Got Mine (Men of Trance Book 1)

by Nicole Loufas

  The lights dim and the DJ starts introducing the wedding party. Each couple dances into the room with a different theme song. After the maid of honor and best man walk in, they close the doors. A video begins playing on a large screen. It starts with baby pictures of the bride and groom. People laugh or clap as their lives play out for our entertainment. When the teen years start, a picture of the bride fades onto the screen, and I realize there is something familiar about her. That’s when I notice lights on the wall above the bridal table that spell the word, Love. Beneath that are initials: S and K.

  “Cheyenne, what is the bride’s name?” I look at her, and she downs her wine.

  “I’m sorry, Sway. This was a bad idea.” She stands and runs away from the table.

  What the fuck is happening?

  I look back to the screen, where recent photos are bouncing across. The woman seated beside me tips her glass. Water splashes onto the tiny bread plate near my hand. I pull the napkin from under my wine glass and place it on the plate to soak up the water. In the center of the napkin are two rings intertwined, with the names Simon and Kari stamped underneath.

  “Kari with a K,” I say out loud.

  The doors open and Kari walks into the room with her husband. A shot glass appears in front of me. I don’t look to see where it came from. I take the shot and set the glass down.

  “What am I doing here, Cheyenne?”

  “You’re my date.” She sets her napkin over her lap. “Sorry for my outburst. I feel better now.” She’s lost her mind.

  “You were there that night?” I assume.

  “Oh yeah.”

  The lights come on, and waiters appear at the edge of the room with large trays.

  “I’m not here as your date. I’m what? A weapon? Are you blackmailing her?” I whisper.

  Cheyenne’s eyes widen. “No, what kind of person do you think I am?”

  I wish I could answer that question. I can’t. Not if I want my money. Cheyenne paid the initial deposit of five hundred when she booked the date. The remaining fifteen hundred is paid to me directly, in cash. Giovanni collects his fee at the beginning of the job, but he advised me to wait. He said tips are bigger when you collect at the end. I asked what happens if the woman tries to stiff me; Rico said it’s never happened. They’re too scared to try it. Cheyenne has some pretty big balls.

  “Should I call you Sway?”

  “Does it really matter at this point?” I reach for my wine glass, take a sip, and think of the money. “I’m sorry. Call me Theo.” Theo is a good guy. Theo didn’t fuck the bride in a storage room. “Do you have a plan, or am I just here to eat cake and rattle the bride?”

  “I didn’t think that far ahead. I just figured she’d see you and freak out.” She puts her face in her hands. I scoot closer and place my arm around the back of her chair to shield her from the nosy woman beside me. “She gets everything…I thought if you were here it would…”

  “Ruin her perfect wedding day,” I finish her sentence.

  “Exactly.” She sniffles and dabs her eyes. “But now I feel, like, really bad. Like I’m a bad person.”

  “She hasn’t seen me yet.” I look at the bridal table. They’re being served their meal first. “If we leave now, she’ll never know I was here.”

  Cheyenne looks up with a furrowed brow. “You think we should go?”

  Yes, hell yes.

  I look at the groomsmen. None of them are bigger than me. Wait, not true. Two look like they’ll beat the shit out of me in a pie-eating contest. According to the video, Simon, the groom, works for a tech company. He looks like a techie-hipster. I doubt he’d try to fight me if shit went down. Rico said I’m supposed to avoid altercations at all costs. I cut and run.

  “I’ll do whatever you feel comfortable with.” I trace my fingers along her bare back. Anything to get her to leave.

  “Let’s go.” Cheyenne is about to stand when a waiter places a salad in front of her. He explains it’s a warm spinach salad with a bacon vinaigrette and goat cheese. “Maybe we should eat first?”

  My salad is served next; then the waiter tops off our wine glasses. I lift my glass to Cheyenne.

  “You’re the boss,” I tell her.

  We stay for all three courses. In between each course, speeches are given. We make small talk with the people at our table. I tell the nosy woman next to me that Cheyenne’s my sister, while Cheyenne tells the couple on her side that we’ve been dating a year.

  “We should go before the first dance. They have some lame routine planned. I can’t watch.” Cheyenne places her napkin on the table.

  “Thank you for not making me watch.” I stand and pull Cheyenne’s chair out for her.

  “Thank you, babe.” Cheyenne stands and grabs my ass. The couple laughs and says something about young love. The nosy woman gasps.

  “We’re really close.” I wink. “Enjoy the cake.”

  “Where should we go?” Cheyenne asks as we walk out the side door.

  Shit, she doesn’t think our date is over. I don’t know if I’m supposed to leave the hotel with her.

  “I’m supposed to check in with Rico if we leave the venue.” It sounds legit, and she buys it.

  “Okay, I’m going to use the restroom. Meet you in the lobby.”

  I pull out my phone and start to text Rico as I walk. I turn a corner, and someone bumps into me. She’s all boobs and white lace. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.

  “I told you he was here!” someone yells.

  Kari stands before me with a look of horror on her face.

  “I was just leaving.” I step to the side, and her friend moves in front of me.

  “Not so fast,” the woman says.

  Kari pulls me around the corner into a room filled with computers and printers. It’s dark, but people can clearly see us through the window.

  “Why are you here?” she’s whispering even though we’re alone.

  I won’t tell her about Cheyenne. I don’t want to make matters worse.

  “It was a huge misunderstanding. I’m leaving, and nobody will know anything.” I try to move to the door; she blocks it with her arm and big-ass dress.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.” She touches my chest. “That was, like, the best sex I’ve ever had.”

  “Seriously?” I know I should leave, but my ego wants to hear more.

  She moans and moves closer. “I’ve fantasized about your smell.” She inhales and grabs my crotch. “I tried to find your scent, but it isn’t the same out of the bottle. I need you mixed with it.”

  I remove Kari’s hand my balls and spin her away from the door in case someone walks by “You just got married.” I look at my watch. “An hour ago.”

  “You dance for married women all the time.”

  “Not on their wedding day,” I inform her.

  Kari tries to move closer, and I move back until I’m up against the door. Suddenly it opens, and I stumble backward into someone’s arms.

  “Sorry, man.” I regain my balance and turn around to apologize and find the groom standing before me. I look back at Kari. “I hope you have a long and happy life together.”

  “Who are you?” Simon doesn’t look pissed, not yet. He hasn’t time to process the moment.

  Cut and run, Theo.

  I start down the hall when I see Cheyenne walking towards me. I try to signal her to run, but she charges forward and then past me. The bridesmaids are gathered around Kari in green dresses like a wall of algae.

  “Are you here with…Cheyenne?” Simon looks at me like I’m a piece of shit. I’m confused. So is Kari.

  “Yes, Simon. And I’m going to fuck him. Just like your wife did.” Cheyenne’s announcement sends everyone in the hall into turmoil.

  Kari yells at Cheyenne.

  Cheyenne yells at Simon.

  The bridesmaids pull out their phones and start filming. I listen for a few minutes, contemplating how to get Cheyenne out of here and get paid.
>
  “God damn it, everyone shut up!” Simon screams. He turns to Kari, who is hysterically crying. “I love you, Kari, but I think we made a mistake.”

  “What!” Kari’s guilty tears turn to anger.

  “Is it true, about him?” Simon points at me.

  The only one finding pleasure in this moment is Cheyenne.

  She mouths, sorry.

  The balls on her.

  Simon pulls Cheyenne into his arms. “It isn’t just about you fucking a stripper. I’m in love with Cheyenne,” Simon announces.

  And there goes my money.

  I back out of the hall towards the lobby, knowing I royally fucked up. Rico or Giovanni would have no problem going back there and asking Cheyenne for payment. I’m not them. The last thing I want to do is face Kari, whose marriage just ended because of me.

  I walk out of the hotel and look at the sky. How do I go home empty-handed? My phone buzzes. I already know it’s Rico texting me back. I sit on the stairs of the hotel and text him the long, fucked up situation. It takes him five minutes to write back two words.

  YOU’RE FUCKED.

  No shit.

  I pull up my Uber app and realize that I’m too broke for Uber. It’s public transportation until I make some money. I stand to leave, and someone bumps my shoulder.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Are you coming or going?” Rachel asks.

  “Definitely going.” I give her a friendly hug. “Are you staying here?”

  “No, across the street.” She points at the Fairmont Hotel. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  Rachel takes me to the bar in the lobby of the Fairmont. We share a bottle of wine while I tell her about my night. After all, the woman has seen me in my underwear.

  “So, you didn’t get paid,” Rachel clarifies.

  “Nope.” I set my glass down.

  “First rule in professional dating, always pay up front.” Rachel pours me the rest of the bottle.

  Her comment intrigues me. “You sound like you know a little about professional dating.”

  “I could teach you a thing or two.” She winks.

  My balls tingle.

  I want to ask her why she was at the hotel across the street. Did she have a date?

  She checks her watch. Rachel is wearing a watch.

  “Late for an appointment?” I question.

  “Actually, I have to send an email to someone in China. Do you want to come back to my suite so we can finish this conversation?”

  I take a mental break and consider what I’m about to do. Meeting with Rachel in private at the club is totally fine. Even though I’m in my underwear, rubbing my dick on her, it’s work. Earlier, when I was rubbing Cheyenne’s back and touching her like we’re a couple, that was also work. Actually, it was charity. Going up to Rachel’s room for absolutely no reason other than to talk; that’s crossing a line. One that men in relationships don’t cross; we don’t even toe it. Not if we want to stay in a relationship.

  “I’ll make it worth your while. What’s your regular fee?” Rachel finishes off her wine.

  “It’s two hundred for fifteen minutes in the private room,” I joke. I don’t expect Rachel to pay for my company.

  “Done. Let’s go.” She stands and waits for me to follow.

  I think about Sylvie at home with the kids. I wonder what she’d say about me going to Rachel’s room. This is the line. The one she was afraid I would cross.

  I walk into Rachel’s suite. It’s bigger than my flat.

  “Damn, you rented this for the night?”

  “For the month.” She kicks her shoes off by the door. “Well, technically I didn’t.”

  I walk onto the balcony and look over the side. “This is off the hook. Have you seen this view?”

  “No, I’m afraid of heights,” Rachel says from the balcony door.

  “Then why are you on the top floor?”

  “Are we having a Pretty Woman moment?” She smirks and walks to the desk.

  I follow her inside. “Pretty Woman?”

  “You know, the Julia Roberts movie.”

  I shrug. I don’t watch a lot of old movies.

  She opens her laptop as she describes the plot.

  “Richard Gere is the high-powered businessman, in town to close a deal. He picks up a prostitute and pays her to stay with him for a week.” She looks at me like duh. Then I realize what she’s trying to say.

  “Holy shit, you’re a prostitute?”

  “You must be drunk,” she sighs. “No, I’m the businessman in this scenario.”

  That makes me the prostitute.

  “Make yourself at home while I send this proposal.” She sits at the desk and begins typing. “There’s a full bar over there.”

  I go to the bar and pour us each a glass of something from a crystal decanter. “Fancy shit.” I set the glass on the desk beside her. “So, what do you do exactly? Besides humiliate desperate men for fun.”

  She laughs.

  “You know I burned that underwear?” I admit.

  She laughs harder. I like the sound of it.

  “Your girlfriend isn’t into briefs; I take it? I bet she’s a boxer girl.” She’s referencing my MMA character.

  “She’s more a commando girl.” I raise my eyebrow. It’s my signature sexy face.

  Rachel stops typing and looks up. I just fell into her trap. Now she knows I have a girlfriend.

  “How does the little woman feel about your current profession?”

  “She used to be a dancer.” I don’t go into detail.

  Rachel nods as if she understands.

  “She’s in school to be a phlebotomist now,” I add. I don’t want her to think poorly of Sylvie.

  Rachel nods, but I know it will take a lot more than a trade school certificate to impress her.

  “So, what do you do?” I lean on the back of the fancy couch.

  “People hire me to assess their businesses. I tell them how they can improve if they should sell.”

  “It sounds like loads of fun.”

  “Having my opinion valued isn’t fun. It’s a turn-on. I get off on the power.”

  “Every little girl’s dream.” I hear the alcohol in my voice. I should slow down. Instead, I take another sip. “What kind of degree do you need to have your opinion valued?”

  Rachel laughs. I realize she laughs at a lot of my questions. She must think I’m a doofus.

  “I got my MBA at Northwestern. Before that I was pre-law.” She closes her laptop, then carries her glass to the bar and adds club soda and ice.

  “Wow, you must have major student loan debt.”

  “I’m one of the lucky ones. I had parents to pay my way.”

  Parents and money, of course. I had neither of those, and I take my clothes off for a living. I’ll be damned if Lulu follows in my footsteps.

  “How old are you?” I wonder aloud.

  She stops mixing her drink and turns around.

  “Strike one.”

  “It doesn’t make a difference to me; I still think you’re attractive. I’m just wondering because it sounds like you’ve done so much in your life for someone that looks so young.”

  “Never ask a woman her age, ever.”

  “Got it.”

  I sit on the sofa and look at my watch. Rachel notices as she sits in the chair across from me.

  “Did you go to college?” she asks.

  “Two years in City College, before…” I stop. I don’t want to bring up Leeyan. “Once upon a time, I wanted to be in advertising, marketing. That kind of thing.”

  “You would do well in either. Good-looking people always do well in advertising.” I like the way she unapologetically demeans my intelligence. Like there’s no way I’m smart enough to be in marketing, just handsome enough.

  “Seeing my face on a billboard is not my dream,” I inform her. “I want to be the guy that sells the ad space.”

  “I’m aware,” she replies with
a small laugh. “Tell me how you got into dancing.”

  “Same as everyone else. I was broke and desperate.” I toss the throw pillow to the other side of the sofa because that’s what it’s here for.

  “You’re good at it.” Rachel sips her drink. “Dancing, I mean.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you dancing to pay your way through school? Please don’t tell me you’ve given up on your dreams this early.” Rachel likes to assume a lot about me. It makes me eager to crush her fantasy.

  “No, I have other financial obligations.”

  “Let me guess; you’re saving for a motorcycle.”

  “I wish I was that predictable. No, I have a daughter.”

  Rachel’s mouth forms an o. I like that she’s shocked.

  “Strike two.” She stands and walks to the window. “Don’t ever talk about kids or girlfriends.”

  “Really? Why didn’t you strike me earlier when I mentioned my girlfriend?”

  “It wasn’t a teaching moment.” She taps her finger on the glass. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in school. I really want to please my teacher.

  I join her at the window. “Why no kids?” I stop behind Rachel and caress her hair.

  “Because they kill the magic. I want to see you as a primal sexual being, not a daddy.” She turns around. “Lie next time. Tell me you’re saving for a Tesla or art school. When I pay for someone’s company, I want a fantasy; you’re giving too much reality.”

  “Do you date a lot of professionals?” I sound a little peeved. It’s the booze. Or maybe I don’t want to hear about Rachel’s harem of men.

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Why? You’re beautiful. You don’t need to pay for men.”

  “I don’t have time for small talk.”

  “Isn’t this small talk?”

  She smiles. “Professionals give me what I need, sometimes more, but nothing less.”

  I follow her from the window back to the seating area. She sits in the chair, and I return to the sofa. I wonder if this is a strategic move on her part. My routines are done in chairs.