Love Nouveau (20 page)

“Screw Phoenix,” I whisper to my reflection as I finish applying my mascara.

Oh, how I wish I could.

Genevieve stands out from our crowd—she is wearing a shockingly short white mini dress that barely covers the good china. And based on everyone else’s attire, I’m apparently the only one who believes your vagina should not be longer than your skirt. Hopefully Genevieve has no reason to bend over tonight or else everyone is in for a free show. Fortunately for all, there is not one sash or light-up neon penis in sight. Apparently the unspoken theme for our group is classy sluts as we look like a pack of high-end escorts.

Our gaggle of girls heads out toward the Viagra Triangle, a prominent area downtown on Rush Street. The stretch gets its name for the older, wealthy men who come to flash their worth to younger trixies like ourselves. It doesn’t matter if they’re married or not; these men aren’t looking for anything serious, just a quick lay, and the girls are just looking for attention. It’s an easy match for everyone involved.

After dinner at one of the most touted Italian joints in the city, we stumble down a dimly lit alley to a door hidden from view just off of the main strip. A built man sporting a sleek black suit and earpiece stands behind a plum velvet rope. As we approach, Genevieve begins to dance her way down the alley like it’s her own personal catwalk. The man says something into the lapel of his jacket and steps aside, allowing us access to what appears to be one of the most exclusive hot spots in all of the city.

“Welcome to Nuit Noir, ladies.”

The lights dimly glow a striking electric blue and the DJ, perched on a stage behind the bar, is blaring a loud techno re-mix of a Yelle song I heard all the time in Italy. Oversized concrete posts line the perimeter of the room. I imagine that the space may resemble something more along the lines of a bomb shelter than a dance club when the house lights are on. Long strips of plum fabric billow from the ceiling, softening the harsh, cold feeling from the cement.

Most of the tables are empty, but that is because the dance floor is a wall of human bodies gyrating in time with the heavy bass line. I see young, leggy socialites tempting wealthy businessmen, a couple rolling on E on the edge of stripping down naked, and in a booth behind another set of purple velvet ropes I spy Hollywood royalty in town for filming. I know for a fact they’re not of age, but as they throw back shot after shot, I realize that this club is above the law.

I motion my head over to the bar and our group follows. Mimi and I saddle up next to a salt and pepper forty-something in a three-piece suit. He eyes me up and down, spending a little too much time focusing on my ass.
Yes, I know it looks exceptionally good tonight. No need to ogle.
I offer a tight smile and turn my attention to the bartender
.

“I need a round of cosmos and lemon drop shots for sixteen!” I shout over the din.

“Sixteen?” he asks, showing me one finger and then six, just to make sure he gets the order right.

I nod.

As the bartender begins flipping the shot glasses up onto the bar pouring the vodka, the salt and pepper three-piece leans into me. “Let me get that for you.” It’s confirmation of what I already know. When you look as hot as we do tonight, it will be fairly easy to score free drinks all night long.

“No, we couldn’t possibly …” I refute demurely, delicately batting my eyelashes.

“It’s not up for discussion.” Raising his hand to stop me from finishing my rejection, he slides his black American Express card onto the counter and pushes it toward the bartender.

All of the girls huddle around me as I begin to pass the shot glasses back to our party.

I raise my glass in the air and proclaim over the music, “May we never regret this night! Cheers, bitches!”

Everyone hollers in wild fanfare and simultaneously we all throw our heads back and drink. The tart vodka burns my insides and I instantly feel warm all over. I’m surprised by how smoothly it goes down. There’s only one shelf in this place and it doesn’t get much better than top shelf vodka.

Genevieve drapes her arm around my neck and shoves her empty shot glass in the air before shrieking a powerful, “WOO!” in my ear before addressing our little crowd. “I’d like to thank my sister, Ivy, for planning such an awesome party for me tonight!”

I make a mental note to remember this moment in time, when my sister actually felt an iota of appreciation for my existence, fake or otherwise.

Placing my shot glass upon the bar, I begin to pass the cosmopolitans back to the rest of our group. The mystery man next to me gives me a knowing smile and signs the receipt. He leaves it face up, presumably for me to see his generosity.

Holy fuck.
The tip alone is triple digits. For that price, I’d expect these drinks to give me a massage, an orgasm, and a victory lap.

Suddenly I feel obligated to keep him company for a little while. I hop onto the bar stool next to him and sip my drink. It tastes infinitely better than any other cosmo I’ve had before. I suppose top shelf liquor will do that.

I lean into his ear. “Thanks for doing that.” I look over his shoulder and see half of the girls ogling at us and starting to hit the dance floor.

“My pleasure.” A flirtatious smile plays at his mouth and his tongue traces along the bottom lip. I look down to his left hand which is holding a scotch and soda and see a wedding ring.
What an asshole.
I know I’m no angel, especially with other people’s relationships, but helping a married man carry out an affair is something I’m simply not capable of anymore. Even I have standards. Maybe once upon a time I would have, but not these days.

As I politely sip my cosmopolitan, the sugar from the rim of the glass sticks to my lips. He reaches out and wipes his thumb across my lower lip, then sucks the sugar off, looking at me with hooded eyes.

My mind drifts to Phoenix and I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing right now. If he’s still with what’s her name doing who knows what. For the first time since we’ve been out partying, my heart starts to ache. It physically throbs and I bite back the tears. I need to keep my mind off of Phoenix tonight. Cut my losses and move on. I refocus my energy on this handsome gentleman in front of me, even though there is surely nothing gentle about this man. Maybe I do have it in me to hook up with a married man if it gets my mind off of the hurt I’m feeling?

I lick my lips provocatively and take a slow, polite draw from my cosmo. “What’s your name?” I ask, trying not to shout into his ear. I bite my tongue, wanting to ask what his wife’s name is instead.

He puts a single finger to my lips and shushes me. “Don’t ruin it,” he responds softly. As he leans into me, he runs his nose down the curve of my neck and into the dip of my collarbone, inhaling deeply.

I shiver and steel myself for a little mystery. There’s no way in hell this is going anywhere, but I find myself desperate for his distraction.

He takes my hand as I quickly toss back what’s left of my cosmo and I let him lead me to the dance floor. The drinks paired with the alcohol consumed during dinner set my insides afire. I pause to admire the way his finely tailored pants accentuate his tight ass, and I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to bite it. Mister Mystery pulls up a chair and sits along the edge of the dark wood dance floor. The lights, smoke and noise that fill every fissure of the room assault me.

“Dance for me,” he says seriously. There is an evil, mischievous glint in his eye. He leans back in the chair, hooking his ankle over the opposite knee. He watches me, expectantly, waiting for me to move. His hands meet in front of his mouth like a prayer, fingers templed at his lips. I instantly go from feeling like a high-end socialite to a cheap hooker in a matter of seconds.

Surely he can read the discomfort on my face as I make no effort to hide my uneasiness. He gestures his fingers in a “carry on” motion.

I need more alcohol to deal with this and grab a shot glass from a waitress working the dance floor. I most certainly cannot put on a show for him. To me, dancing is a two-way street, bodies acting and reacting to the motion of the other. Not me, gyrating solo on the dance floor so some guy can get his rocks off. If he wants a private dance, there’s a strip club not too far from here that he should go check out. I’m sure there are plenty of vixens willing to flash him their fine china for the right price.

Standing in front of him, I lean over and put my weight in my hands on his thighs. No doubt he’s getting a good view of my breasts in this corset.

“Come, dance with me.” I flutter my eyelashes and give a flirtatious tug on his striped silk tie. I watch his eyes drift down to my tits and his Adam’s apple bob as he presumably swallows down his guilt.

His eyebrows arch with amusement and I see a tiny spark light up in his eyes. Stripping his jacket from his shoulders, he allows me to lure him onto the dance floor and we begin to dance together, a little too intimately for my liking. Through the alcohol haze, I focus on his roaming hands and silently applaud myself for wearing pants and not a mini skirt tonight.

He loosens his tie and slowly paws down the side of my corset from my breasts to my waist until he’s caressing my hips. He moves his hips lower, pushing one of his knees between my legs. He looks, but doesn’t dare touch me further even though it’s evident he wants more.

I can feel his hard-on through his fine dress pants and I close my eyes, taken back in time to a junior high dance where poor Carl McLaughlin got an erection while we slow danced to Seal’s
Kissed from a Rose.
I choke back a laugh. Guys, at any age, are all the same really. Even so, his reaction makes me feel powerful—like a snake charmer coaxing a lethal python on command.

As we dance, I keep my head down in the crook of his neck and chest, inhaling the mixture of sweat and expensive cologne. His smell is not nearly as enticing as Phoenix’s. Any other girl in this club would be flattered by his obvious display of affection, but I’m so embarrassed
for
him I can’t even look him in the eyes.

Over his shoulder, I see the rest of the bachelorette party watching me intently. Genevieve is eyeing me jealously and giving me an approving nod as she dances with Amy and a few other girls from Chi Rho Gamma. Mimi is slack-jawed and giving a questionable nod. I think she’s asking if I need to be saved. I smirk and shake my head. In spite of everything being wrong in this moment, the mystery man is providing a welcomed distraction from the painful blow Phoenix delivered earlier today. Already it feels like that was light years ago.

The man leans down, taking his index finger to my chin and lifting it up so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. He slowly licks his lips as he studies my face. I can’t help but notice how his bottom lip juts out seductively, inviting to be bitten. A shiver runs down my spine when he runs the tip of his nose down my neck. His dark features could easily lure a young woman into his lion’s den, but I know he’s hunting the wrong prey tonight.

My sweat builds in time with his growing erection. I am nowhere near drunk enough to continue to allow myself to be in this situation, but before I’m able to break away, he makes his move quickly, taking my face in his hands and shoving his tongue into my mouth before I’m able to protest. His lips are rough, possessive and I mentally note how even the clueless first kisses I experienced as a young teen were better than this. He is all tongue and saliva.

Oh, hell no.

I fist my hands on his shirt and push back against him to break this mess of a kiss. Another round or two and I can do this. I can get lost in him for a little while and forget about Phoenix. I’ll just act the part until I’m drunk enough to forget.

“I need another drink,” I feign seductively.

I drag him back to the bar to order us another round of drinks and I stop dead in my tracks at the sight before me. Genevieve is leaning face down over the counter; standing next to her is a middle-aged Asian man dressed in all black, with Amy on her other side. Genevieve quickly snaps her head up and touches up the side of her nose. I watch her glassy vacant eyes as she rubs the powdery white residue across her upper gums.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I can hardly believe the scene unfolding before me as Genevieve continues on with her evening like she did not just take a line of coke off the bar.

I back away quickly, trying to remove myself from the situation before Genevieve realizes I saw her. I stumble into my mystery man and I simply shake my head before he releases me and I retreat to the bathroom.

Quickly, I push the door shut and lean against the back of it, taking a calming breath. Mimi emerges from one of the stalls, straightening out her skirt. I’m amazed that she’s managed to avoid snapping an ankle—
those heels must be at least four-inches.

“Ivy! You have to tell me your connection. How did you get us in this club?”

My eyes scan the floor for answers.

“I, uh. I didn’t. Genevieve coordinated everything.”

“But she said--”

“I know what she said, but I had nothing to do with getting us in here.” I snap back. Too much is happening too quickly and I need a few moments alone.

“Whoa. Kitty got claws!”

“Sorry, Mimi,” I pause, debating just how much I want to tell her about our evening. “I just saw my sister do a line off the bar, Phoenix is probably off fucking that whore on a unicorn, no doubt, and that douche bag back there is trying to get into my pants. I’m just freaking out a little bit.”

Mimi reaches out and touches my elbow. I’m not sure if she’s trying to comfort me or check her balance. Perhaps both.

“A unicorn? Honey, how much have you had to drink?” she asks, kindly. “And not that it’s worth anything, but your sister has been a cokehead for as long as I’ve known her.”

My only reaction is to blink. How have I never known this? What other secrets is she hiding? I know we haven’t been close since before we were kids, but I feel like I would have caught onto
something
over the past handful of years.