Fahrenheit

by Alex Rosa

  Holy shit, I can’t do this.

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “Nate!”

  “Yes, Lauren?” he replies too sweetly.

  I scrunch my brows, letting the real me peek through because I know this has all gone to shit. “Why are you talking to me like that? Like you’re babying me? I can’t stand it.”

  He leans in, nibbling the corner of his mouth before he speaks. “Because, you’re acting like a baby.”

  My mouth falls open. “I can’t do this.”

  “I know.”

  Excuse me?

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said, I know you can’t do this, but I was having fun trying. Are you sure?”

  I pout. I’m trying to figure out why I can’t muster the energy to be irate when he sounds so damn nice about it, and maybe even disappointed, while still managing to be so attractive doing it. I watch the way his long fingers adjust the opening of his shirt, and I pull in a calming breath.

  “I have to tell you the truth, but after that, we should probably go. I mean, you’re going to be super pissed at me.” The way his lips curve upward says it all. I can’t help myself at the sight. “Look who’s the curious one now.”

  “I knew you were inexperienced, but it seems there’s more to the story.”

  “You have no idea. I don’t have a lot to lose with you at this point. Maybe I have enough to work with anyway.” I rub my face again, trying to keep a steady stare, but he’s so calm, my jealousy of it is hard to contain. The confession escapes me in one rushing breath. “I’m an editor for this women’s magazine, a copy editor actually. It’s an excellent job, but I don’t want it anymore. I want to be a journalist, and in order to get the job, I have to earn it.” I stop to release another pent up breath to catch up with myself, my skin overheating with more embarrassment, and I swear I hear more rhythmic moans coursing through the crowd, this time male and female, which make it hard to focus. My mind is in a frenzy, and my lower half is reacting in an unexpected clenching way. I keep pressing my thighs together, but the throb is getting hard to ignore.

  “My boss wants me to write an exposé on how the sexual nightlife of Los Angeles functions. Sex meet-ups are popular right now, and this club is really well known within that lifestyle. Plus, of course, the allure of the mystery involved.” I pause, licking my lips, knowing I’ve lost everything even though Nathan is looking at me like I’m his next meal. “I mean, how could I pass up an invite to Fahrenheit when it came so easy to me? I want that job, Nate, and I was happy enough to take you up on your offer.”

  He grins with an accomplished air. “Well then, I think this ended up way better than I thought. To think, I just thought it would be fun to mess around with you.”

  I groan, rolling my eyes. “You sound like everyone else I know, and to be honest, Nate, it’s extremely unattractive.” He scoots closer, which I don’t expect, and I’m stunned that I can feel the length of his body against the side of mine. My mouth babbles to add, “Aren’t you mad I was using you for information?”

  “Were you going to use my name?”

  “No”

  “Are you going to use my name?”

  My brows pull together again, examining his handsome face and mischievous grin. “No. What are you implying?”

  “Are you still curious?” he asks.

  I laugh, and it feels so good. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, are you wearing panties?”

  I pause a beat, soaking in my new crimson shade, unable to look away from his catlike eyes that trap me with the question. “Um, no. I’m not.”

  “Then, you’re still curious enough. You came here with the intention to fuck, right?”

  My teeth come down hard on my bottom lip. I nod.

  “That’s very dedicated of you, Lauren,” he hums crudely.

  I laugh again. “Yeah, and maybe I thought getting laid while having to work seemed like the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

  “We could still do that, you know?” His fingers thrum over his dark, stubbly chin. He seems to be thinking something over before he adds, “And I could teach you, or show you …”

  “Teach me?”

  “Yeah. I think we both want the same thing, and I really can’t say no to the idea of showing you around. Don’t sell yourself short. I still want this to happen. If you keep my name and the personal details in regards to this place secret, then I’d be willing to help you out. We’d really be helping each other out.”

  I’m baffled. Utterly stunned. My heart won’t stop its loud, distracting thuds, and the blood in my veins is thick and syrupy. I’m literally turning into goo over this conversation.

  “What’s the catch, Nate?”

  There’s got to be a catch, right?

  “You give yourself to me for the time we’re together,” he replies as if he’s discussing the weather. “I’ve got some steam to blow off, and so do you. Hell, if we can kill two birds with one stone, why not?” He pauses, his lips doing that twitching thing with his eyebrow before he says, “I’ll be gentle. I’ll walk you through it. Show you how this works. If you’re not looking for anything serious, neither am I. I’ll give you the best damn research you’ve ever had, and you’ll get your promotion.”

  My brow rises. “Why does it feel like you’re pitching me now?”

  “Because you take more convincing. I already want this. It’s the most fun I’ll have in a while.”

  I look away, letting out a low breath, shaking my head. “I can’t believe when you invited me here you were just messing with me.”

  He grins triumphantly. “Oh, this ended up so much better than I planned. Don’t get too hung up on it.”

  I can’t be mad. We both had ulterior motives.

  “Okay,” I blurt out, and even I’m stunned when I hear it.

  “Okay?” he questions.

  “I’ll let you teach me. Show me what goes on here.”

  His smirk is excruciatingly slow. “We should probably make one thing clear, though.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, giddy over the situation, tapping my nails over the table.

  “We’re going to fuck, a lot, Lauren. Don’t forget that’s what you’re also agreeing to. Of course, you can always back out at any time, but we might as well be up front with our intentions.”

  My breathing has gone back to being erratic, and that throb becomes excruciating when I repeat his words in my head.

  “I know,” I reply less steady than I would like, because apparently, confidence and I don’t work long term.

  “Then we have everything out in the open?” he asks, and I nod. He leans back, relaxing, and maybe as giddy as I was two seconds ago. “This’ll be fun.”

  “I have no doubt,” I quip.

  He gifts me with a grin. His eyes are back to light and humorous.

  “So, why all the tension, Lauren? You mentioned babying earlier. I wasn’t babying you. You’re on edge. How do we fix that? What’s at stake with this promotion? Where do we start?”

  His calm and collected attitude grounds me even if it feels like we’re bartering a deal. It still makes the atmosphere easier to handle. Without anything to keep secret, it becomes easy to be here, even if I do think the booth across from us contains a couple mid-coitus. I try not to stare.

  “My boss thinks I’m a prude.”

  “Well, she’s not exactly wrong, but she definitely isn’t right.”

  The corner of my mouth twitches as I watch him turn away to flag a waitress, and I examine his open shirt collar, and the lean look of his arms encased in the white dress shirt. I wonder when I’ll get to see what he looks like underneath it. The fact that it’s pretty much a guarantee I’ll get to is adrenaline pumping, and the situation washes over me like a fresh gust of air. Considering the bizarre situation I’m in, I generally function better when there’s nothing to hide and I know the details.

  “I’m not a prude. I wouldn’t be here if I w
as.”

  “Unless, you have something to prove,” he replies, and I hate how much truth it holds. “There’s no judgment here, Lauren. We all have to start somewhere. For you, let’s not focus on the assignment, and instead look at your willingness to try. Obviously, you’re not as much of a prude as your boss thinks.”

  “She doesn’t think I can do it. She gave me this assignment to set me up for failure.”

  The corners of his mouth curve wickedly. “Well, we’ll show her you can.”

  He turns away, unaffected by the club and the throngs of people performing different sexual acts around us, and not taking notice of a crack of a paddle that might sound in the distance.

  He’s carefree, yet determined and put together. He’s sure of himself. I find the combination baffling considering the men I encounter on a daily basis. From beach bum friends, to the friends in college who are still working part-time jobs, and even to the I-don’t-know-who-I-am friends who own homes and have careers. Nathan is different.

  “How old are you, Nate?”

  “You keep calling me that,” he says, whipping his head to look at me.

  “Do you hate it?”

  He lifts his right shoulder. “No, actually. Just, no one calls me that, and they wouldn’t … and I’m twenty-nine. How old are you?” He turns back into the space, flagging someone down.

  Another pretty woman approaches us, sure enough wearing the same latex dress and dark purple lipstick as the hostess, except she’s a blonde.

  “Sir?”

  “Can I have a whiskey on the rocks, and she’ll have …”

  He turns to me, and I’m clueless and overwhelmed. I should be able to answer this simple question. I say the first thing that comes to mind.

  “Um, a long island, please.”

  She nods, smiles, winks, and is gone.

  “A long island?” Nathan quips. “That’s a strong drink considering the night’s just beginning.”

  “I’m going to need it if I’m hanging out with you, I think.”

  He scoots a little closer to me. “Is that what we’re doing, Lauren, hanging out?”

  I smile, appreciating that he’s becoming easier to be around him. “For now.”

  He nods his agreement seconds before our drinks appear.

  “How old did you say you were?” he asks again.

  “I’m twenty-six,” I reply, too distracted that my drink has a glowing neon straw.

  I think back on what Nate said before and how little it gave away. I so want to get to the bottom of Nathan Sanders. Why would no one call him Nate? Doesn’t he have friends? Hell, even Garrett calls me Lo.

  I look up from my drink. “What do you do for a living, Nate?”

  He waves a finger at me. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Yep.” He turns away and grabs for his drink, bringing it to his lips until he realizes I’m still staring, shooting him a glare and trying to ignore his five o’clock shadow that I can’t figure out why I like so much.

  Placing his drink back down, he gives me a flat, golden stare.

  I bite the tip of my tongue, annoyed he’s letting the silence hang, and after a full fifteen seconds of not being able to handle it, I exclaim, “You know what I do for a living.”

  I try not to sound like a pouty child, but when I hear his chuckle, I know I’ve failed. I just want to know more. It would ease my nerves.

  “You lack patience,” he says.

  “You’re annoying.”

  He laughs again, and when I hear its rumbling timber, I smile, and I want to add it to my list of mini-victories.

  “Lauren, you’re here for one reason, and so am I. It wouldn’t make a difference if you knew where I worked. The whole point of this, and what people like the most about being here, is the anonymity.”

  I scrunch my brows, and lean over the table to fiddle through my purse.

  He pauses, scrutinizing me. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to write that down.”

  He sighs. When he sees I’ve captured my pen, he grabs it and tosses it across the table.

  “No writing anything down.”

  The tone is harsh, crisp, stern, heated, and soul rattling.

  I freeze, my shoulders tightening when my eyes are somehow commanded to meet his.

  He continues, “I need you to focus.”

  I gulp, noticing his right brow twitches in accomplishment as his electric eyes dart over my face, as if noting that he has my supreme attention.

  “I’m focused,” I reply.

  “Good. When we’re together, no writing. We just talk—and fool around. And you only get the details I want you to know. Don’t ask me about my family or work or anything personal. It’ll make things complicated, and you could get hurt, and I’d … feel bad.”

  My brows shoot up. “You’d feel bad? For some reason, I never really saw you as the feel bad type.”

  “I kind of tricked you into coming here. I might feel a smidge bad about it.”

  I shake my head. “No. I hate to break it to you, Nate. Although you think you were just making a meal out of my inexperience, and my terrible ability to lie—which I’m still slightly pissed off at you for—you’re still, unfortunately, a means to an end for me, too. A mere fortuitous event that made this assignment that much easier for me. So, I get it. Nothing personal.”

  He smiles, and that stupid beating thing in my chest shivers a little bit. I was trying to be sassy, but his smile steals my ability to be smooth.

  “Perfect. Where do you want to start?”

  What a question, and what does that mean or entail?

  Deep breaths.

  I notice he’s close, and I can’t figure out how and when he got there. We’re nearly nose to nose. His breath skirts against my face, and I realize we’re breathing the same air. Why does it feel sweeter than oxygen?

  I shift my view, turning my sight to the dark nightclub, the purples and blues shielding the corners, veiling the tables and booths that line the perimeter. I can only see shadowy silhouettes of other people—some couples, some larger mobs crowded around each other, but all mingling to a tune of synthetic beats pumping through the speakers, making it impossible to listen to what anyone might be saying. My palms sweat at the thought of what they all might be up to when this place exists for only one reason.

  I drag my eyes across the room, trying to mind my own business, while still attempting to take mental notes until they land on a glowing, dark purple hallway that I didn’t see before.

  “What’s over there?”

  I lift my hand, trying to keep it from trembling, pointing in the direction of the inviting glow.

  He grabs for my wrist, holding it steady before shooting me a smile that ignites a deep tug low in my belly.

  “That leads to rooms for people with particular tastes, or who seek privacy.”

  I nod. So, that’s where it goes down? He doesn’t need to tell me that. It’s obvious.

  “Particular tastes? Like BDSM?”

  His wicked smile grows like the Grinch’s. “Yeah sure, like BDSM, but that’s not what everyone’s into.”

  My whole body heats, and blood rushes to the surface of my skin everywhere.

  “What are you into?” I ask.

  He licks his lips, squeezing my wrist, causing a tiny gasp to escape me, which I try to hide. Shocking me further, he brings it to his lips, kissing the pulse point that I know is throbbing under the veil of flushed skin.

  It’s the first sexually charged contact Nate and I have had, and I’m trying to figure out why such a simple gesture feels so erotic.

  “What am I into?” he repeats. “Is this a personal question?” He kisses my wrist again, but trails two kisses up my forearm before turning to me with a goading twitch to the corner of his mouth.

  I try to remember to breathe, while still enjoying the view of his annoyingly good-looking face. “Research, of course.”

  “Of course—” He pauses, lifting his
lips from my skin to ask. “Is this okay?”

  I clench my jaw, because his eyes are telling me he’s messing with me. I nod.

  “I’m a bit of exhibitionist, and a fan of a good spanking, every now and again.”

  I’m breathless, and in order to get ahold of myself, I pull my arm out of his grasp.

  He chuckles. “God, I like you nervous way too much.”

  “I’m trying not to hate you right now.” I rub my face, noting my cheeks feel like the surface of the sun.

  “In order for this to work, and for you to get that promotion, you’re going to have to trust me.”

  His hand reaches for my bare knee under the table, curving over my skin, and taking a firm grip under my thigh.

  My blood is a raging river of lava in my veins, but I appreciate his boldness. I don’t have to think so hard when I’m around Nate. He likes to lead, and I think I’m learning that I like it when he does, and that I’m curious about the possibilities—creatively, of course.

  “Didn’t we just discuss how you manipulated me to get me here?”

  He grins, yanking me closer, swinging my leg over his lap concealed by the table, putting his lips an inch away from mine.

  “Oh, because you were so forthcoming?”

  I smile, and his eyes dance playfully with mine.

  “Touché.”

  “Lesson one,” he barks.

  “Right now?” I squirm, gulping down my anxiousness. He’s ready, and I wish I could say the same.

  He nods. “But we have to break through some barriers first.” His eyes drop to his hand still gripped around my thigh. “At least I know you like me touching you.”

  I flinch, because the need to prove him wrong runs rampant through me like a prideful teen.

  His fingers dig harder into my flesh, pulling me even closer, flush against him in this booth. He’s rejecting my need to move away, and I can’t wrap my head around why I like it, and how my smile only grows.

  “Don’t resist. You have to leave that shit at the door. You don’t have anything to prove with me. We actually don’t have anything to prove to each other here. Do you understand? You’re not in control here.”