“Are we really going to go into a restaurant dressed like this? I don’t think so—unless you let me wear a fake nose and mustache to disguise myself.”
Laughing, both Naomi and Mariah roll their eyes and Mariah says, “Ella, I swear I don’t know how you wrote that dirty novel of yours. You’re such a prude—a babe but a prude.”
I stick out my tongue at her. “Am not,” I huff. “Just sensible and slightly dignified. Ever so slightly,” I add.
Naomi solves the problem for us. “How about we go to the diner on the same block as the club? They’re used to seeing it all.”
“Okay,” I say in defeat. I have a strong feeling I’m going to be overruled in everything we do tonight. I have to admit, though, I’m having fun for the first time in… well, since I can remember.
We get to the club at nine on the dot. Naomi signs us in and we have to show ID and sign disclaimers relieving the club from any liability for insult or injury—not the most reassuring thing in the world. As soon as we enter the room, my blood pressure rockets up: it’s scary. Everyone is in various stages of undress and/or outlandish clothing. There are very big, scary men dressed in black leather, strolling around, coiled whips and handcuffs dangling from their belts. One even smiles at me—an evil smile—and I get icy shivers sprinting up and down my spine. He sees my reaction and his grin gets wider. I reach for Mariah’s hand and clutch it for dear life. All of a sudden this is not so fun anymore.
“Naomi,” I shout over the din of the loud music, “dumb question: do you know most of the people here?”
“I know many of them by face, not name. I’ve been a member for about two years already so, yeah. But there are always new faces cropping up.”
I notice an older blond man checking out Naomi and she looks back at him with interest. Maybe she’ll go a separate way tonight? And that thought leads me to a chilling one: what if Mariah and Naomi both hook up and I’m left by myself? No, they wouldn’t do that to me. Would they?
“Come on,” Naomi shouts into my ear, “let’s go to the restroom and freshen up.” I nod and the three of us head over to the ladies’ room line. It take us nearly twenty minutes to make it to the front, use the facilities and wend our way back to the bar. Phew. I think I’ve already seen enough and that was just from the ladies’ room queue alone. I need a strong drink and soon.
Somehow, we manage to snag three bar stools, moving them into a contiguous row, and order drinks. Naomi is looking around and speaking to Mariah. I hear her say, “Oh my God, it’s Ian! He hasn’t been here in ages.” My head jolts up when I hear the name and I see the man she’s referring to right away.
It’s my Ian.
Well, it’s Ian Blackmon. Shit!
He hasn’t spotted us yet so I watch as first a brunette throws herself at him and then a gorgeous blonde. Ian seems happy to see them. In fact, I’ve never seen him so relaxed and smiling as he is now. I feel a hot rush of jealousy surge through me when the woman touches his chest. Why is he carefree with her and all stern and dominant with me? Does he consider me beneath him or something? I have to wonder. Naomi turns and catches me staring.”
“You like?”
“Ian?”
“Yes, he’s gorgeous, I know. But be warned: you and every female in the world like him. And he’s très picky.”
“I know him,” I say, my heart pounding so hard and fast, it seems to eclipse the volume of the blaring music.
“You do? By the look on your face, it’s not a good memory. You look terrified, Ella. Are you okay?”
I nod weakly.
“Huh. Have to say, I’m surprised to see him here—he hasn’t been at the club in, oh, it has to be a year or more. I assumed he got married or moved away or something.”
I close my eyes and try to think. Should I leave now or wait until he spots me? I want to see him so badly but I know I shouldn’t. For whatever reason, all logic flees me when the equation contains Ian Blackmon as a variable. Right now I can’t think at all. I down the rest of my drink in one big swallow and nearly choke at the burn. I don’t want to look at him again but I can’t help myself. And just as I look up at him, I see another woman rush in and grab at him, kiss him, and white-hot anger infuses my system. What is wrong with me? He’s not mine and I have no right to be jealous. But I am—so fucking jealous.
I watch as he swings an arm around the beautiful blonde’s shoulders and feel another injection of adrenaline pump into me. They start walking toward the bar, toward me. The woman is speaking to another man—the blond man who earlier caught Naomi’s attention—who seems to be with them and Ian happens to glance up and that’s when he sees me.