will kill them. Violently.”

  She laughs again as she gathers purse and cat into her arms. “No fish or mice around here, and I’m sure. I’ve got this. I’m a cat lady from way back.” She leans down, peering into Murder’s face as she scratches his neck. Almost immediately he begins to purr.

  “Thank you so much,” I say, some of the tension easing from my chest. “If you need to leave your desk, you can tie his leash to the chair. He can be trusted alone for a few minutes at a time.”

  “Nah, if I have to hit the ladies, I’ll bring him with me,” she says. “Now you two go, have fun. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”

  We’re about to step through the curtain when Cowgirl adds in a “just remembered” voice, “Oh, and C, just FYI, the coast is all clear now, but R just ran out the back door before you came in, and she was piiiiissed.” Cowgirl draws out the word into three or four syllables while Colin curses softly beside me.

  “Oh no, should I have kept that to myself?” Cowgirl asks. “I just thought you might want to know. In case she decides to come back.”

  “No, it’s fine, I—” Colin breaks off as his phone chimes three times. He pulls it out, staring at the screen for a beat before he turns it my way with a sigh.

  I read—You didn’t come alone. I hate you. You’re never going to see this baby ever!—and sigh, too, with frustration.

  And relief.

  At least now we have a good excuse to get out of here.

  But Colin doesn’t show any signs of leaving. In fact, he seems to be reaching for the curta
in…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Colin

  Kirby looks stricken by the Regina news, but I can’t bring myself to be too upset.

  Yes, I want to get to the bottom of this latest madness and find out if she’s really carrying my baby. But I also really want to show Kirby around the club without stressing about my ex, and watch Larry’s seen-it-all eyes go saucer-wide.

  And maybe find out what flavor of kinky makes her go pink in all the places I love to watch her turn pink.

  “Thanks, L.” I tuck my phone away. “We’ll just be an hour or so.” I push the curtain aside, drawing Kirby through.

  “Shouldn’t we leave?” she whispers.

  “No, we’re not going to leave. We’re here now. Might as well stay a while.” I guide her around the edge of the living room, where a few couples are chatting around a fire that’s irresponsible, considering the air conditioning is running, but it casts a pretty glow on Kirby’s skin as she frowns at me. “Don’t frown. It will be fun.”

  She grunts, arms folding at her chest as we step into the elevator next to the kitchen, and I hit the button for the third floor.

  “It will be,” I insist in the velvet silence inside. “Just wait and see.” The doors open, and I step out in the bar and pool room, followed by a still glowering Kirby. “And stop scowling. You look constipated.”

  “Maybe I am,” she grumps.

  “Pita regret so soon? Do you need me to massage your gassy tummy later?” I ask in an overly solicitous voice that earns me the hint of a smile.

  “No, jerk,” she says. “I’m fine. But don’t you think you should at least text her back?”

  I lift a hand to the waiter with the champagne tray on the other side of the room.

  “No, I’m not going to text her,” I say. “She’s playing games, and I don’t like games. And she won’t be able to stay home on a Saturday night, or off social media for more than an hour or so. As soon as she posts, I’ll know where she is. We’ll follow and catch her off guard.” I take two glasses from the tray and thank the waiter before handing one to Kirby.

  She accepts the bubbly with a dubious look. “So shouldn’t we head back to the hotel and drop Murder off so we’re ready when the post drops?”

  “Eventually, yes. But first, we’re going to enjoy our vacation. I think we deserve a little R and R mixed in with hunting down the creep who filmed us and dealing with my difficult ex, don’t you?”

  She lifts a finger into the air. “Oh, speaking of the guy who filmed us. I forgot to tell you in all the Regina-could-be-pregnant uproar—Shep was at Bridget’s place when I talked to her. And apparently, he knows a guy who is all up in the dark web’s butt.”

  “All up in its butt, huh?” I sip the champagne, enjoying the way the crisp bubbles burn on the way down.

  “Yeah. Who knew Shep had it in him?” she says, her eyebrows rippling. “It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though.”

  “Like your sister,” I tease. “What was Shep doing at her place, anyway? It was nearly midnight their time, wasn’t it?”

  Kirby rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop. Shep’s staying in her spare room while he’s helping his mom renovate her cottage. It’s too much of a hot mess for anyone to live there. His mom is in Montreal staying with her sister while he’s knocking down walls or whatever.”

  “I remember him saying something about that. I asked him why he didn’t get one of his eleventy-hundred siblings to do the heavy lifting. Or hire someone to renovate it and protect his hands, but he acted like I was the crazy one. Said he could play drums without hands if he had to—just duct tape his sticks to whatever’s left.”

  She laugh-winces. “Ouch. But I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s always been good at handyman stuff. Remember back in high school? He practically built a skate park in his backyard. And he fixed the steps to the old tree house in Gordan’s back yard so we could make out in it. Never fell once.”

  I glower at her until she grins.

  “What?” She sips her champagne, looking awfully pleased with herself.

  “Some of us spent high school being scrawny and awkward and getting zero action. No need to rub it in, teenage dirtbag.”

  She laughs again, harder this time, a throaty sound that’s sexy as hell and attracts the attention of one of the silver fox assholes drinking scotch at the card table.

  Time to take this to a more private location, before one of them decides to come sniffing around to see if Kirby’s into playing games with strangers and I have to bite his hand off.

  “It’s not my fault I used to be great at nailing down make-out partners,” she says as I guide her toward the stairs. “And you weren’t awkward. You were in the middle of an intense learning curve. I love your mom to bits and pieces, you know I do, but she kept you ridiculously sheltered.”

  “And then threw me to the public-school wolves when she had to go to work. Yes, I remember.” I smooth my hand up her back to curl my fingers around the warm skin at her neck. “Thank you for saving me, by the way. I don’t know that I’ve ever properly thanked you for that.”

  She glances up at me but turns back to the banister too quickly for me to read what’s going on behind her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, silly. You were a kindred spirit, I could tell. And you don’t let kindred spirits drown in their teenage angst and loneliness.” She takes the stairs slowly, elegantly, and I wonder how I’ve failed to notice how graceful she is.

  I guess it’s something I’ve always taken for granted, another lovely part of my lovely friend who I can’t imagine my life without. She’s right—without her, my early teen years would have been pretty damned lonely. I didn’t hook up with Shep and the rest of the band until the summer before junior year or really find my feet socially until the start of senior year. Kirby kept me from drowning.

  And now, even though I’m all grown up and lucky enough to spend my work life making music with my best friends and my free time with beautiful, talented, entertaining women, I still count on her to keep my head above water. She’s still the first person in my thoughts when I have good news. Or bad news.

  Whatever it is, I want to share it first with her.

  As we emerge onto the second-floor landing and move through a smaller sitting room toward the hallway on the other side, I can’t help but think that maybe her annoying ex-boyfriend might have had a point about that emotional affair.

  And now we’re having a physical affair. Or just sex, I guess, since neither one of us is in a relationship at the moment.

  Except it feels like more than sex.

  More intense, more intimate, more…everything.

  I catch her elbow before she steps into the hall. She stops, lifting her gaze to mine. “What’s up?”

  I look into her eyes, but she’s got her game face on, giving nothing away. “You okay with checking a few things out? We don’t have to if you think this is weird.”

  Kirby’s lips purse and shift to one side. “I don’t think it’s weird, I just… I guess I can’t stop thinking of you here with her.”

  “Jealous?” I ask, the word sounding strangely hopeful, even to my own ears.

  “Maybe. A little,” she says. “What if I am?”

  I draw her closer, letting her feel what it does to me.

  “Oh yeah?” Her lashes flutter as she rocks her hips lightly against my hard-on. “So you like me possessive?”

  “I do,” I murmur. “I really do.” Something primal inside me loves the idea of Kirby all snarly, scaring other women away from her man.

  Her man.

  I’ve always been hers, in one way or another. And now…

  Now I want her again. I want her all over me—her smell, her kiss, her wetness on my fingers, my cock.

  “You should see the look in your eyes,” she murmurs. “You look like you’re going to—”

  I silence her with a deep, hungry kiss that goes from zero to sixty in seconds flat. I pull back long enough to set both
of our champagne glasses on a hall table, and then we’re all over each other again. My hands are everywhere, and hers are, too, skimming over my ass, rubbing my hard-on through my jeans, while she makes mewling, fuck-me-now sounds that are going to get me in trouble if I’m not careful.

  I’ve been a member of this club for too long to get kicked out for out-of-bounds banging in the hallway.

  “A room,” I breathe against her lips as I back down the hall. “Let’s find a room.”

  “Yes.”

  I glance to my right to see a red scarf on a door handle, then to my left to find the way clear. I have no idea what’s in this particular space, but it will have to do.

  I need to be alone with her. Now.

  We tumble into soft blue light and dreamy mood music and close the door behind us, turning to find ourselves surrounded by people.

  No, not people…reflections.

  “Oh my.” Kirby glances around, taking it all in—the mirrors on every side, the plush king bed covered with a tight black-fitted sheet and nothing else—before turning to me with glittering eyes. “Guess we get to watch, after all.”

  “Do you like to watch?” My belly flips as she reaches for the bottom of her T-shirt.

  “I don’t know. But I’m game to find out.” She slowly draws her shirt off, and the other Kirbys follow suit, each stripping down to her lacy bra while I soak her in from every angle—the front, the back, the left and right, where her irresistible side boob is taunting me again. I strip off my own tee, tossing it over my shoulder. Kirby hesitates a beat before dropping hers to the floor with a shaky exhalation.

  I search her face, but she’s wearing an expression I don’t recognize. I step behind her, circling her waist gently with my hands. “Nervous?”

  She shakes her head, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “No, just…surprised.”

  “By what?”

  “By how pretty we look together half naked,” she says, her fingers trailing up my thigh, making me shiver and my cock pulse behind my zipper.

  I skim my palms up her torso to cup her lace-clad breasts, taking my time with her, cupping each perfect curve in one hand, lifting them higher on her chest, watching as her cleavage goes from sexy to flat-out deadly.