2. Cole
Cole
“Remind me where this place is?” I say, glancing over at Freddie, who’s looking out of the cab’s window, scanning the roads around us.
“Westminster, one of the back streets,” he says, with a look that tells me he’s trying to hide a smile.
“Right. Gotcha.” I sit back, watching as London landmarks pass us by in a blur. “And how do you know the owner again?”
“We worked together a couple of years ago. He left the fund and set up his little club, the sly fox. I only found out about it a few months ago, and he hooked me up with membership.” He grins, his dimples appearing instantly.
Freddie’s my best friend, and has been since we met in the first week of university, close to fifteen years ago.
We couldn’t be more different if we tried.
He’s a rags-to-riches City boy, working for a hedge fund, and I’m a freelance graphic designer.
What he lacks in finesse he makes up for in loud, brash confidence.
He’s annoying as fuck and utterly charming when he wants to be.
He’s also taking me to what he’s described as a private members’ club so many times that I’m pretty confident we’re on our way to a sex dungeon.
If he thinks he can shock me, he’s got another thing coming. Freddie and I might spend a lot of time together, but I’m an openly bisexual man living in London. I could tell him things that would have his jaw on the floor. But I’ll let him have his gleeful little ‘gotcha!’ moment anyway.
The cab pulls up on a road full of what appear to be residential properties. The kind that oligarchs buy and then leave empty. So far, so unassuming. Freddie pays the driver and we climb out of the cab.
“Cole, I should prepare you.” He turns to face me, his serious expression made utterly unconvincing by the mischief dancing in his eyes.
Oh, here we go. The pantomime begins.
“Ok…” I reply, raising an eyebrow and adjusting my glasses slightly.
“This club… it’s a very private club. You’ll have to sign an NDA to get in.” He levels me with a stern look, and my lips twitch as I struggle to keep a straight face.
“Ok,” I repeat, patiently.
“Don’t freak out, but Salt is… well, it’s a sex club .” He grins at his big reveal, and I do my best impression of a surprised reaction. Well, I raise my eyebrows and cock my head.
“And the reason we’ve come here is…?”
“For the adventure of it, Cole!” He claps me on the back and rubs his hands, looking at the nondescript property in front of us like he’s about to enter Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
His eyes are all bright and shiny, and I bite back the rush of affection that floods me at his excitement. He’s adorable when he thinks he’s being edgy and I don’t want to take that away from him.
He’s not exactly the type to have been to Torture Garden on a Saturday night – he’d be shellshocked if he got a proper glimpse at what exists in London’s kinkier underground. A little cosy sex club in Westminster will probably be charmingly vanilla compared to some of the wilder stuff out there.
“Lead the way, then,” I say, giving him a mock bow as he follows the steps down to the door.
He presses a discreet doorbell with an ‘S’ on it and we’re greeted by a burly man in a beautifully tailored suit.
Ten minutes – and several rounds of paperwork – later, we’re finally allowed to head in.
The doorman gives us both a nod of thanks and then pulls the inner door open.
“Welcome to Salt, gentlemen. Have a wonderful evening.”
Freddie might not have been able to shock me with Salt being a sex club, but that doesn’t mean I’m not surprised when we get downstairs.
This place is gorgeous . I’ve always had an appreciation for great interior design, and no expense has been spared in making this place beautiful.
Everywhere you look there are sumptuous touches – red velvet draped around the booths, dark cosy alcoves and corners, and mahogany everywhere.
It looks like a classy cabaret joint. The only indication it’s not is a discreet sign pointing the way to the playrooms beyond the bar.
I wonder how bold Freddie’s feeling tonight – if his bravado will only take us as far as this bar or if he’s planning to ditch me for the first gorgeous woman he can get his hands on.
As we order our drinks at the bar, a man in a crisp Oxford shirt approaches us from a discreet side door and waves. He’s tall, with silver-shocked dark hair and a jawline that makes him almost cartoonishly attractive. Even his forearms are appealing, the handsome bastard.
“Freddie Lane! Long time no see. I heard you were in tonight. Welcome to Salt.” He gives Freddie a warm smile that lights up his green eyes.
“Pullman, you absolute dog! Look at this place. Congratulations, man.” Freddie shakes the man’s hand and beams at him. He smiles and then catches my eye, giving me a quick but scrutinising once-over that I’m sure every guest receives.
“Cole Avery,” I say, extending my hand. “This place is beautiful.”
“Thank you. I’m Luke Pullman.” The handshake he gives me is firm but friendly, and I instantly like him. “Have you had the tour?”
“Not yet,” I reply. “I’m Freddie’s plus-one tonight, and he only told me about the, er, nature of the club as we arrived.” I quirk an eyebrow as Freddie grins at us both, the cat who got the cream.
Luke rolls his eyes and shakes his head slightly, but the smile remains.
“And what is it you do, Cole? Are you in the City?” Luke asks.
“Christ no,” I reply, as Luke laughs. “I’m a graphic designer. Freddie and I are old friends from uni.”
“Ah, that’s lovely. Giancarlo will sort you out with a round on the house,” he says, giving the nod to a dark-haired bartender, who whips out some chilled tumblers.
“I’ll let you guys settle, but just shout if you want me to show you around.
We’ve got a performance starting in about five minutes.
Do excuse me.” With that, Luke disappears round a velvet curtain and Freddie turns to me with a grin on his face.
“We’re in a freaking sex club, Cole!” he says in a gleeful stage whisper.
“Yes, and you’re going to get us kicked out if you don’t stop looking like a kid who got into the biscuit box,” I whisper back, cuffing him playfully over the head. He gives me a boyish grin as we grab our drinks and take a seat in a little shadowy booth near the back.