Fahrenheit

by Alex Rosa

  “Spit it out, Becca. You’re driving me nuts.” I rise from my office chair and stretch my arms and back. The tension I had twenty-four hours ago hasn’t returned, and I’d be lying if I denied I’ve had more of a skip to my step since its departure.

  “So, how’s the assignment going? You haven’t talked much about it, and I want to follow up.”

  A blush creeps over my face. “It’s going great actually.”

  She slouches, which I detest. “It’s okay if it’s not going great, too. You don’t have to say that to please me.”

  The funny thing is, I totally do have to please her. She signs my paychecks. “Are you saying you don’t think it’s going great? You think I’m lying?”

  She shrugs. “Not necessarily. I’m just saying that it’s okay if this assignment isn’t for you. Sexual playgrounds and meet-ups aren’t exactly your thing. I’ve been thinking about it, and I wanted to be sure I made it clear that there’s no shame in backing out.”

  My phone buzzes on my desk. Though she’s mid-rant, and I’m making it a point to flash a flat look of boredom over the topic, I can’t resist reaching for it.

  Mood salvaged. My stomach does this delightful fluttering thing that has a strange way of also igniting my insatiable appetite when I see the text is from Nate.

  I’ve been trying to play this situation like an independent woman, and keeping my distance. I want him to be the moth to this flame. It’s been a full day since we last saw each other and/or texted. It’s a win when I see he’s made the first move. It’s better this way.

  Can I see you tomorrow night?

  I try to calm my squirming lips that want to erupt in a giddy grin. Instead, I nod as Rebecca continues telling me that I don’t need to try and bite off more than I can chew as I tap out a text back.

  You miss me, Nate? I didn’t think that was your style.

  I press send as she scolds, “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Yes, of course I am. I can handle myself. You don’t need to give me an out.”

  She takes her pointed fingernails and dabs at the corners of her red lips. “I’m just saying, you’re doing amazing right now. This issue is spotless, and I think we have a lot of excellent features. The layout design you adjusted was right on par with the article lengths you cleaned up, and we can fill your spot with something else. So, what I’m trying to say is, I’d hate for you to get distracted with this assignment when it’s obvious you’re already amazing at what you do.”

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look at the text before responding to her.

  I was thinking more research for your article, but I guess I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you naked and moaning my name.

  A hot wave rolls through my body, and I’m sure I’ve turned the color of a tomato.

  “What’s wrong with you? You look all dopey. Who are you texting? Are you and Brian back on, or has Garrett gotten his shit together and asked you out on a real date? And I’m not talkin’ a stupid friends date like you’re so content with all the time.”

  “Whoa!” I shout, my horny-ness dissolving into disdain. I’m so distracted by the 180-degree switch, I wave my phone around, unable to tackle the sex fiend texting me.

  “First, Brian and I are never happening again. He cheated on me, remember? He’s like the guy-who-shall-not-be-named. And Garrett? Now that’s a joke. He’s busy being primal, and spreading his royal oats across West Hollywood. I’m a blip on his sexual radar.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I know it’s not at me, but at my stupid best friend. “Ugh. Garrett’s hot, but he’s got his head on backward. If it’s not him, or he-who-must-not-be-named, then what the hell are you smiling about? I was trying to help you out.”

  I shake my head. “You really have that little faith in me? You and Garrett drive me nuts, you know that?”

  “Lo, c’mon now. You know that’s not it. You think that little of me? I want you to succeed, and I kind of feel bad about giving you this crazy project. I’d hate for it to make you uncomfortable, too.”

  “I know the real reason is you don’t want to lose me as an editor.”

  She chews the inside of her cheek, pushing up her Gucci glasses on her nose. “Okay, so that’s also true, but it doesn’t mean I want you to fail.”

  “Are you sure?” I bob my head as I say it to show some attitude.

  She hides her smile while giving me a flat stare. “Yes. I’m sure. I only came here to give you an out because I didn’t want you to feel bad at our staff meeting next week if you couldn’t manage the assignment.”

  At this point, I swing my hip, placing my free hand on it. “I think you owe me the most gigantic margarita this city has to offer.”

  Her face brightens with a huge, blinding white smile. Regardless of the reason, Rebecca would never turn down the prospect of a margarita. “Why’s that?”

  “Because, yours truly, the modest little mouse you like to think I am, is very much in the dark, quilted throws of Los Angeles’s sexual underworld.” I raise my eyebrows double time.

  Her smile transitions into a wry smirk, her lips dipping into a pout before she says, “Enlighten me, and you better not be lying.”

  “It’s exactly what you’re thinking. How could you not know what I’m talking about when you gave me this impossible task, thinking I’d never find a way into the best story?”

  Her jaw falls slack as her eyes widen, and I can’t help myself. I continue, “I know you’re on the same social circuit as Garrett. You frequent the same bars, and cavort with the same people. What’s the one place everyone talks about, but no one knows anything about?”

  “Fahrenheit,” she whispers, her eyes blinking as she stares at a space blankly behind me for a few seconds before flickering them back to me. “There’s no way. How did you—?”

  “For once—” I cringe, confessing more than I need to. “—my naïve, innocence paid off. Someone found me intriguing enough to approach me. The opportunity sort of stumbled into my lap. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” I want to add, “If that place was a sex shop, and the act of accidentally knocking dildos off a shelf equates to the same thing,” but I don’t.

  “I’ve never had a reason to go to a nightclub like that, but it’s true. Everyone talks about Fahrenheit. I guess I knew that the article should include a place like that, but I never intended for it to be your main objective. That’s a jackpot story, Lo.”

  I nod, but the scrunching of her eyebrows has me stammering and backtracking. “W-what’s that look for?”

  “You’re not making this up, right? What guy would invite you? I want to know more.” She hums devilishly, eager for the gossip that comes with any sexscapade story. She’s as bad as my best friend.

  Without thinking, I unlock my phone and flash her the screen with Nate’s most recent sexually charged text. “This guy.”

  She leans over my desk, her glasses falling to the tip of her nose as she reads the screen. “His name is Batman?”

  A squeal of laughter escapes me. My hand holding my phone flies to my mouth to help contain it. I thought it would be clever to put a fake name for Nate so his identity is kept secret if anyone looked at my phone, and the only name that stuck was the one from my conversation with Garrett the other night.

  “No. His name isn’t Batman. I just have him under that in my phone. Long story. Anyway, this guy is the one who invited me, and he’s showing me the ropes.” I chew my lip, wondering if we’ll ever play with ropes in one of those fetish rooms. I’m back to feeling like a river of lava in a nanosecond, the molten feeling settling between my legs.

  “So, you’ve already been to the club? Wow, that’s a hot text— Wait a second, you’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

  This time my wanton state melts into embarrassment. I can only nod.

  She points her red fingernail at me. “Slut! I love it!”

  My head flinches while I try to hold back another laugh. “Is that verbal a
buse in the workplace I just heard?”

  “Shut up!” She becomes giddy, clapping her hands together in front of her chest as she taps out a quick beat on the tile with her high heels. “This is gold! I want to know everything.”

  I huff. “No, you don’t get to know everything, and no one will. The anonymity is too precious for me to flail it around carelessly. I’m keeping the details of the club secret, but I am going to write about how the nymphomaniacs of this city get their freak on.”

  She huffs, but doesn’t fight me on it, and it becomes clear why when she opens her mouth. “So, you’re screwing this guy and getting the details. Is he hot? Please tell me he’s hot.”

  I groan, letting my head fall slack against my chest, but can’t deny the spastic smile that cracks across my face before I meet her stare again. “He’s hotter than hell, and totally out of my league.”

  She screeches out a sound of excitement, which is so high-pitched that it garners the attention of the cubicles outside my office door.

  “Lo, I want to know about this guy.”

  I shrug. “There’s not much to know.” I hate when I say this, because there’s more truth to that statement than I’d like. Nate only imparts the bare minimum of personal information. I only know his sexual tastes and history, which is more than enough for my assignment at this point.

  “He fucks hard, and shows me how Fahrenheit functions,” I blurt out, relaying the only information that makes sense to give. It helps me feel less emotional about the lack of info I wish I knew, too, and makes what our relationship is clear. It’s professional, at best.

  “Good God, I love it when you get all nasty-girl. Whoever this guy is, keep him around if you can. Now this is what I like to see. Looks like you’re really dedicated to this one.” She winks, and I want to laugh at the audacity, but she continues, “Seems you got the article in the bag, and I like this new you peeking through.”

  I shake my head, baffled by what she’s said. New me? I wasn’t aware I’ve changed anything. I guess I’ve never expressed myself this way before, and definitely not with my boss. However, I like that she seems more inclined to give me the journalist job because of it, so I roll with it.

  “Let’s talk more over that margarita I’m buying you. I need to know more about this Batman guy.”

  I grin, nodding, feeling on top of the world. There are days I worry I don’t fit in here at Frenzy Magazine, but right now, with Rebecca eating out of the palm of my hand, I’ve never felt more like I belong.

  “Sounds good. Let me grab my sweater, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “Perf,” she squeals while giving me a wink. She even hums the Batman theme song as she exits. “Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na …”

  I release a doozy of a breath and pick up my cell phone. I owe Nate a lot right now. I tap out a text to him:

  My curiosity is at an all-time high. I think I’m ready for Lesson Three, and maybe more of you. See you tomorrow at ten. Although, I make no promises in the panty department. ;)

  I press send with an embarrassing smile.

  This article will be the best feature this magazine has seen. I’m sure of it.

  I’m wearing white, and I don’t know what compels me to do it. I can’t tell if it’s because I really like the way the thin material stretches over my body, or because Rebecca let me borrow it while saying, “It’s innocence wrapped in sex. That’s you, Lo. You need this dress.”

  Okay, the latter definitely convinced me.

  I tug at the long sleeves, and then at the short hem of the dress. It’s my boldest dress choice in the length department.

  Rebecca also told me not to waste my prime assets, which in my case are my hair and long legs. Legs, which proved awkward in my teens, but now seem like a weapon I wield in my twenties.

  The neckline cuts circularly low, but it’s at least cut modestly over my shoulders.

  “Lauren,” Nate greets in his ever-so-cool attitude as I approach his car, my matching white heels also matching his white Mercedes.

  “Nate,” I reply crisply.

  He extends his hand to me before opening the door. It’s crazy how having sex with someone you don’t know breaks all these formal barriers. There’s an eager comfort in placing my hand in his.

  His hand squeezes mine before tugging me into him. He smiles before laying a hard kiss against my lips, rendering my knees nearly useless.

  Letting go, he chuckles while setting me back on my feet, steadying me.

  “Don’t you know girls like me don’t come with balance or poise?” I blurt out.

  “Do they come with an instruction manual?”

  A smile splits my face in half. “Am I too much for you to handle, Nate?”

  “Something like that.” He shrugs, moving to open the door to his car for me.

  My whole body is squirrelly when I move inside. I want to pick his brain, say what I want, and get answers to all these questions I have when he says cryptic things to me.

  “Stop looking at me that way,” he says when he slips inside, shooting me a smirk before putting his seatbelt on.

  “What look?” I ask, fighting the exact look he’s talking about, liking his switch to leather jacket and linen shirt rather than a blazer.

  “That look. That cute little smile, and the way your lips won’t stop wiggling.”

  “I like the idea I might be a lot for you to handle. It’s the little things.”

  “You’re only too much to handle fully clothed, but when I have you naked and at my mercy, you’re the easiest to read.”

  I nod, fighting those wiggling lips again. His eyes drag down the length of my body, but it’s quick. He’s back to staring at the road, turning his car on, and driving in the direction of the club.

  We stay silent all the way there, only because I can’t seem to form words, and I know I’m the subject for Nate’s look of restrained laughter.

  “You ready?” is the first thing Nate says to me since our second almost moment since meeting.

  I’m too busy squinting out the windshield at the same valet standing at the door; same uniform, same stoic smile, but there’s a softness to his face that implies youth.

  My curiosity gets the best of me as I try to make a backstory for the guy I see. It’s a habit, and I blame it on my journalism degree.

  “Do you know that guy’s name?” I point.

  Nate shrugs. “No. He just parks the cars.”

  I turn to give him a disapproving glare. “But you know Nina, the hostess.”

  He groans. “Yeah, so?”

  “I’m just saying that kid must see some weird shit.”

  “This place is filled with weird shit,” he mimics. “This guy might have the easiest gig.”

  “How often do you come here?” I probe, turning to stare at the valet, examining his boyish cut and patchy scruff. He can’t be that old. He can barely grow a full beard. It annoys me that Nina would garner an acknowledgment, but valet-boy wouldn’t. Is it the tight dress and different sex organs that drive Nate to care more? Anger flares in my belly at the thought, and I can’t rein it in.

  “Lauren, what does it matter?”

  I roll my eyes, swinging my face his way. “Is it too personal? Forget it,” I snap, and I don’t know what’s come over me.

  For the first time, I exit Nate’s car without assistance. The night has taken on a different tone than I anticipated.

  “Hi,” I chirp as I stroll up to the doorway. The valet pretends not to see me, so I try again. “Hello.” I smile.

  I can hear the slamming of Nate’s driver side door as the valet replies with apprehension. “Um, hello.”

  “You go to school around here?”

  The valet, perplexed by the interaction, looks around as if to see if he’s on America’s Funniest Home Videos and I’m playing a prank. Once convinced, he says, “Yeah, Cal State Fullerton.”

  I knew he looked like he was in college, and from my alma mater, no less. The univers
ity prides itself on communications and the entertainment industry, especially with being so close to Los Angeles.

  “What? They don’t have jobs at Disneyland for you guys anymore?”

  The guy laughs, and I enjoy the timid smile he tries to fight, like he’s breaking a rule. “Not for the pay I want.”

  “Fair enough. What’s your major?”

  “Journalism.”

  I snort. “Oh, man, good luck with that. What’s your name?”

  “Dillon—”

  I wave my hand, cutting him off. “Don’t tell me your last name. It’s for the best, trust me. Have a nice night, Dillon.” I smile, feeling accomplished with the mild human connection. It’s refreshing, considering what I’m about to walk into.

  His brows furrow under his chestnut hair. “You too, ma’am.”

  When I turn around, I bump into a rock wall of muscle. Nate catches me before tossing his keys to the valet, Dillon, who doesn’t speak when he catches them, and practically scurries away to park Nate’s car.

  “What the hell was that?” Nate barks when the valet disappears.

  Our sweet, endearing moment has since evaporated. I’m still annoyed with him, and I can’t figure out why. Is it because I’m horny and frustrated with his blasé attitude toward life and personal connections with other humans? No one can tell.

  “I just wanted to know who the kid was. What’s in a name and a smile? A little personal flare never hurt anyone.”

  Nate pulls in a deep breath as if calming his temper, which I really have not witnessed.

  “This place isn’t about being personal, Lauren, it’s about—”

  “Argh,” I cut him off. “I get it. It’s about being discreet. You win. I’m sorry!” I turn around. I don’t make it one step before he’s twirled me back in his arms, then pinning me against the cement wall of the building, his lips crashing against mine.

  My hands claw at his chest, seeking some resistance out of pride. He grabs for my wrists with one hand, pinning them above me.