Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
KAT
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came to Club Caliber. A lot of big cities have clubs like this, but I’ve found that most of them don’t quite live up to expectations, whether that be because of the cleanliness, the atmosphere, or the members (no pun intended).
When I heard about this one after deciding to settle down back in Chicago, it sounded too good to be true. But as I stand here and take in everything while sipping on the last of my martini, all I can see are green flags. Everything is clean, the atmosphere is fun but classy, and the people seem happy.
“Going to join?” A man’s voice sounds beside me.
I turn toward him and am caught off guard by how handsome he is. I was half-expecting a creepy old man. They’re usually the bravest demographic, especially in places like this. But the man standing before me seems close to my age and definitely my type.
A flirty half-smile curves his lips, and his dark eyes glint with interest. He keeps a respectful distance but is close enough that I catch a whiff of his woody cologne.
“Not yet. I think I need a little more liquid courage before I jump on the dance floor.” I raise my almost-empty glass to emphasize my point.
“Well, that can be arranged. I’d be happy to buy you one.” His voice is low and smooth, the type of voice that I can imagine whispering all sorts of salacious things in my ear.
Wait, no . I’m not here to get laid tonight. I told myself I was only coming here to scope the place out, to get my bearings in the Chicago scene since I haven’t lived here in over twenty years.
“I’ll accept your offer as long as it’s not under the pretense of getting laid,” I say. Better to be up-front about it, and his reaction will tell me everything I need to know about whether or not I might want to see him again. Too many men get pissed off or try to coax me into sex when I tell them no, and those ones always end up being terrible people who can’t respect boundaries in any circumstance. A good personality is a necessary precursor for me to be interested anyway, so telling a man “no” is a great way to weed out the bad ones.
He chuckles. “Deal. That actually works out perfectly.”
It’s then that I notice the gold band on his ring finger. A wedding ring. God damn it. That means there are three possibilities here:
Option one: He’s in an open relationship. However, I try to avoid getting involved with people who are already partnered up. Every experience I’ve had with one half of a couple always ends in disaster.
Option two: It’s a unicorn hunt. He’s here with his wife and they both want a woman to have some fun with for the night. I’ve been with two couples in the past, but both times, I’ve been treated like a fun new toy that they can dispose of once I lose my novelty to them. I’m a way to spice up their sex lives until they don’t need me anymore.
Option three: He’s cheating, and his wife doesn’t know he’s hitting on me.
All terrible options for me. But then I realize what he said. “Wait, why does that ‘work out perfectly?’” I ask, making air quotes with my free hand.
“I’ll be honest, I’m here with my wife.” Surprise, surprise . “We haven’t been here in a long time, and we were joking about whether or not I could still pick up a woman. I was just about to tell you that she had bet me that I couldn’t pick up you specifically, and I was going to ask if you’d just have a drink with me to prove her wrong.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t the whole point of a bet like that to not tell the woman you’re trying to pick up about it?”
“Well, yeah,” he laughs, “but I didn’t want to lead you on or anything. Don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful, but…” he lifts his hand to show off his ring and gives me a sheepish smile.
Maybe it’shis intense charm and refreshing honesty, or maybe it's my unrelenting curiosity, but something makes me want to say yes. To be fair, it’s not like I’m doing something more exciting anyway. Watching people dance is only fun for so long.
I study him for a moment before saying, “Alright, I'll help you win your bet. Lead the way.”
He guides me toward the bar, and I notice how he keeps a good amount of space between us while still staying close enough to talk over the music. Every movement is deliberate, calculated to make me feel comfortable. It's refreshing.
“I’m Quentin, by the way,” he says as we reach the bar.
“I’m Kat.” I settle onto a barstool, and we shake hands before he flags down the bartender.
I try not to think about why such a quick, normal touch feels so electric.
After ordering our drinks, he turns his seat toward me to give me his full attention. I do the same until our knees are barely an inch apart from each other. “So what brings you here tonight?” he asks.
“Just moved back to Chicago after being away for a long time. Wanted to check out the scene since this club didn’t exist last time I lived here.” I keep my answer vague, not wanting to dive into my whole life story with a stranger.
“Well, welcome back. Where were you before?”
“I was a travel photographer, so anywhere the wind blew me, really.”
“And it just happened to blow you back to the Windy City.”
I can’t help but laugh at the goofy dad joke. His handsome smile makes it a little less terrible. “Exactly.”
We fall into easy conversation about my return to the city, how it's changed, and what's stayed the same. He's charming without being overtly flirty, curious without pushing for too many details about my life, and handsome in that effortlessly casual sort of way. It’s too bad he’s not single, but I can see why his wife married him.
Speaking of... “So, which one is your wife?” I ask.
He smiles and, without looking away from me, he says, “She has short blonde hair and is wearing a red dress. She’s on the opposite end of the bar.”
I discreetly look in that direction and spot the woman, but her face is turned away as she talks to a tall man who's leaning into her space. It seems to be a semi-friendly conversation, but even from here, I can sense her discomfort by the way she's leaning slightly away from him and subtly covering the top of her half-empty wine glass with her hand.
“Well, as much as I’m genuinely enjoying this conversation,” I say, “it looks like your wife might need some more pleasant company.”
His gaze snaps over to her, and he must notice the same thing I did, because he says, “You’re right. Want to accompany me over there?”
“Won’t you lose your bet if she finds out you told me about it?” I tease, even as I stand to follow him.
“Probably, but I actually think you two would get along really well. I’ll risk losing a trivial bet to introduce you two. Come on.”
In any other case, I would worry that this was some elaborate setup for me to join them for the night, but there’s no way he’s been anything but genuine with our interactions.
He leads the way around the bar to where his wife sits, and when he leans in to kiss her cheek, the man who was encroaching on her space slinks away. Quentin is still standing in front of me and facing his wife, so I awkwardly shift on my feet until he steps aside to introduce us.
But before he can begin introductions, my heart stops. Even after all these years, I’d recognize her anywhere.
“Kat, this is my wife, Sarah. Sarah, this is—”
Sarah’s face lights up with recognition and mild shock. “Oh my god, Kat ?”