by S. Van Horne
“Oh, God, please stop talking about my lack of sex life with my nephew…and in baby talk.” I shake my head in my hands.
Ashley chuckles even more as she wipes up J.J. “Call them, see what they can offer. Maybe it’s a night on the town or just companionship. What’s the worst that could happen? You have a nice night out. Or, the best thing can happen and your cobwebs are cleaned out.”
I snap my head up and screech, “What the HELL!” I snarl at Ashley while she’s rolling on the floor with a laughing J.J.
“I think you have over-stayed your welcome, my dear sister. Out you go!” I grab her car seat and walk into the kitchen to gather the rest of her supplies and purse. Ashley meets me in the kitchen and fastens J.J. in his seat.
“Will you just think about it, for me?” she asks, and I roll my eyes at her.
She leaves with a smirk on her face, and I find myself walking over to my purse and grabbing the card out of it. I stare at it for what seems like forever. “What’s the worse that can happen?” I echo her words as I pick up my cell phone and dial.
CHAPTER FIVE
ZAYNE
I THROW MY HEAD BACK, enjoying the burn of a whiskey straight shooter. “Son of a bitch, that burns,” I yell, slamming the shot glass down on the table. I’m sitting at the bar with Jason, Jax, and Dylan, the owner of The Brown Bottle, watching a game and enjoying a drink or three or four; at this point, the number blurs. The other guys of our motley crew are out on dates, showing their ladies a good time and getting laid.
“Oohs” and “aahs” bring my attention back to my group. I glance over to Jax as he shows pictures of his son Kasey. Longing burns in my chest; I’ve always wanted children, and I always thought it would be with Marnie. She’s the only woman I have ever loved and wanted a family with.
“Bartender…another one.” I raise my hand; the bartender acknowledges with a chin lift, and I turn my attention to the baseball game on TV.
“Man, you need to slow down,” Jason orders me, but I continue staring at the game. Hell, I don’t even care who’s playing. “I have a date for you.”
“So, give it to the other guys. Can’t really fuck somebody when the equipment is broken.” I sneer at him; the bartender places my drink in my awaiting hand, and I throw it back instantly. I can already feel the buzz coming on, and it’s gonna fuck me up tomorrow.
“That’s shit, and you know it. It’s all in your head, and this chick sounded cute.”
“I don’t give a shit if the chick sounded cute…I’ve decided I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” My voice sounded pathetic with each word. I nod again to the bartender for another one.
“Jesus Christ, Zayne, slow the hell down and hear me out.”
Jason grabs the shot out of my hand. “Hey, I was gonna drink that.” I pout as he forcibly turns my body to him.
“Listen, her name is May, and she just moved back to town from California. She didn’t say anything about sex, but I wouldn’t rule that out. Take her out on the town, re-introduce her to Chicago.” He slides me a Burger King receipt with her name and number written on the back. I lift a brow. “Umm, doesn’t this go against your policy of you’re the only one who contacts the ladies?”
He shrugs his shoulder, and my attention returns to the game.
“Yes, but she sounded nervous, I think you should call her and talk.” He thinks for a few seconds and a whack on my back almost has me on the floor. “I got it, take her to one of those themed restaurants, the one that’s the masquerade. That way, she won’t be as nervous, she gets companionship for the night, and there’s maybe some midnight fun for you.”
I growl, righting myself, and I run my hand through my hair. “Fine, I’ll call her. You’re fucking lucky we’re family, but this…this is done. She’s the last one. My company is doing well and making decent money. I am done.”
Jason nods. “Hey, bartender, one more for the road here.” He circles his finger in the air, grabbing the attention of the other two with us and buys us a round of shots. He lifts his glass in the air; Dylan, Jax, and I join. “To the ending and new beginnings.”
“Cheers.”
Something bright pierces through my eye lids causing sharp slices of pain to lance through my body. “Oh shit” I moan as I slowly come to. I roll on to my stomach and grab my head, trying to stop the waves of nausea. I peek an eye at my clock sitting on the bedside table to see that it’s still early in the morning.
Memories of last night filter in, reminding me of the insane amount of whiskey I drank and…oh, fuck me. I jerk up out of bed and immediately regret my sudden movement when I have to swallow the bile that rises in the back of my throat. I kick out and unravel the blankets from around me, not shocked by my nudity as I usually sleep naked. What concerns me is, I have no recollection of getting home or naked. I reach for my phone, but knock it onto the ground.
“Son of a bitch,” I shout as I gently lower myself to the floor. I grab the phone and dial 1 to speed-dial Jason.
Two rings in and the asshole answers, “Good morning, sunshine, did you sleep well?”
“Fuck off! What did I agree to last night?” I demand, as more memories surface through the hangover. Jason asked me to do something. I said no at first, but I remember relenting.
Jason’s hearty chuckle echoes in my ear, spiking my headache to def-con ten level. “Christ, Jason, stop laughing and just tell me,” I groan.
“Okay, yes, you agreed to one last date with a woman named May. You still need to call and set up the details.” I groan again as that memory surfaces.
“Next question, how did I get home, and who got me naked?”
Jason booms again, laughing into the phone. I rub the palms of my hands over my eyes and wait out his wails.
“Well, let me tell you. I got you home, and when I offered to help you get ready for bed, you started bitching about how you’re not a baby and don’t need coddling as you stripped yourself down the hall and passed out in bed. That is how you got home last night.”
“Ugh, well, it could have been worse. Fine, I’ll call this chick today after I’ve sobered up more.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Jason clicks off.
A shower, coffee, and a jog later, I’ve cleared the rest of my hangover. I find my jeans from last night in the hall, glance around, and chuckle at the clothing strewn all over the hall. The only thing missing is the little black dress. Reaching into the back pocket, I find the receipt that Jason gave me last night. The masculine handwriting that must be Jason’s says the name “May” and gives a number to call.
I sit down at my kitchen table, phone in hand, and dial the number. Three rings in, a husky feminine voice answers, “Hello?”
Stunned at the sound of her, I stutter my response, “Um…hi…is this May?”
A few seconds pass until she replies, “Sorry, yes, this is. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Z from The Meat Market, you’ve ordered Pork for an evening.” I’ve never told any of my dates my real name. It’s just a way to separate my personal life from my escort life.
“Oh, um, yes, I did,” she giggles uncomfortably, but continues, “so, like what do I ask? How do I do this?” Her questions are rapid-fire due to her nerves.
I explain to her without giving too much detail. “We can do as much or as little as you want. If you want dinner and a movie, we can do that. If you need a date for an office party, I’m good for that too. If you just want sex…well, you get the picture.”
“Yes, I see. God, I can’t believe I’m even doing this.” She sounds unsure of herself. Her naiveté and nerves are refreshing. I can’t help but find it incredibly sexy. Most of the girls I hook up with are aggressive, know exactly what they want, and when they want. Her shyness is an incredible turn on.
“May, what can I say to help ease your mind? Like I said, what we do is up to you. You have the control here.” I do my best to soothe her nerves.
“Ah…” Her heavy breaths float over the line,
and I fear I’m about to lose her. But then, I remember a suggestion from Jason last night. We can go to Saint Etienne restaurant. They are having a masquerade-themed night this Friday. She’ll know to wear a mask.
“May, I’ll tell you what, there’s a restaurant in town that offers themed nights. On Friday, the theme is a masquerade and patrons are encouraged to dress up for the night and don masks,” I offer, hoping she’ll agree to go with me.
“I’ve heard of Saint Etienne’s, and I’ve been intrigued since I’ve moved back.” There’s a pregnant pause, and I find myself bouncing my leg anticipating her answer.
“Yeah…yes, that sounds fun.” I hear her smile through the phone, and I exhale, when I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.
A large smile cracks across my face, and I launch into the instructions I give all my dates. “I will have my driver pick you up at the park ‘n’ ride, and I’ll meet you at the restaurant. I’ll be wearing a pinstripe tux with a black satin mask. I request that you wear a blue dress with a gold mask. It’ll be easier to spot you.”
“Will I be safe with your driver? I mean, I don’t really know you, and you want me to get in a vehicle with some stranger. It kinda sends off red flags.”
“I like thinking of it as a blind date. I respect your concerns; the driver’s name is Frank and is ex-military. He will be driving a black Yukon. Please feel free to ask to see his credentials; he’s always willing to brag about his many accolades.” I snicker and a lyrical full-bellied laugh fills my head, sending all my blood racing south into my cock. An eyebrow shoots up to my hair line as I gaze down at my rock-hard cock.
“I will take you up on that and ask about it when I meet him. You’re right; it is a blind date. So, I’ll see you in a couple days in a blue dress and gold mask.” She hangs up before I can say good bye.
My phone goes blank as I stare it. “Holy shit, what just happened?” None of my other clients has ever affected me like this before. I reach my hand down and try to readjust the rager I have going on. My mind instantly goes into overdrive, planning for the night. I jump up and head into my office with Frank’s number dialing on my phone.
CHAPTER SIX
MARNIE
MY HEART JACKHAMMERS IN MY chest and blood whooshes in my ears, to the point it’s so loud, I can’t hear myself think. Waiting in the park ‘n’ ride as Z instructed, I pull the visor down to make sure my gold filigree mask is on perfectly, and I run my finger under my bottom lip to clean up the edges of my blood red lipstick. My palms run over the blond wig I’m wearing, gently pressing down to make sure it doesn’t move. Ashley suggested I wear it along with using “May” to conceal my identity and to spice up the evening, but now I’m questioning the decision.
“What am I doing?” I ask myself as doubt sets in. “This is crazy, meeting somebody I’ve never met for a dinner.” A small voice in the back of my head whispers it’s a blind date and people do it all the time. “Well, voice in my head, do they pay for sex?” I snap the visor shut and shake my head. I brush my hands down my off-the-shoulder sapphire gown, smoothing out a few small wrinkles. It’s made of a jersey material that’s soft and flows with my body movement. Flashes of light in my side mirror startle me, and a hand flies to my chest, calming my racing heart. The vehicle pulls up and dwarfs my compact car; it’s black and the Yukon insignia is affixed to the door. I take a deep breath while I watch an unnaturally tall and muscular man step out of the driver side and walk to my car.
The giant stops at my door and taps on my window, and I roll it down a sliver. “Excuse me, miss, are you May?” The man’s gravel voice rumbles.
I nod quickly and ask, “Are you Frank, the ex-military chauffeur?”
His chuckle is thick. “I see Z warned you about me, and, yes, I am Frank. May I escort you to your ride?” I gather my purse and shawl while Frank opens my door for me. He extends his hand, allowing mine to slide into his. He gently pulls as I slide out my car. He closes my driver door and stalks to the Yukon and opens the passenger door.
“May, grab the bar here and step into the vehicle,” he orders, and I do what he says and find it’s easier to get in that way than jumping and hoping for the best. He closes the door and circles around to the driver side and gets in.
The ride to the restaurant is spent in silence. I stare out into the night, watching the street lights zoom past. My hands nervously twist the chain of my purse around my fingers.
“If you keep that up, you’ll end up cutting circulation off.” I jump at the sound of Frank’s voice. He chuckles at my reaction. “Sorry to scare you.”
I glance to him. “No, it’s my fault. This date has me all sorts of nervous and feeling out of place.” I untangle my fingers and lay them on top of my purse.
He nods. “Don’t be, Z is ever the gentleman. I think you and him will hit it off with no problems.” God, I hope he’s right. We turn the corner and the restaurant comes into view, and with that, the anxiety sets in again.
Frank deposits me at the bar, orders me a chocolate martini, and commands that I stay right here until Z comes. I nod my response and turn to see the bartender vigorously shaking the shaker cups. She slides a martini cup over in front of her and pours the drink before swirling chocolate syrup in zig zag patterns and topping it off with a mint leaf. She places the martini in front of me, and I take a sip. The slow burn of the alcohol is covered with the flavor of chocolate. I smile and moan at the delicious flavor.
“I hope that moan was for me,” a guttural voice comes from behind me. Startled, I almost spill my drink onto my dress. After righting the glass, I whip around on the barstool and stare right into a tuxedoed chest. I slowly raise my head to find a tall red head with deep blue eyes behind a black mask who’s wearing a lopsided grin. I’m surrounded by his potent maleness; it’s a heady mixture of musk and fresh-out-of-the-shower, and before I know it, I close my eyes and take a deep inhale.
He chuckles. “Is this seat taken, beautiful?” His gravelly voice causes my nipples to pearl and warmth to flood in my lower belly. I’ve never experienced such a visceral reaction to a man, well, at least since Zayne.
I shake my head.
“Good.”
He sits and orders himself a whiskey sour. I continue to observe him as he takes a drink, watching his Adams apple bob up and down with each swallow. Holy hell, he’s even hot drinking.
“Hi, I’m Z, and please tell me you are May.” His eyes slowly track up and down my body. Fire licks my skin in the wake of his assessment.
I lick my lips and find my voice, “Yes, I’m May,” I whisper. He answers with a large smile, then he clasps my hand and gently kisses my knuckles. Air is sucked out of my lungs as electric tingles surge through my skin.
“Come, let’s go to the table I reserved for us.” He gets up with his drink still in his hand and mine in the other. I follow him, surveying the other patrons enjoying their meals, each wearing a different style mask. I turn my attention back to the man in front of me. His tux is tailored to perfection, draped over his broad shoulders then cut to taper down his waist with the slit of his jacket showing off his sculpted backside.
He halts his steps, and I stumble into his awaiting arms. “Sorry, here is our table.” He sets me up and pulls out a chair, gesturing for me to sit. I do as I’m told, before he moves around the table and settles himself. I peek around and see we are in the back; it’s semi-private with three walls surrounding us. “The French cuisine here is delicious. I wish there was a dish I could recommend to you, but it’s all good,” he offers as he signals the waiter. He orders an expensive wine to start. The waiter brings the wine and menus to look over.
I decide on something safe—a simple Chicken Francaise served over brown rice—and when the waiter returns, I place my order, and Z orders something in perfect French. Astounded, I smile at him and sip my martini.
“I asked for the same thing you are having. I like to practice my French when I have the chance.”
“I
t was flawless…well, at least, I think it was, but listen to me, I don’t speak a lick of French.” Oh, God, I’m babbling. Now he’s going to think I’m some classless broad, but instead, he gifts me with a magnetic smile.
“I can teach you sometime. I enjoyed the language while in high school and continued through my college years, even spending a semester abroad.” He continues with telling me about his host family and the adventures he had there. He’s charming, funny, and a great story teller.
Soon, our food arrives, and we eat in companionable silence. The chicken is delicious, and the burst of lemon adds a bit of a citrus flavor to it.
Once the waiter relieves us of our plates and refills our wine glasses, I turn and glimpse a band setting up for entertainment. When I return my attention to Z, I find him holding his hand out to me. “Please dance with me. I’m not great, but I would love to have you in my arms.” My cheeks heat up, but I slip my hand into his and fall behind his lead to the dance floor.
The band finishes setting up, and after a fast tuning, the slow melody drifts around us. Z spins me around and brings me back close to his chest. His deep blues bore into me, as if searching for my soul. A glimmer of recognition shimmers in my head, but it’s quickly gone. The band picks up the tempo, and Z whirls me around the dance floor, but never lets my body get far from his. His hands skim up and down my back and arms. He pulls me tightly to him and lowers his head. “That dress is a sin on you,” he whispers in my ear, nipping at my ear lobe. I suck in a breath and grasp his muscular biceps.
“I can feel how your body responds to me—the quick inhale, the flash of goose bumps down your arms every time I touch you. I feel the same way, May.” To drill home his point, his hands slide down to the small of my back and tug me close. Now we are chest to chest, and I can’t mistake the ridges of his erection against my lower abdomen.
