“What prompted that sinister-as-hell laugh?”
“Nothing. I’m just wondering if there’s some sort of spanking sign-up sheet being passed around.”
Eliza took a testing sip of her drink and made a pleased sound at the taste. “I think it’s more of a conversation system.”
“Your hand, my ass…let’s do this. That type of thing?”
“Compelling, Caroline. I actually have goose bumps.”
They traded smirks. “Oh, come on. I don’t want to live in a world where spankings come with legal disclaimers.”
“You do everything else by the book. Why not outline the terms of your own booty bashing?”
Caroline nearly spit out her drink. “Don’t ever say that again.” She shook her head. “And I wouldn’t consider, on my worst day, having my…booty bashed—”
“Oh, you can say it?”
“—by some random weirdo wearing a clown mask.”
Eliza held up a hand. “Okay, wait. What the fuck are you talking about?”
Caroline pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Look. I might have ended up on some weird websites this afternoon. You know how I like to do my research. The point is—” She held up a finger when Eliza started to interrupt. “Dumplings. The point is dumplings.”
Eliza melted back into her seat with a pensive expression. “Caroline, I love a good dumpling. You know this about me.” She tapped the rim of her martini glass with her index finger. “But we never let ourselves…go. Shouldn’t girls our age engage in the occasional fling? You know, embrace our sexual freedom and give our middle finger to the man?”
“What are you saying? You want to be spanked by a clown?”
“No more talk of clowns.” Eliza shivered. “Besides, I think I’m more of a flogging girl.”
Caroline did a double take.
“What? You’re the only one who can do research?”
“N-no, of course not.” Caroline studied her best friend. They’d been inseparable since freshman year at Columbia when they’d been paired as roommates. She knew when Eliza was being serious. This appeared to be one of those times. “A fine time to spring this on me. We could have started small. Pottery classes or something.”
That got the desired laugh. “Listen, all I’m saying is, if the opportunity presents itself…I might consider going upstairs and—”
“Buy you a drink?”
Eliza and Caroline swiveled around to face the newcomer, a gorgeous, dark-haired man with a teasing smile and a hint of a British accent. He looked them both over with interest but winked at Eliza, who flushed red straight to the roots of her blond hair. “S-sure.”
“Perfect. On one condition. You bring it with you when we dance.” His grin was slow and sexy. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, right?”
Eliza widened her blue eyes at Caroline and gave a subtle headshake. In other words, Don’t be a cock block. She couldn’t exactly say no, could she? Even if her worst nightmare consisted of sitting alone in this den of iniquity for an interminable length of time while Eliza got her freak on. After her friend’s speech about feeling restless in their predictability, she had a feeling upstairs was exactly where the duo would be headed. She’d barely had time to process her friend’s newly adventurous outlook before the dark-haired Brit had appeared. She recalled Eliza’s words, though, and they echoed now in her head. We never let ourselves go. If her friend wanted to subject herself to humiliation in the name of spontaneity, who was she to stop her? Later, though, they’d be having a heart-to-heart.
“Oh, go ahead.” Caroline gave the man a once over, memorizing his features in case she ever had to pick him out of a lineup. “He looks like Gavin Rossdale resurrected from the nineties. You can hardly say no.”
Eliza beamed. “Be back soon. Promise.”
“I’ll be here.” Caroline flounced back in her seat and watched the two disappear into the darkness of the dance floor. They were immediately swallowed by the writhing crowd.
Since Caroline and Eliza’s arrival, the music had increased in volume, dozens of customers apparently feeling loose enough from their alcohol consumption to dance. Bodies were pressed together intimately, some even kissing.
Caroline swung her attention back to the bar, pretending to be immersed in her drink. With one hand, she swirled the red lollipop, creating a mini-whirlpool in her martini. At least she’d have time to pepper the bartender with questions about what it was like to work in a place like this.
When a solid male figure leaned against the bar beside her, she tried not to look up, even though she could feel his gaze on her. She didn’t want to make eye contact with any member of the opposite sex. He might talk to her, and she’d inevitably be forced to rebuff his awkward advances.