The guy, who could definitely moonlight as a romance book cover model, took notice of me as he turned to heave the box on the bar top. Maybe he’d take pity on me and crack open the seal of one of those expensive-looking tequila bottles and pour me a shot. His eyes flared with something I didn’t understand as he scanned me from head to toe and back again, his lips parted in surprise.
The sharp peaks of my nipples pushed against the rough fabric of my dress. I was soaked, and it was freezing in here. I only had to put two and two together along with the blush that crept up on his face to know I was showing off way more than I intended to.
I had had enough. “Are you gonna help a girl out or just keep staring at my tits?”
TWO
ISABELLA
“Iz!” Dominic’s voice made me turn before the male model could answer. “Jesus Christ, do you own a bra?” Dom’s hands flailed in the air as he tried to physically block my appearance from his vision. “Goddammit, Iz, your nipples are out!”
I heard a chuckle come from the male model, but I ignored him. Currently, I took zero pity on the scars I was undoubtedly inflicting on my baby brother. “They’re just nipples! We all have them!”
I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling the wet fabric press into my arms. I couldn’t wait to take this stupid dress off. “In case you couldn’t tell, it’s a fucking monsoon outside, and for some reason, you keep it set to Arctic tundra temperatures in here.” Aware of the male model’s gaze, I asked Dom, “Do you have a sweatshirt or something? A parka? Even a Snuggie would do.”
“No, Iz, I don’t keep my winter gear here, just”—Dom started to walk away, his eyes to the ceiling, avoiding any glimpse of me—“cover yourself or something. I can give you a tour of the place real quick before I leave.”
“Oh my god, thank you so much for your overwhelming hospitality. How can I ever thank you for your generosity?” I rolled my eyes and picked up my tote. Maybe I could carry it across the front of my chest and protect my baby brother from the offense of my nipples. But the leather was soaked, and I’d have to spend an hour conditioning the material of my Celine tote bag to try to salvage it from ruin.
“Here, this might help.” The male model spoke, and his voice was deeper than I expected it to be. He tossed me a hoodie from behind the bar, and it was still warm, like he’d just taken it off. “Not that I’m complaining,” his eyes shifted down my chest, and my eyebrows shot up at his brazen attempt to check me out, “but it is cold in here, sorry.”
And this is typically when I would fall in love.
Another version of me, a past version of me, would take a whiff of this man’s hoodie and be convinced the pheromones it emitted were that of my soulmate. Another version of myself would smile a lazy grin at this man, lock eyes with him, and allow the film reel of our future to roll through my mind. Izzy of the Past would replay this moment repeatedly, analyzing how his full lips parted when I leaned over the barstool to pick up the hoodie. I would take note of the way his brown eyes didn’t leave mine as I stuffed my arms into the sleeve and tugged the thick fabric over my head.
But that version of myself had been dropped off somewhere between Spain and the Netherlands. That version of myself hadn’t made it through customs.
Instead, I picked up the hoodie, snuck a quiet sniff, and quickly said, “Thanks.”
“Oh,” Dom had turned back to me, “I guess before we move on, Iz, this is Max, your new boss. Max, my sister, Isabella.”
I pulled the oversized hoodie further down, making a half-baked attempt to shield myself. Not only did it give me an extra moment to channel my inner Zen, but it also allowed for one more deep inhale of his intoxicating firewood scent. As I peered out, it hit me. Max was the living embodiment of every “Too-Hot-to-Be-Real” meme I’d ever shared. Naturally, my new boss had to be a model-esque heartthrob with probable delusions of Hollywood grandeur. I’d known the staff would be young, but no one warned me about navigating a sea of under-thirties looking like they’d leaped out of a cologne ad.
I set my face in a small smile as I said, “Hey, hi, hello.” Every laugh line I’d recently noticed forming around my eyes waved hello too.
Max had picked up a wineglass and was buffing it with one of those lint-free towels whose texture gave me the heebie-jeebies. But his eyes were locked on mine, and the corner of his mouth was turned up slightly like he could read my inner panic. Because, of course, guys who look like him know how they make women feel, with his dark hair swept back and smoothed down, and his stupid black t-shirt that was too tight across his arms.
I pulled my eyes away and turned to my brother. “Are you going to show me around this brothel or what?”
“Iz,” Dominic said as he rolled his eyes and started walking, “it’s not a brothel. Whatever, come on.”
Dominic walked me around the entire bottom floor of the Prism Society and pointed out various areas where members could sit and enjoy drinks so I could get an idea of my section. There were cozy nooks scattered throughout the entire first floor. Pairs of small cream, fuzzy-looking chairs swiveled in toward each other in the main lobby, curved high-back velvet booths lined two walls, and of course, high-top chairs ran the length of the entire bar.
I heard the pride in his tone as he walked me through the spaces, and even though I felt like a soggy newspaper thrown out on someone’s lawn, I couldn’t help the big grin that spread across my face. My brother had always been the one to slide into a situation, totally unequipped, only to massively succeed. Dom was the kind of person who would quietly watch how others went about their lives. He seemed to take notes on what to do better so that by the time it was his turn, he was immediately the best at it.
This trait annoyed me. It was something, as the oldest, I didn’t get the luxury of doing. I was the kind of person to dive in headfirst and figure it out on the way down. While that personality worked in my early twenties, it was time for me to get some clarity. I craved the sureness Dominic had about where his life was heading. It definitely didn’t seem like he tossed and turned every night, pondering all the missed opportunities and what-ifs.
I browsed the second floor with Dominic, my gaze darting curiously around. This was the Prism Society’s inner sanctum, where members sought full-service sexual exploration.
“Jules is in charge up here,” Dominic pointed out, indicating the bubbly woman with bright blue hair seated at the reception. A sign reading “reservations only” was prominently displayed.
I greeted Jules with a polite nod, noting the oxblood-painted doors behind her. I remembered Dominic mentioning them—the private rooms with ever-changing access codes. I could only imagine the activities they shielded.
Growing up, discussions about sexuality were commonplace in our household. However, hearing about Dominic’s venture with Liam differed from actually being here, experiencing the ambiance and the hidden promises it held. We headed up to the third and final floor.
On the top level were the private offices for Dominic and Liam and a wide-open, skylight-lit room. Well, it would be on a day that didn’t look like Dementors were about to fly down through the rain-pelted sky. I recalled Dominic mentioning a recent workshop—something about Sensual Food Play. I shuddered at the thought of misused sushi rolls.
Back on the main floor, Dominic showed me to my designated office, where I would be sharing a space with Max, Maureen, and Jules. I noted Maureen’s age and wondered about her story. Maybe I could strike up a friendship with Maureen, the sixty-something my brother hired for his front desk support. Apparently, she had been looking for something to spice up her life in retirement. I wonder what she thought about all the activities that took place behind my spot in front of the heavy velvet curtains.
