Chapter 19
Phantom. Now.
I watch the steam rise from my coffee mug.
Princess made the mug. She makes a lot of things. Mugs. Lanyards. Unicorn-populated fanny packs. And when she gifts them to me, I enjoy them. With pride.
This mug in particular is a favorite. It reads: “Grumpy Old Man.” Which is…accurate. Incredibly accurate right now. I’ve never felt older. Or grumpier.
My phone sits face down beside me. If I turn it over, I might be tempted to text her back.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
She put up boundaries, and she needs me to prove I won’t cross them.
As impossible as it feels.
Ophelia might as well have carved her texts into my skin. Her words itch like fire ants across my body and I can’t shake them free.
The sound of slippered feet shuffling across the floor gets me to lift my head. Princess walks into the kitchen. “Morning,” she says.
“Morning.”
Her blonde hair is pulled apart in her signature pigtails.
She’s still in her pajamas, a lengthy robe patterned with Anime creatures.
It’s from a TV show she likes, and she tried to tell me the plot once, and I listened and nodded, but nothing stuck.
Still, I like the way her voice lights up when she talks about it.
“I have a present for you,” I tell her. I remove the progesterone prescription from my pocket and hand it over.
“Merci, monsieur.” She puts it in the pocket of her robe before helping herself to the pot of coffee.
Princess and I divide the house; I live in the basement apartment, she lives upstairs in the attic.
Her “princess nest.” Years ago, I found her while I was working with the street team—a band of volunteer medical professionals who walk the streets to provide medical care to the unhoused.
I took her in. Gave her a place to stay.
And she’s been here ever since, helping me run the club.
We take care of each other, in our own ways.
For a while, I thought her platonic company was enough to fulfill my need for companionship.
Then Ophelia stepped into my life.
Ophelia. Stop thinking about Ophelia. I take my first sip of coffee.
For most people, caffeine wakes them up.
For me, it’s the final shot of adrenaline to my already-adrenaline-riddled system that finally shakes me apart and takes me down.
Sleep doesn’t come easy to me. I need to be tranquilized like a runaway bull in order to get any rest at all.
I rub my chin and feel the bite of a night’s worth of stubble. I need to shave. Shower. Things that feel insurmountable right now.
“How was Ophelia’s party?”
“It was okay,” Princess says. She’s being political. Trying not to offend me.
“You can say you enjoyed it.”
“It was fun. It made me think…we should do more social events. It’s been a while.” Princess taps her nails on the table. “Valentine’s Day is Friday. What if we have a Valentine’s Day themed club party?”
I answer immediately, “No.”
A fact about me: I might own a sex club, but I’m not good at the…well. Club part of it.
That’s where Princess and I divide up responsibility.
I provide the space. I make sure everyone safe.
I kick out anyone who gives me so much as a bad vibe.
She provides the sparkle. She organizes the social events that take it out of me—things like munches and newbie-night.
She’s also the one who upgraded us to the twenty-first century by building an app that I can still only barely use.
I am, however, very good at the block function.
The Seekers Club is much better with her in it. But I crave the simple things. The dark. The quiet. Small groups. No frills. Just skin. Rope. Ophelia’s screams.
As if she can read my mind, Princess adds, “I bet Ophelia would come.”
A lock turns inside me. She’s not wrong.
Ophelia has never been one to turn away from a good time.
I know too well that if I want Ophelia back…I’m going to have to make some big moves. Starting now. A party is a good place to start.
Okay, Princess. You win this round.
I lift my head slightly, resting my chin on my arm. “Okay. Let’s do it. What do you need?”
Princess brightens. “Oh! Great! Just a couple things. I’ve already made a list.”
She slides over a checklist, each tick-box shaped like a heart. It’s a million items long.