9. Lillian
If you’re not here with Grace in ten minutes, I’m coming to you and shoving you into a cab.
I readmy sister’s text as I’m standing in front of the mirror in a black, off-the-shoulder dress that hugs my chest until it hits my waist, where it flares ever so slightly. There’s a decent amount of cleavage showing, and the hem of the dress is long enough that I’m not in danger of flashing anyone. So why do I feel so exposed?
It feels like I’m standing in front of the mirror naked, rather than in a dress most people would probably call a classy, clean look.
It’s got to be the nerves hitting and the destination making me feel like I’m walking into school in my underwear. I did try to cancel, like I thought I might. The call to Kim this morning with a fake cough and sniffles lasted fifteen seconds before she called me on my crap and told me to stop being a coward.
With one last sigh, I turn around and grab the calf-length coat draped on the end of my bed and button myself up in it. At least Grace won’t ask questions about my dress this way, even if it is a little too warm for it.
“Grace!” I call out as I leave my room, shutting the lights off and closing the door behind me. “Do you have your bag packed?” I walk through the hallway, heels clicking against the hardwood as Grace leaps out of her room with an excitable sort of energy.
”Yep!” she confirms. Her hands are grabbing the backpack straps, and she’s wearing so much color it looks like she puked up a rainbow. The sparkly headband Kim got her is holding back blonde wisps of hair, she’s sporting a bright pink T-shirt, neon green shorts, and rainbow sneakers. The multi-colored Disney overnight bag ties the whole outfit together.
“Toothbrush?” I check.
“Yep,” she nods back proudly.
“Toothpaste?”
Nod.
“Hairbrush and hair ties?”
Nod.
“Clothes for tomorrow, and PJs for tonight?”
“Yesss,” she drawls out, annoyed by my questioning.
“Underwear?” I drawl with one brow raised.
She goes still.
I laugh. “That’s what I thought. Go get in the car, I’ll grab them.” Instead of heading to the car though, she darts back into her room and runs out a few moments later clutching the white bunny she sleeps with every night. It’s her stuffy. The couple that kept her for the first night she was put into the system while Kim and I worked out the details of getting her placed with us gave her the stuffed animal, and it became her favorite thing. She can’t go a night without it.
I make quick work of finishing her packing, and then we’re both in the car and headed to Kim’s. When I pull in her gravel drive, they must hear because Nicky comes barreling out of the front door, screen slamming shut behind him, and darts in front of the car.
Thank God I was crawling at this point because he practically throws himself on the hood as I hit my breaks enough that Grace jolts against her seat belt.
“Nicholas Anthony Owens!” Kim belts out, waddling her fastest out of the front door to follow him.
“Nicky’s in trouble,” Grace whispers, like it’s a secret. I bite back the smile at how cute my kid is.
“Yes, he is. That’s why you don’t run out in front of cars, okay? Ever.” I turn around to look her in the eyes and make sure she understands how important safety is.
Her little eyes are wide and understanding as she nods.
“Good girl. Okay, grab your bag. Let’s go.” Our belts both click at the same time as we unbuckle and hop out of the car. Nicky is just finishing getting scolded as I walk up to them holding Grace’s hand.
Kim sucks in a huge, calming breath and blows it out before smiling at us. “Okay. Well. Hi Gracie-Lou. You ready for our sleepover? I got all the things to make homemade pizzas and ice cream sundaes for dessert!”
Grace’s face lights up, and she starts jumping up and down. “Yay!” The brat tries to run off into the house without saying goodbye in her excitement.
“Hey!” I call to her. She turns back and sees my open arms.
“Oh…yeah.” Her little legs move fast as she sprints back to me, hugs me tight for one point two seconds, and then hollers out an I love you as she runs into Kim’s house.
“Wow. I’ve been replaced by food,” I grouse to Kim half-heartedly.
“Yeah, yeah. Woe is you. Open your coat. Let me see what you’re wearing!” Greedy hands start clawing at the buttons on my coat, and I swat them away.
My sister, ladies and gentlemen.
“Would you relax,” I hiss, but unbutton it nonetheless and pop my hip out in a showy way. “Good enough?”
Her mouth pops open as she gets an eyeful. “Dude. You look hot!”
The shock makes me roll my eyes, but I laugh at her. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Oh, hush. I’m not surprised you can look hot. But I am surprised you actually put in the effort. I thought you’d show up half-looking like a potato just in protest.”
Now there is an idea. Why didn’t I think of that?
“What can I say? I’m embracing the evening,” I reply, buttoning the coat back up.
“What kind of lingerie are you wearing?” she asks in her ever-curious tone.
“Okay! Bye, sis. Love you. Take care of my daughter!” I shout over my shoulder with a wave as I jump back into the car.
“Will do. Go have the sluttiest time. Love you, too!” she shouts back, way too loud for my comfort. I flip her off as I back out the drive and make my way to the interstate.
Now, I just have to make it the hour drive without turning around to spend the night alone in my sweatpants with a glass of wine and a good book.
The sun set in the sky on the drive over, which cooled me off a little, but I still had to shed the coat. The inside of the car felt like a sauna, boiling me up. Rather than show up to this thing stinking, I tore the coat off and embraced the dressed-up look.
Now, the dark skies and cool wind from my peaceful drive over are replaced by a million lights and the busy sound of the city. Cars zoom past me as I slow to look around. The GPS says it’s close, so I look for a place to park.
I find something around the corner from where it says the club is and walk the rest of the way in my dress and heels. At least I’m in good company. There is no shortage of women strolling through Phoenix in dresses far more revealing than mine. It does help my nervousness and insecurity a smidge.
As I turn the corner, the building comes into view. It’s a black brick building with a “Club Ecstasy” sign lit in purple neon.
“Well, at least it’s not conspicuous,” I mutter to myself as I approach the big black door that I assume is the entrance. I don’t even have time to pull the gold handle before it’s opening for me. A man dressed in head to toe black with security emblazoned in white on his shirt nods his head at me.
“Ma’am,” he says respectfully. I shoot him a nervous but hopefully friendly smile. “Key, please.”
“Oh, right.” I laugh while opening the small black clutch I found thrown in the backseat. All that is in it is my phone, keys, the key for this party, and my license and credit card, just in case. Brandishing the party key so he gets a good look at it, I go to hand it to him, and he opens a black velvet bag for me to drop it in.
“Enjoy,” he tells me as he marks off my name on a list.
First glance at the room inside has my head spinning. This isn’t anything like I was expecting. I’m not sure what it is I thought the inside would be like. Maybe the place would have sex swings dangling from the ceiling, women leading men around by collars with leashes on them, or even people openly having sex on a stage.
And there is a stage—a big platform low enough to only need two steps that matches the Victorian theme of the room. Nobody is on it yet, though. And there is—thankfully—no bed for something I absolutely do not want to watch two strangers use out in front of a crowd.
Victorian-style chairs with the high backs and velvet cushions litter the space, placed strategically around the white columns with gilded composite-style moldings at the tops. Several large crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling and complete the elegant, almost regency feel of the space.
Already there are a ton of people here, much to my relief. Part of me wanted to show up five minutes before the close of doors, but Kim made sure I had Grace at her doorstep with plenty of time to spare. I half expected everyone to show up at least fashionably late. But looking around at the almost full room, people are excited to get the night started.
There are men and women walking around with trays of hors d”oeuvres. The women are scantily clad in black, sexy lingerie, and the men are wearing black boxer briefs. One of the men sidles up to me as I make accidental eye contact with him, but my stomach is too tied up in knots to even think about eating right now. I shake my head before he can even ask and spot a waitress with drinks on her tray instead of the appetizers.
That’s what I need. There are what look like a few cocktails on it, but I don’t want to be too tipsy. I just need something for the nerves. She gives me a sweet, red-lipped smile as I snag a red wine.
The first sip is bitter, but I feel it as it slides down my throat and settles in my stomach. The warmth that floods me is almost instantaneous. Wine is the only alcohol that can do that to me. On the next sip, I lean against one of the white columns in the room and survey the people roaming about.
It’s clear almost immediately there are people who came together and some who showed up alone, like me. There is a petite blonde sitting on a pretty brunette”s lap in one of the high-backed chairs, both women. The brunette slides a lazy finger up and down the blonde”s leg, while the blonde runs an absent hand through her long brunette hair. The familiarity in the touch and the way they speak in hushed tones as they both observe the people here makes it clear they’re already a couple. Maybe they just like to spice up their sex life, but I had assumed everyone here would be single, like me.
Stupid, Lillian.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I get the feeling that someone is watching me. Just as I think it, my eyes scan the crowd in a quick perusal, and I feel the blood drain from my face as my eyes lock on familiar hazel ones.
I blink.
I have to be hallucinating. In what world is my ex boyfriend at the same sex club on the same night for the same party as me? What are the odds?
Seriously.
What are those odds? One in a million? One in three hundred thousand? I went four years without any contact, never seeing his face, and now I’ve run into him twice in one week.
Realization dawns on me. Once, I can chalk it up to a coincidence. The look on his face when we bumped into each other a few days ago was genuine surprise. I make note of the way he’s eyeing me up and down, an undercurrent of frustration, maybe, but not an ounce of surprise.
How the hell did he figure out I was going to be here?
We have a silent battle of wills, both staring the other down. My mind is racing, but I don’t break eye contact. Not until, that is, he pushes off the wall and starts to walk my way.
Absolutely not.
He doesn’t get to stalk me and then dictate conversation, too. In a small panic, I look at all the men closest to me before settling on the most attractive one I can find. My heels sink into the rug I’m standing on, making my approach quiet. I don’t get his attention right away.
Awkwardness engulfs me as I wonder whether to tap on his shoulder or just start talking. I’d look a little goofy tapping on his shoulder, I think. The man is a giant. At least six foot five and clearly fit. Muscles strain against his tight, black suit.
Lincoln’s figure gets closer from the corner of my eye, so I speak. “Hi,” I say eloquently to the tall stranger. His eyes drag down to my small frame.
Every part of me tries not to shudder. This man, while incredibly attractive, looks mean. Dangerous. The kind of guy you don’t want to ask what they do for a living because you’re afraid they’re going to tell you they kill people or something.
His eyes are hard, if not a little curious as they stare down at me. But he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t greet me back or show any interest like I may have suspected from a guy at a sex party. This won’t stop Lincoln from approaching.
I extend my hand, hoping to get him to engage with me. Maybe even make Lincoln a little jealous. “I’m Lillian.”
A little breath of relief shoots out of me as he takes my hand and doesn’t just snub it.
“Vincenzo,” his voice is low. Vincenzo. He looks much older than my thirty. Maybe in his forties with a dark, neatly trimmed beard and hair to match.
Still, all he offers is his name. Damn, this man is not making it easy. “Not having a good time?” I prod, half-teasing. The man is surrounded by beautiful, half-naked women, and he’s got a permanent scowl on his face.
“That will start once I’m in a room,” is his short reply. Right. I clear my throat and try to ignore the visual that pops up of what this man would be like in bed. I guess I may not have to ignore it, considering it’s a blind draw to find out who you go up with.
I am so out of my depth here. Damn Kim for making me sign up for this. No part of me is going to be able to sleep with a stranger. Not when I know the men paid to be here. It’s feeling very Pretty Woman.
Just as I think about stepping away, I see Lincoln has stopped a few paces away and is glaring at the man. This is too hard to pass up.
I make myself adopt a flirtatious tone and talk loud enough that I know Lincoln will hear me. “You’re very handsome.” I even bat my eyes coquettishly. Taking a sip of my wine, I use that as an excuse to check Lincoln’s reaction. His shoulders are rigid, eyes hard and locked on Vincenzo. Violence brews in their hazel depths. A shudder goes through me, not entirely unpleasant. Lincoln is not, or at least never was before, a violent guy. He’s about as puppy dog-like as they come. His favorite thing to do is watch Disney movies, for Christ’s sake.
“Thank you.” Vincenzo draws my gaze back to him. Back to his forced smile. I almost want to laugh. I’m not a vain person, but I get enough looks from men to know that I’m objectively attractive. Yet the one man I latched onto in an adult club couldn’t want less to do with me.
“This natural?” he asks, taking a strand of my hair and rubbing it through his fingers. It’s my turn to force a smile.
“It is,” I tell him on a shrug, running my own hand through it to fix it back into place once he drops his.
“Everywhere?” he asks with a raised brow.
Everywhere?
My cheeks heat as I realize he’s asking if the carpet matches the drapes. Dear God, could I be any more uncomfortable now? This party—these people—are so strange.
“Yes,” I murmur, answering him for some freaking reason. I see his own gaze latch on to someone across the room, as distracted as I am with Lincoln so close.
He nods without looking at me and sips the scotch in his hand. “Lovely visual,” he says and walks away.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Now who can I use as my buffer?
There’s a second of panic, and I turn, about to shuffle away. But a big body blocks my way. Lincoln’s heady cologne invades my space—the same that he used four years ago—and I want to melt into him.
Until he opens his fat mouth. “What the hell was that, Lil?” Anger laces his words.
“What?” I feign ignorance, equally pissed. He is stalking me, and he’s the one that’s pissed?
No, a little harmless flirting on my part is the least that he deserves.
“Did you think that would work?” he grits out. My head jerks up to him, and I take in his body before a slow grin spreads across my face.
“I think it did the job, yes.” His jaw works as he glares at me.
“Do you even know who that was?”
“Vincenzo,” I reply breezily, confused by his question. My eyes dart to the man’s back as he walks away and then back to Lincoln.
“That’s fucking Vincenzo Bramante.” Lincoln puts a heavy amount of emphasis on his last name, and I frown at him.
“And?” I take a sip of my wine.
“And he’s basically the heir to the God damn Mafia,” he grits out, leaning around me in a way that blocks Vincenzo from looking at me. Not that he even needs to. The man couldn’t give two shits about me. Though my reaction to him now makes sense. The level of danger bleeding from that man was obvious. But I guess I’m not displaying the appropriate amount of fear for Lincoln because he continues berating me.
“What the fuck are you doing here anyways? This isn’t your scene.” His words reignite a fire in me.
“And how the hell would you know what my scene is? Maybe in the past four years, I’ve changed a little. You know, to become less of an embarrassment to people.”
He leans away from me, surprised at the venom in my tone, and his shoulders lose their rigidity. His arms come up in supplication, and just as he’s about to speak, to say something I probably have no interest in hearing, feedback fills the room from the microphone on stage.
We both glance over to see an older gentleman with a white beard and salt and pepper hair lean into the mic. He starts to speak.
“Hello, everyone. Can I have your attention, please?” All around the room, heads whip in his direction as he continues. “Welcome, everyone, to the first Wicked Temptation Key Party. We are glad you all have decided to join us tonight for what we hope will turn into an annual event. I’m Damien, your MC for the night. A few housekeeping issues to get out of the way before we get to the real reason you’re all here. Everyone here was medically checked for any transmittable diseases and pregnancy.”
I’m not sure why, but standing so close to Lincoln while the MC says this has my body heating up. All of a sudden, I’m thinking about him contracting some sexually transmitted disease and wondering how many women he’s slept with since we’ve been broken up; the fire continues to grow.
Damien goes on.
“While we’ve been given the all-clear, I still want to mention there are condoms in the bag you will be given once your key number is called. Using them or not is on you. Next, you all signed a waiver and an NDA to attend tonight; so as the old saying goes, what happens here stays here.
Lastly, in the same bag with the contraceptives, there will be some fun little toys you’re welcome to keep and a list of your partner’s hard and soft limits.”
I feel Lincoln’s eyes on me at this, and the heat that crawls up my neck has very little to do with the anger I’m trying to hold on to.
“These limits are to be respected at all costs. Security is posted around the inside of the club, so if there are any issues, please reach out, and it will be handled immediately.”
It’s my turn to look at Lincoln, and I startle a little to see he never stopped staring at me. Heat banks in the beautiful hazel eyes I don’t want to admit that I have missed.
“Okay, so without further ado, let’s get me off the stage and see who’s playing with whom tonight, shall we? Men who are picking keys please line up, and when I call your name please step onto the stage, you’ll draw a keycard, and I will announce the name and number of who you drew. The rest is all up to you guys. Have fun and be safe!”
Lincoln’s lips tilt in a sexy, sure grin before he walks away, and I can’t peel my eyes off him until he hits the stage.
There are five guys ahead of him. One by one, they step up onto the stage where they draw a key from the bag a woman is holding. There are a few looks of disappointment, some excitement, some without any facial expression at all.
My heart starts to beat even faster as it’s Lincoln’s turn. Emotions swirl inside me, and I can’t tell which one is winning out. The trickle of fear and jealousy that he’s likely going to pick some other girl”s name. Then the anxiety of wondering whether he’ll actually sleep with her tonight. Or the—I’ll never admit it out loud—excitement that my name could be drawn, and it’s me and him in a room alone together again. But even stronger than all of those is the inevitable burning humiliation at how it will feel being alone with him when the last time that happened, he was calling me an embarrassment.
It feels like the entire room gets quiet when Lincoln takes the two steps up the stage.
The clinking of ice against glasses ceases as he reaches the bag.
Whispers fade away as his hand disappears inside.
A low buzzing rings in my ear as he pulls out a gold skeleton key.
I hold in a breath, and my body leans forward slightly on instinct.
The emcee grabs the key from Lincoln, looks at it, and I loose my breath as he calls out my number.