Chapter 5
Blake
Okay, so this sexual frustration may not make me a nice person to live with, but it is good for my game.
I’ve been on fire on the field in the last month, topping the competition for leading goal scorer.
We’ve won three of our first four games for the season, and while the team is stoked, Everett is pretty much avoiding me at this point.
Either that or shooting me death glares as I stomp around the house.
It was pretty obvious that Coach Johnson thought our captain would best be able to deal with my shitty mood when he assigned Noah as my roommate on our away game last night.
He tried to get me to talk, but what am I supposed to say?
My head’s all screwed up because of a single fucking kiss with a mysterious masked stranger at a sex club.
Yeah, no thanks. Instead, I put my AirPods on and pretended to fall asleep.
I’m not sleeping very well because I’m constantly on edge. It’s like a fucking merry-go-round of horrors. I know I’m being an arsehole, but I don’t know how to fix it.
In the three weeks since I kissed Abigail, I’ve tried hooking up with a couple of different girls, but the same problem keeps happening.
The flirting and banter are fine, but as soon as I kiss them, it’s just disappointment.
No spark, no excitement downstairs, nothing.
I’m starting to think I’m broken, although I can still get hard in the shower and in bed when my mind is free to fall into fantasyland with a certain pixie.
Fuck my life.
Everett’s little sister is staying over tonight, so I escape to Carter’s with Zac, Noah, Dane, and Jasper and his girlfriend, Katie, but it’s much the same with no one there catching my interest. Dane has no such trouble, disappearing with a girl back to her dorm room within an hour of arriving at the campus bar, leaving me as the awkward fifth wheel with the two loved up couples.
It doesn’t take me long to make my excuses and leave.
In a last-ditch act of desperation, I find myself adjusting my mask before pushing through the curtains to the main lounge of Euphoria.
It’s ridiculous. She won’t be here. The only reason she came last month was for her friend’s hen’s party. She didn’t strike me as the type to attend masked nights at a sex club, but it’s the only thing I can think of doing.
Like last time, I make a beeline for the bar and order a beer. Sipping my drink, I scan the room, looking for the familiar white mask with pink and silver glitter that I’ve been seeing in my dreams for a month now. When I don’t spot her, I turn back to the bar and stare miserably down at my drink.
I’m officially pathetic.
It’s not even like I’m looking for a relationship—that isn’t on the cards for me—but I need some way to get her out of my head.
“Everything okay?”
My gaze lifts to the topless bartender, a good-looking guy in his mid-to-late thirties with a kind smile.
I heave a sigh, realising how I must look sitting in the middle of a sex club looking like someone just kicked my puppy. “I’m… uh… kind of looking for someone, I guess.”
His lips twitch with the hint of a smirk, and I know he’s probably thinking, well, duh, dude, you’re in a sex club, but to his credit, he holds it back. “Someone in the broader sense, or someone who might be a member?”
My shoulders deflate. There’s no way she’s a member here. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I’m not judging anyone who is. Power to them for having the confidence.
Swallowing down my embarrassment, I open up to the guy. “Someone I met here last month. She was here for her friend’s hen’s party.”
He nods, and this time his smile is genuine, not condescending at all. “Ah, yes. I remember them. They had fun dancing up a storm in our Woodlands Lounge.”
My brow furrows. “Woodlands Lounge?”
He chuckles. “We have a few different sections within the club to cater to everyone’s needs.”
“Oh, right.” My cheeks heat, and I take a sip of my beer.
“Diego,” he says, offering his hand over the bar. “I’m the head bartender here.”
I stare at his hand for a second, wondering whether to give him a fake name, then think better of it. My first name doesn’t give anything away, and I’m wearing a mask to hide my identity. “Blake.”
Someone approaches the bar on my left, and Diego holds up a finger to me before taking the guy’s order.
He pours their drink, then turns his attention back to me.
“So, Blake. Tell me about this woman who has your stomach in knots.”
My smile is more of a grimace. “That obvious, huh?”
He holds up his thumb and index finger. “Little bit.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, fair. You’re going to think I’m pathetic, though, because despite this being a sex club, all we did was kiss.”
“Kissing is more intimate than sex.”
“It is, but it was more than that. This kiss felt like… like the entire world disappeared and it was just me and her.” My face heats again, and I shake my head. “Forget it. I’m pathetic. I can’t believe I’ve let myself get all worked up over a stupid kiss.”
“Something tells me it was more than just a stupid kiss. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. You don’t exactly seem comfortable being in a sex club.”
My gaze bounces up to his. “I’m not judging—”
He laughs and waves me off. “Never said you were. I only said you don’t seem comfortable.”
I slump against the bar. “It’s probably a good thing nothing went further with the little pixie. I have a… complicated past. She deserves better.”
Diego studies me, and I shift in my seat.
“I think you’re being hard on yourself.”
“You don’t know me.”
He smiles and taps his head. “I have a sixth sense about these things.”
“What, you see dead people?” I mutter, and he laughs, but I’m not joking. If he did see dead people, I’m sure my old man would be haunting my arse. Probably my mother, too.
“I like you.”
Something strange settles in my gut. “Oh, um… I’m not, uh…”
My bumbling only causes him to laugh even harder. “I’m not propositioning you, honey. I’ve got my own complicated mess going on.” He winks. “Okay. This isn’t your first time here, but you clearly haven’t explored the club.”
I shake my head. “I came for my mate’s girlfriend’s twenty-first last month, but I didn’t stay long.”
He grins. “Only long enough to meet this mysterious pixie that’s brought you back?”
I can’t help the self-deprecating smile that tugs on my lips. “Something like that.”
“One sec.” Diego grabs a radio off the bar and says something into it before calling out to the other two bartenders that he’s taking a break. Then he steps out and motions with his head for me to follow him.
I stare at him, confused for a second, but figure I’ve got nothing to lose and climb off my stool to join him.
He indicates towards three velvet curtains across the opposite side of the room—one blue, one purple, and one rainbow. “Over there we have our male-only, female-only, and LGBTQ+ rooms.” We pass a corridor, and I spot a red curtain down the hall. “That’s our voyeur hall.”
Voyeur hall?
As in watching… okay, yep. I’m in way over my head.
“We also have private rooms people can rent out. Not everyone is into exhibitionism,” Diego says as he pushes through a thick, white velvet curtain.
I hold my breath as I follow him, wondering what the hell I got myself into.
But the white bar looks like just that—booths set up for privacy and a few high-top tables.
It’s like an upmarket version of Carter’s, minus the drunken university students.
Everything is white marble or leather, and the staff behind the bar are wearing white masks.
“This is our Angel Lounge,” Diego says as he crossed the room to a forest-green curtain. “But the place your woman spent most of her night is through here.”
“Wait,” I put a hand out to stop him before he pushes through. “How do you know this?”
He shrugs. “We only had one hen’s party last month, and I was working in the Woodlands Lounge. The hen was dancing up a storm in here for most of my shift, along with three friends.”
I ask the other question that’s been burning in my gut since we left the bar in the main lounge. “Why are you helping me?”
His smile is rueful. “Because I’m a hopeless romantic, and I’m generally a good judge of character. You seem like a nice enough guy, and if I can play fairy godmother to anyone, it would be a six-foot-something hunk with a chip on his shoulder.”
My laugh is genuine now. “Thanks, I think.”
“Look, maybe she’s in here, and maybe she’s not. But I’m a huge believer in fate, and if you’re meant to see her again, you will.”
We push through the velvet curtain.
This part of the club is more like a nightclub. The lighting is low, with flashing lights, and the music is loud. There are people on the dance floor, and while most of them appear to just be dancing, I notice some other action going on when I look closer.
I follow Diego to the bar, where he shouts something to one of the staff, and a moment later, he hands me another beer.
My eyes adjust to the lights in here, and while I sip the ale, I scan the room, but there’s no sign of my little pixie.
By the time I drain my beer, I’ve given up hope of seeing her again.
Diego picks up on my defeat and claps me on the shoulder, following me out of the Woodlands Lounge.
“Thanks for the tour,” I say as we cross the Angel Lounge. “This place is actually pretty impressive.”
I’m not lying.
It may not be somewhere I’d choose to come, but they’ve catered for everyone, and the inclusivity is admirable.
“I’m sorry you didn’t find your pixie.”
I shrug. “Like I said, I have a complicated past. I can’t give her what she deserves anyway.”
We reach the bar in the main lounge, and Diego stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Everyone deserves happiness, Blake. Whatever happened in your past doesn’t have to define your future.”
I shoot him a grin. “You really are a hopeless romantic.”