Lauren Blakely: Night After Night

“You are welcome anytime at my bar,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I know,” he said pointedly. “And the next time I’m there the pretty bartender will make me a pretty drink.”

When he was done counting, he dropped his hand into the pocket of his pants, slowly rooted around, and withdrew a slender knife. Only a few inches long and more like a camping tool it was hardly a weapon, but it didn’t need to possess firepower to send the message – he could cut her to pieces if she failed to deliver. He brought the case to his chin, scratched his jaw once, twice, like a dog with fleas, keeping his muddy brown eyes on her the whole time in a sharp, taut line. He didn’t blink. He shoved the knife back into his pocket, then raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Some kind of business goon scurried over, a leather bound ledger tucked under his arm. “I knew you could take the VC,” Charlie said to her, a nefarious glint in his eye. “That’s why we brought Hunter for you. You did a good job separating the fool from his money.” Julia’s insides twisted with the way Charlie talked. Then he turned to his associate who’d opened the book. “Mark this down in the books. Red is a little bit closer.”

The guy scribbled in a number.

“A lot closer,” Julia corrected.

“A lot. A little. What’s the difference? The only thing that matters –” Charlie stopped to raise a finger in the air, then come swooping down with it, like a pelican eyeing prey as he stabbed her name in the ledger “–is when this says zero. Until then, you are a lot, you are a little, you are mine. Now, you want some kung pao chicken? It’s considered the best in San Francisco by all the critics.”

She shook her head. “No thanks. I’ve had my fill tonight.”

“I will see you next Tuesday then. Shall I send one of my limos for you?”

“I’ll walk.”

She turned on her heels and left, walking home in the cool San Francisco night, leaving Charlie and his chicken behind her.

When she returned to her apartment, she tried to push the game out of her mind as she let the door slam. She washed her hands, poured herself a glass of whiskey, and was about to reach for the remote so she could lose herself in some mindless TV when her phone rang. A 917 number flashed across the screen. Her heart dared to flutter. Dumb organ. Then her belly flipped. Stupid stomach.

But it was two against three because only her common sense said don’t answer , and common sense wasn’t winning. The brain rarely bested the body. The caller was Clay Nichols who she’d met a few days ago while she was tending bar. The tall, dark, gorgeous, filthy-mouthed lawyer from New York who fucked like a champion and called her irresistible, and then asked her to tell him more about all the things she liked as they lay tangled up in hotel sheets, blissed out.

The man who lived 3000 miles away. The man she was sure was full of shit when he said he’d call her again. The man she’d spent some of the best twenty-four hours of her life with.

She answered on the second ring. “Hello, person I never thought I’d hear from again.”

“Hey, Julia. What would you say about coming to New York for the weekend?”

A smile started to form on her lips. “Tell me why I would want to go to New York for the weekend,” she said, sinking down on her couch, crossing her ankles.

“For starters, I have a new set of ropes I’ve been meaning to use, and a restaurant I want to try, and a big king-size bed you’d look spectacular tied up to. Oh, and there’s also a new heist movie coming out this weekend that we could see.”

She laughed. “Let me get this straight. I’m being invited to the Big Apple for dinner, a movie and a little bondage?”

“Yes, that would be correct.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her mind flashed back to her big win tonight. Regardless of the chains Charlie had on her, she was closer . And while she’d promised herself she wouldn’t get involved with anyone til she was free, Clay wasn’t asking for more than two nights of her life. Two nights were thoroughly finite, and therefore could be thoroughly enjoyed. She had off this weekend. Besides, the very thought of Clay had a way of erasing some of the evening, of blotting out those moments when she was so clearly under Charlie’s thumb.

“Then the answer is pick me up at the airport in a town car, handsome, because I’m going to be ready for all of that and then some as soon as I step off the plane,” she said, as she kicked off her heels, and took a drink of her whiskey, enjoying the burn as the liquor slid down her throat.

They chatted for longer, and soon the tone shifted, and his voice lowered. “What are you wearing right now?”

“What do you want me to be wearing?”

“Thigh-high white stockings, lacy white panties, and a matching bra,” he answered immediately.

“And what would you do if I were wearing that?”

“Drive you crazy through the lace with my tongue, then take your panties off with my teeth.”

She didn’t think it was the whiskey anymore that was making her feel warm all over. “Funny thing, Clay. I believe that’s what I’ll be wearing on Friday afternoon.”

The next day, she went lingerie shopping.

Carefully, so as not to run the nylon, Julia inched the stocking up her thigh. Her sister sat perched on a peach-colored armchair in the corner of the spacious dressing room of Hetty’s Secret Closet on Union Street. McKenna absently kicked her ankle back and forth, a pleasantly distracting sight because her heels were sparkly peacock blue, matching her sapphire-colored skirt.

“What do you think?” Julia asked as she twirled around to give a full view of the bra, panty and stocking set.

A well-known fashion blogger, her sister has suggested this chic boutique for the shopping trip. Now, McKenna surveyed her up and down, pressing a finger to her lips as if she were studiously considering the undergarments in question. “It’s a good thing you don’t get cold easily. It’s chilly in New York in April. I was just there.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if I’m going to strut around the Big Apple in this get-up only,” she said, gesturing to her lingerie ensemble.

“I’m just checking,” she said with a wink. “You’ll pair it with what? A trench coat?”

“No. This thing called a skirt. Ever heard of it? Then a blouse too. Then the trench coat.”

“I am pleased to inform you,” her sister began, flashing a bright smile, “You have the Fashion Hound seal of approval on your sexy outfit.”

“Exactly why I keep you around.” Julia began stripping off the stockings, the underwear and the bra.

“Wait. Don’t I get a little sashay of the hips and all? A lap dance maybe?”

“I’m saving that all for Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”

“You must really like this guy if he gets your whole weekend. You haven’t given anyone three days in a long, long time.”

“I haven’t given anyone any days in a long, long time,” Julia corrected, as she neatly folded the items, then pulled on her jeans.

“Not since Dillon.”

“Yep, not since Dillon,” she said, turning away because she didn’t want McKenna to see how much it hurt to even hear that name breathed. Dillon was the reason she kept secrets from her sister, and from everyone. She shifted gears to her sister’s upcoming wedding. “Hey, when are we going for your next dress fitting?”

“When you get back from New York, and we can pick your maid of honor dress too,” McKenna said in a voice laced with true happiness. She’d found her match, and her happily ever after was in her hands. Julia wasn’t jealous, not one bit. She was glad for her sister, even though the notion of a happy ending seemed about as far away to her as living on the moon.