Page 13 of Caged By the Stranger
Face burning, I glance toward the stairs again. It’s still just the two of us and nothing but the ocean breeze up here. I probably need to admit something if I want to enlist his help.
“Yeah. Plenty of times.”
“Hm. Sounds like someone’s a little greedy.” He chuckles, drawing back and swirling his olive spear around.
Judgement? Really? I’m not the one who carries around the damn club’s card in my wallet and hands it out to a complete stranger. Rolling my eyes, I grit my teeth and scan the bottles behind the bar, remembering I came here in search of liquor to take the edge off. That edge has just increased twofold, thanks to Mr. Smug.
“Whatever,” I grumble. “I’m single. I work all the damn time.”
Following my gaze, he grabs a bottle of scotch from the bar-back setup and raises it in question. If he wants to play bartender, fine by me. It’s the least he can do for, in part, getting me into the mess that I’m in. I shrug my shoulder carelessly in approval, and he places a rocks glass in front of me.
“Well, then I’m glad you found something that fits into your schedule. Ice?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Watching him tediously scoop cubes from an ice bucket with a little metal scoop, my line of questioning feels like a snarl of Christmas lights that needs unraveling. I’m not overly social outside of my sales routes, and I can’t remember ever talking about sex with anyone. Something about him making me a drink, however, gives off a vibe of camaraderie, bolstering mybravery. I mean, if recommending sex clubs is no big deal to him, I should try to act like it’s no big deal to talk about one.
“Have you ever…had a problem…at one of these places?”
“What kind of problem?”
“The kind where…” Jeez. What do I even say? Shifting, my tender nuts beg me to say something. “Like if someone acted inappropriately.”
He stops mid-pour. His chestnut gaze flicks to mine with something more threatening in it than I imagined him capable of possessing. Until now, I’d have pegged him for one of those people who are so laid-back it’s almost obnoxious. “Did someone hurt you?”
“No,” I blurt, taken aback at his level of concern. I don’t want this to be a big deal. I want to get the help I need and then have it be a forgettable conversation. “They just…did something I didn’t expect.”
Brow furrowing, he considers my cryptic admission and finishes his pour. “And you didn’t like it?”
I’ll give him points for being delicate. I should be grateful he’s respecting my apparent desire for privacy by not asking me to elaborate, but his surprising discretion just embarrasses me further. It’s embarrassing because my gut instinct suddenly has me wanting to be completely transparent. It’s another thing about this entire ordeal that I realized last night—it’s left me feeling emotionally vulnerable on a level I’ve never experienced.
“I…I don’t know.”
Sliding the rocks glass toward me, he rests his hands on the edge of the bar. Brow creased, he looks rightly stupefied by my contradiction.
Fucking hell. I never imagined talking about my sex life to a complete stranger.
Taking a healthy gulp of my drink, I wait for the burn to make its way down my throat. We’re two adults who’ve both been to asex club. Get over yourself, Charlie. It’s not like the mystery man is here to hear any of this.
“At first it seemed kind of hot,” I admit, because…for a few blissful moments in that room, it was. And, if I’m being honest, when I’m not freaking out, it still seems hot for some completely fucked-up reason I can’t explain. “But now, no,” I affirm. “Not anymore.”
“Jeez, I’m sorry I gave you the card then,” his reply comes with earnest remorse. “I was just trying to help, I swear.” I feel an inch smaller under that odd apology as he takes a drink and then scrubs his hand over his dark stubble. “You know, if you’re not up for casual encounters, that might not be the place for you. Maybe get yourself a boyfriend instead.”
God. He’s missing the point here. Granted, he doesn’t know the whole story, but I don’t have the patience right now to listen to misguided life advice.
“I don’t need or want a boyfriend. I just…need to talk to them about it, but they haven’t been back and the doorman won’t tell me who it is.”
“Privacy is a big part of those places. He’s just doing his job.”
“I know that, but I have a problem that can’t be fixed without knowing who my visitor was.”
“You’re pregnant?” he asks, smirking.
And there’s the fucking Rory I pegged him to be when I noticed that twinkle in his eye the night he gave me that card. What the fuck was I thinking going to a damn place this guy recommended?
“It’s not funny.” I glower.
“Did you catch something?”
