Chapter 4

Natasha

There is only one thing worse than waking with a hangover. Hazy images of yourself from the night before. I look around the room to try and get my bearings. That’s right, I’m in my hotel room, alone. I trudge to the bathroom and stare in the mirror at the ugly raccoon looking back at me. The ugly raccoon who does a great impersonation of a dog on heat, on dance floors at weddings. I cringe as the memory of last night comes forth to my foggy brain. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Shit. What came over me? I put my head in my hands. Why in the hell did I drink last night? He must think I’m a total hooker. I couldn’t have appeared any easier if I tried. I feel like shit this morning. Hopefully he was drunk. Then he won’t remember me making a total fool of myself. One minute we were dancing, the next thing kissing. I tap my forehead as I remember and smile. What am I smiling about? A knock bangs on the door. Unfortunately, I know exactly who it is. I frown again as my brain hits my skull. Knock, knock, knock. “Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

I open the door to a cranky-looking Bridget. She smiles a plastered-on smile.

“What happened to you last night?”

I turn, walk over to the coffee maker and flick it on. Coffee will help me with this conversation. I’m not in the mood for this shit. I stand with my back to her trying to look busy. If I look her in the eye, she will know without a doubt that I’m lying.

“I must have eaten something, and I couldn’t stop vomiting. I didn’t want to interrupt your night, so I just got a cab.” She stays silent as she listens to my explanation.

“Do you want coffee?” I ask, hoping she bought the blurb of lies I have just sent her way. “It was a nice wedding, wasn’t it? The bride looked gorgeous, didn’t she?” I’m babbling and talking way too fast. “What time did you get home?” I ask as I turn to face her armed with my caffeine.

“I went out with the Stanton boys. We went clubbing.” I nod, staying silent.

“Do you have something to tell me?” she asks with a raised brow.

“No, why do you say that?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I was at the wedding yesterday.” She rips her hair down from its bun with such force it’s a wonder she doesn’t scalp herself.

“Yes, I know,” I mutter.

“And I was on the dance floor last night.” Dread fills my stomach. “I’m waiting.” She continues to scowl at me.

“Why do you think I have something to tell you?”

“Because the Stanton boys all know what’s going on.”

“What?” I snap. “How do you know?”

“When I was with them last night, I came back from the bar and they were talking about you and Joshua.”

Holy crap, my eyes are the size of saucers.

“What did they say?” My heart rate doubles as I hold my breath.

She holds up her hand. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Was Joshua with you?” I ask, secretly hoping she has some info for me, something I can cling on to, anything?

“No, he left after the dirty dancing affair as well.” I put my face into my hands. “Cameron said I should ask you about it. He seemed shocked that I didn’t know.”

“Know what?” I whisper, my eyes wide. “You tell me!” she yells.

“Oh god, this is terrible,” I wail.

“Tell me,” she urges.

Again, another knock, thank heavens for Mum’s impeccable timing.

“Come in,” I yell a little too fast. Bridget scowls at me. I smile as I open the door.

“Hi honey, are you feeling better? I wish you would have come and gotten me last night. You didn’t need to catch a cab on your own. Why didn’t you just find me instead of texting me?”

“Yes, why is that, Natasha? It’s very unlike you.” Bridget scowls at me as she folds her arms in front of her.

“Come on, we have breakfast at the Stantons’.”

I am so not going there. How do I get out of this?

“I still don’t feel well. I can’t come, Mum, sorry. I don’t want to risk throwing up in public, or on Margaret for that matter.” The thought tickles my fancy and I stifle a smile.

Bridget narrows her eyes at me. “I bet,” she snaps.

Mum gives me a reassuring smile that only a mother can give. “No worries. It’s a shame though. We never catch up with them, never mind, next time.” She rubs my arm and heads over to the lift entrance, calling from the hall for Bridget to hurry up.

“When we get home, we are meeting Abbie at Oscar’s and I want the fucking truth.” She pokes me hard in the chest.

“Ow, OK,” I whisper, trying desperately to get rid of her. I do wide eyes to her to signify my distaste for this conversation. I dread the impending conversation—my stomach dry retches just thinking about it. I’m not stretching the truth too far actually; vomiting could be in the very soon foreseeable future. This is a total nightmare. I want desperately to go to breakfast to see him. I need to see him. It’s a need, not a want. I want to see his face after last night, but I can’t risk seeing Scott, his brother. I am so embarrassed. I wish I had a vision of what last night looked like. Did I look like the instigator? Was I the instigator? Did he reciprocate my desire? Or did I imagine it?

For the next three hours I act like the total loser I am. I download Rihanna’s ‘Diamonds’ track and listen to it on repeat while lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, only leaving the bed to dry retch into the toilet every now and then. I reminisce about dancing with him last night, the feel of his unrestrained strength under my hands and the divine smell of him. Hmm, the way he bit my neck. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. His want for me, his pure maleness…is that even a word? I can’t help but smile—my god, he sure does shine bright, like a diamond that is. He’s still got it and, worse than that, I still want it. Joshua Stanton is too beautiful for words.

Oscar’s, 6:00 p.m.

Bridget hasn’t talked to me all day other than to tell me Joshua didn’t show for breakfast with his family. We are waiting for Abbie to arrive, sipping our coffee in silence. I don’t know why she’s pissed off as I’m the one everyone is talking about. I just wish I knew what they were saying.

Abbie finally turns up in a rush and is obviously flustered. “Hi, what in the hell is the crisis meeting about?” She unloads all the crap from her bag, looking for her wallet. “Is it TC? Have you heard anything?” Her eyes search mine. “Has she made a move on him?”

“No, nothing like that,” I answer. “How would we know anyway?”

“What’s so bloody urgent then? I am going on a date tonight.”

“Who with?” we both say in tandem.

“Tristan, army guy.”

We all smile. I think she likes him.

Bridget sits back. “Natasha has something to tell us.” She folds her arms in front of her. God, she plays the bitch well.

“You do?” Abbie smiles, her face questioning and eyebrows raised.

“Um.” I don’t look either of them in the eye.

Bridget points her spoon at me. “Enough of this shit. Out with it.”

Abbie looks between both of us. “What the hell is going on?”

Obviously, she is shocked at bitch Bridget’s venom. My moment of truth has arrived, and I am about to be judged by the two people who mean the most to me. They are important. Their opinion matters, it really matters. I blow out a long and steadying breath as I try to calm my nerves.

“I…I…had a steamy month-long sexual affair with Joshua when I was seventeen.” I say it in a rush to get the words out.

“What the fuck!” Abbie spits out. I stay silent as I see the color drip from their faces, my eyes flicking between them.

“Hang on, back up.” Abbie is confused and holds up her hand in a stop signal. “Your cousin?” she asks, mortified.

“Yes.” I nod.

“The gorgeous one?” I nod again.

“What? You slept with him?” I nod. “Your cousin,” she repeats as she frowns. “More than once?” I nod. “How many times?” Abbie is in total shock. I shrug my shoulders. “How many times?” she repeats.

“Four or five times,” I answer.

She puts her hand on her chest. “Oh, thank god.”

“Every day for a month,” I finish my sentence.

“Fuck off,” Bridget snaps. We both look at her. She has been blissfully silent up until this point. “You slept with Joshua four or five times a day for a month? When was this?”

“On holiday before he went away.”

“Where was I?”

“You were in England with Jenna.” She nods as she processes the information. I can almost see her brain ticking.

“And last night was the first time you’ve seen each other since.” Once again, I nod. “How do we not know this?” Bridget asks, the hurt in her voice cutting me. I’m a bad friend who keeps secrets.

“Bridget, I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell anyone because I’m ashamed.” Abbie has her hands in front of her mouth like she’s praying.

“Hang on,” Bridge whispers. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” I answer, knowing for certain what the next question is going to be.

“Don’t tell me,” Abbie whispers, eyes wide.

I nod. “Yes, I lost my virginity to him.”

“Fuck off,” Bridget snaps again. “Were you his first?” Bridget’s hands are running through her hair.

“No, he had slept with lots of girls before me.”

“Shit. This is fucked up, Tash,” Bridget whispers.

“I know.” I give a weak smile and nod. “I think….” I stay silent. “I think….”

“What?” Bridget snaps as she sips her coffee. Her patience is running thin.

“I think I’m in love with him.”

“Fuck off,” Bridget snaps as she chokes on her coffee.

“Will you stop saying that?”

“Well then, stop shocking me.”

“Why do you think that?” Abbie looks like she is going to vomit, her face screwed up. She’s holding her stomach.

“Because…because….” They are both leaning in toward me, on the edge of their seats. Bridget is biting her thumbnail. “I think I’m in love with him because I haven’t…I haven’t….”

“You haven’t what?” Abbie snaps.

“I haven’t slept with anyone since.” They both stare at me like I have just grown two heads and their eyes bulge from their sockets. I sit back and, god, what a relief, that was cathartic.

“You haven’t had sex in seven years?” I nod and give a sheepish smile. I wish I had a camera. They are speechless, and the look of total horror on their faces makes me giggle.

“How is that possible? You’ve had heaps of boyfriends. You’ve even had two marriage proposals.”

I shrug. “I told them I was waiting for marriage. Obviously, I kept them sexually satisfied in other ways, but you know what? The only reason they proposed to me was they thought I would be good marriage material since I wasn’t easy.”

“They believed you?” They are both horrified Abbie looks up at me and starts to giggle.

“What’s funny?” Bridget smiles.

“Her.” She points to me. “She is.” Bridget looks at me and starts to giggle as well.

“What’s funny?” I laugh.

“You’re a fucking psychologist who treats messed-up people all day and you’re more fucked up than the rest of us. You’re the world’s biggest prick teaser.”

I laugh and nod. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Oh my god!” Bridget holds her hands up to her face. “Tash, this is like frigging The Bold and the Beautiful. You do know that, right?”

I nod.

“So what, you’ve been in contact with him all along?”

“No. Not a word. Remember Josh nearly didn’t go to America because he met a girl in Sydney?” Bridget nods. “That was me.” She gasps, eyes wide, and puts her hands up to her mouth. “No way.”

I nod again.

“If you haven’t been in contact, what’s with the celibacy?”

I shrug as I chew over her question. “It hasn’t been on purpose. Every time I’m with a man I think I’m going to go through with it but when it comes close, I can’t do it. I feel like I’m cheating on him and, to be fair, the guys don’t really get me hot for it.”

“Shit,” Abbie whispers. “This is a fucking crisis meeting if I ever saw one.”

I smile. “I know.”

“OK, let’s rehash.” Abbie takes charge of the crisis meeting with her spoon pointing. “So, you were in love with Joshua.”

I nod. “Correct.”

“And last night was the first time you have seen each other since.”

I nod again. “Correct.”

“And what happened?” She looks to Bridget who is still biting her thumbnail as she hunches her shoulders.

“I think he still is attracted to her. No actually, I know he is still attracted to her. He was watching her like a serial killer stalking his next victim.” I can’t help the broad smile from appearing on my face.

Abbie looks back to me. “And this is good, is it?” I hunch my shoulders and nod. “So, are you still attracted to him?”

I nod again. “Yes, seriously.”

“What happened at the wedding?” She looks between Bridget and me.

“We danced.”

“Dirty danced,” Bridget adds.

“And then we kissed.”

“Kissed,” Abbie repeats. “In front of your family?”

“Yes, it wasn’t planned, I was just so turned on. He makes me so crazy I forgot where I was.”

She pinches her lips while assessing the situation, deep in thought. “So, it’s physical then?”

I nod. “I think so. I lose all coherent thought when he is anywhere near me. He just has this way. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. His body talks to mine.”

“What so, he’s like, dominant?”

I nod. “Totally, and he’s seriously fucking hot, so it’s a lethal combo. The way he touches me, it’s like he will die if he doesn’t have me. He consumes me, I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I was meant to please him, to hold him.”

Her eyes widen. “Hmm…” she’s thinking, “…has he called you today?”

I pull my phone out of my bag and check it for the hundredth time today. “No,” I answer flatly while looking at the screen.

“Does he have your number?”

“I don’t know,” I answer.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I have to get some closure. I know that for sure. I can’t move on until I can get him out of my head.”

“Is that what you want? To move on.”

“Yes. We can’t have a future together. I know that. We both know that, but there was something still there. I felt it and I know he did too. He forgot where he was as well, but I need to finish this for once and for all. I’m sick of this longing from a distance shit.” We sit in silence.

“This is heavy shit, Natasha,” Bridget whispers.

“I know, I need to sort my shit out and I will. I feel like maybe it’s coming to a head now he is back, and I will be able to finish it up.”

“Good.” Bridget smiles. “Can you imagine the shit that would go down if the family found out?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t even go there.”

Sunday morning I was positive I was going to hear from him. Sunday night I was pacing, staring at my phone, willing the bastard to ring. Monday morning I had decided to ring him, Monday afternoon decided against it. I already looked desperate. Looked desperate, god, I was desperate. Monday night at the gym I ran twelve kilometers, a feat I hadn’t done before. OK, I train better when stressed, a no-brainer here. Then I went home and ate a whole block of chocolate. Tuesday morning I had all but given up—he probably hadn’t even thought about it again. I’m overreacting as usual where he is concerned. He really is pissing me off though. Ring, damn you.

At lunchtime my work friend Simon walks into our staff room.

“Do you want to go grab some sushi?”

“Sure, why not?” I grab my bag. I love Simon. He’s tall with blond curly hair, sort of surfie looking, not my type though. He’s hard to explain, but you know those guys that are just too nice. Anyway, he’s a great friend and he always says the right things. There have got to be some perks to hanging out with psychologists. We drive and then walk to our favorite Sushi Train in the city, a place we usually frequent about once a week when we have a long lunch. We plan them on the same days for this purpose especially. Simon is telling me in great detail about the date he had on the weekend. He thinks the girl is a stage one clinger. Apparently, she was talking babies. I smile, although my thoughts are anywhere but on Simon’s date and proposed children. He opens the door to the restaurant in an exaggerated bow and holds his arm out to me and I link mine with his.

“Our sushi awaits, milady,” he says and gives me a wink. He always calls me milady in reference to the historical romance novels I love. I smile at our ease with each other. He is so uncomplicated. Why can’t I love a guy like Simon? Why do I have to have bastard-player-lover syndrome? We watch the train come around the table, while the group in front of us pay their account. They finish with the cashier and turn, and I bump headfirst straight into Joshua. Ben and Adrian are behind him. Oh shit, I step back in shock. What are they doing here? My arm is still linked with Simon’s and I just stare at Joshua dumbfounded. I did not expect this. Adrian comes forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi Natasha.” He smiles at me.

“Oh hi, Adrian,” I push out. “Ben.” I nod to him and he nods back. I smile at Joshua and he just glares at me. Shit. This is uncomfortable. Unable to control myself, I take a quick peek at him, why does he have to be so damn attractive in his gray pinstripe suit? Looking all flawless. His dark olive skin and square jaw only accentuate his piercing blue eyes. His body radiates power and at the moment…anger. I can feel the contempt dripping from his every pore. Of course, I look like total shit in my scrubs and no makeup. This is a total disaster. I drop Simon’s arm like a hot potato.

“Um, this is Simon.” I introduce him to the three men.

Adrian shakes his hand first. “Nice to meet you, Adrian.”

Simon smiles. “Pleasure.”

Then Ben holds out his hand, Simon shakes it and then Simon holds out his hand to shake Joshua’s hand.

Joshua stares at him blank faced and keeps his hands in his pockets, unwilling to shake his hand. I frown uncomfortably.

Simon raises his eyebrows. “Problem?” he says to Joshua.

Joshua glares at him. “You tell me,” he snaps. Oh shit, what is he playing at?

Adrian cuts in. “We had better be going.” He seems embarrassed. “Lovely to see you, Tash.” He smiles and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. Ben smiles and Joshua storms off. Simon and I look at each other. I am unable to hide my horror.

“Who was that?” Simon frowns.

“Ex-boyfriend,” I mutter.

“I know why he’s an ex. He’s a prick.”

I smile and nod nervously. I hardly taste my damn sushi. I just stare into space. Simon is oblivious, rambling on and on about crap, who cares, whatever. For ten minutes I listen to his constant jabbering. He is really starting to annoy me now. Just shut the fuck up, I’m trying to think here, I’m holding my temples. What an absolute bastard, I am boiling mad. How dare he be so rude to my verbal-diarrhea friend? I take out my phone and text the number I have for him, not even knowing if that is in fact still his number.

I wait and scowl. It probably isn’t even his number. I stole it off Mum’s phone about two years ago. Bloody Mum can’t even save a number right. My phone beeps a message.

What! Is he kidding? How am I an asshole? How dare he?

Who the hell does he think he is? I text back.

I smile. There, that showed him, how dare he say I’m an asshole? I am definitely not an asshole. He is un-fucking-believable. My phone beeps with a message.

What the fuck? Red steam is shooting out of my ears. No guy, or anyone actually, has ever told me to fuck off, and especially not in capital letters in print. I am infuriated. I want to throw my new iPhone across the restaurant. I start to drum my fingers on the table, double-time. Simon is still oblivious to my rage, god, he really is docile.

“Come on, let’s go.” He smiles.

What shall I text back? I need the upper hand. I am tapping my front tooth with my fingernail while I think. Simon is right, he really is a prick. I sit in Simon’s car, silently looking out the window as I troll my brain for a good comeback. I’ve got nothing. Use your brain, Natasha, I’m sure there’s one in there somewhere. I just know at two tomorrow morning an awesome comeback is going to pop into my head, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life. I have to text now, or it will look like I am thinking about my reply, even though I am. This is a total disaster. In the end I text the lamest reply in human history.

That night at Oscar’s, Bridget and Abbie laugh as they read the texts.

“How did it go from you’re an asshole to fuck off?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head as they continue to pass my phone to each other.

“And why does he think you’re an asshole?”

I slump on the table and put my face into my hands. “Probably because I am an asshole, a stupid-beyond-belief asshole.”

They laugh again. “He knows you better than you think.”

“Thanks a lot,” I sigh. “This isn’t funny, bitches.”

“Yes, it is.” They both huddle together and giggle. “It’s frigging hilarious.”

Wednesday at work drags. I’m still fuming. I have thought of nothing else since I saw him yesterday. Fuming is a lot more satisfying than pining. I’m just so off him.

After lunch I get a text from Bridget.

Great. I smile as I read the text. I need some NCIS action and it will take my mind off prickface. I text back.

She replies.

We are standing together in a line in Bridget’s bedroom, looking at our reflection in the mirror. “We look like hookers.” I grimace.

“That’s the point,” she replies.

“Are you sure you read the email right?”

She nods. “Yes, what do you think? I just thought this shit up?”

Jeremy accidentally left his email open last night and Bridget snooped. Apparently, he is going to an upmarket strip club tonight with his work friends and we are going to sneak into the joint to bust him in the act.

“What time does it open?”

“Half an hour,” she replies. “We had better get going.”

An hour later we are sitting at a table in the back corner of what is probably the classiest nightclub I have been in. The walls are a deep smoky gray and the lounges and pendant lights are all in black velvet. Huge silver-gilded mirrors hang on the walls and giant palm trees are in massive ceramic pots surrounding the perimeter. Whoever the interior designer was hit the target. It can only be described as sensual. I have never been in a space like this before, it screams opulence and fantasy. The sound system is amazing, and the music seems to be surrounding us.

“This wig is itchy.” I scratch my scalp.

“Why did you wear it then?”

“Because I don’t want to run into one of my patients. I’m in disguise.”

“Oh phooey, you look like Natasha with a long blond wig on.”

I nod as I sip my margarita. “Yeah I know. Mmm, this is good, it’s super icy. Do you see him?” We all look around.

“No, it’s pretty empty actually.” We all relax.

A cute blond bartender comes over. “Can I get you beautiful ladies anything to drink?”

“Sure, three more margaritas. Thanks.” He smiles and nods. “What’s upstairs?” I ask as if interested.

“Just more booths with views to the stage.” We all nod, trying our best to look cool and uncaring. “Is anyone up there?” I ask.

He smiles and shakes his head—he is so onto us. “No one yet.” He gives me a wink. We all nod, a little more than relieved. At the end of the bar there is a second set of stairs and there is a large red velvet rope across the bottom of the stairwell.

“What’s up there?” I ask.

“That’s the VIP room for private parties.”

Abbie frowns. “Private parties?”

He nods and smiles. “Yes, only one group at a time.”

“What goes on up there?” Bridget asks.

He shakes his head and smiles. “You don’t want to know.” We are all shocked to silence.

“Is anyone up there now?” Abbie asks.

“No, it costs five thousand dollars just to get up there.” We all look at each other.

“Do people really pay that?” I question.

“You would be surprised. It’s used every night.”

“What do you get for five grand?” Bridget asks.

He smiles as he walks off. “Anything you want, pretty much. But mostly sex and cocaine.”

“Wow,” I mouth to the girls, and they nod in agreement.

“Shit, anything you want.” I chew my ice. “This place is a high-class brothel.” Oh shit, a disturbing thought enters my brain. Panic sets in.

“Bridget, what are you going to do if we do see him here? Please don’t cause a scene.” I’m beginning to regret this decision to come here. It could get embarrassing.

“I’m not giving him the satisfaction,” she sneers. “I am just going to watch him and then dump him tomorrow and tell him I’m sleeping with someone with a massive dick who rocks in the sack.” We all laugh. Good plan, I like it. The music starts, and the song ‘Bad to the Bone’ blares through the sound system and we all smile. Of course, this song is playing, so typical strip joint.

A beautiful blonde saunters down the catwalk. She looks like she just stepped off a Sports Illustrated cover shoot, all muscly and oiled up, although the fake tan is to the extreme. She oozes confidence. She intimidates the three of us as we all sit in silence, entranced like she is dancing just for us. As she gets to the end of the runway, she slams into the side splits. Shit, she’s flexible too. She comes straight up into a bend back to handstand up. Yep, she’s good alright. She slowly but surely commands everyone’s attention in the room, including ours. We watch, riveted, as she slowly peels every piece of clothing from her hot body. She’s a dancer obviously, and I have to say she is blowing the preconceived idea of what a stripper looks like out the window.

“Fuck, she’s hot,” Abbie whispers. I nod, unable to take my eyes off her, and Bridge answers, “I know, right?” She doesn’t look easy—she looks alluring, sexy. She takes off her bra to expose the best set of fake tits I have ever seen. We all sit mesmerized, mouths open.

“That’s it,” Bridget whispers. “Decision made; I’m getting my boobs done.”

We all nod. “Good idea,” notes Abbie.

The stripper slowly turns around to turn her back to the audience and bends over without bending her knees and slides her G-String down her legs to reveal her beautifully pink vagina and anus, not a hair in sight.

“Holy crap,” Abbie whispers. “I think I’m in love.” The whole club including us are collectively holding their breath, and as she slowly starts to touch her breasts with both her hands we all lean in toward the stage.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Bridget whispers. I nod, still too entranced to speak. She lies on her back with her legs spread to the audience and starts to finger-fuck herself in time with the music, groaning and writhing on the floor. We all look at each other wide eyed, and a little shocked to be honest. I don’t know what we were expecting but it wasn’t intimately watching an attractive woman bring herself to orgasm. She slowly brings her fingers to her lips and starts to suck them in her mouth. The audience makes a collective groan, shit. We are so out of our depth here. She rolls to her knees and puts her rear to the audience still going hell for leather with her fingers. We all sit shocked, silent and wide eyed as she brings herself to a screaming orgasm. Moments pass and she gets up onto her knees and sucks her fingers dry. The crowd goes wild with everyone rising to a standing ovation, including us. She stands and bows, the room is abuzz. The atmosphere is suddenly pumped full of testosterone and pheromones. We clink our glasses together and giggle.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. “Why am I turned on?”

“I know, right?” Bridge nods.

Abbie laughs while draining her glass. “I have a good mind to give her my number.”

After about our sixth cocktail and having lost any inhibitions we ever had, we realize we are actually having a really good time.

“Girls, I don’t want to sound pervy, but I actually love this place. The girls are all gorgeous, classy and entertaining. The cocktails are amazing. And look at the crowd.” Abbie gestures around the room with her hands. “The crowd is all well behaved, all staying silently in their seats. If this was a male strip show the women would be screaming like lunatics and jumping on stage, trying to rip clothes off.” We all pull a disgusted face.

“I know, I always assumed strip joints would be the same, but they are definitely not on the same page. This is top shelf, though, remember.” We all nod.

A few acts of more beautiful girls and I make a surprising discovery.

“Did you notice something?” I lean in to whisper to my friends. They both quickly scan the room with their eyes, thinking I’ve seen Jeremy. “No, not that,” I shake my head. “There is not a welcome mat in this place.”

The girls both frown and look around, “You’re right, this place is pubeless. Not a pubic hair in the joint.”

“Why is that?” Bridge frowns.

“I don’t know—do men really like this?” I hunch my shoulders.

Abbie smirks. “Really, if I had to choose between a waxed one and a hairy one, I would go waxed every time.”

“I suppose.” We all nod.

“Anyway.” Abbie puts both of her hands onto the table, “I am booking us in tomorrow afternoon to Beautiful Behinds.”

“What for?”

“We are going to get Brazilians and anal bleaching.”

I choke on my drink. “Anal bleaching, are you mad?”

“No, did you look at these girls?” I nod. “Their bits are all porn star pink.”

“What, so it isn’t natural?” Bridget frowns.

“No, it isn’t natural. They get everything bleached so it’s a pretty pink color. Guys love it.”

“Fuck off, do you get it done?”

“Of course.” She smirks. Oh, I’m shocked, how do I not know this? “If you want to look pretty for Mr. Stanton you had better get it done too.” She grabs my arm on the table. “I’m pretty sure he is used to pink bits.” I frown as I drain my glass. Mr. Stanton looking at other girls’ bits is not something I want in my head.

“Knowing my luck, the bleach will give me a third-degree burn, and I will end up in hospital with a ring of fire.”

The girls laugh. “Bags not changing the dressing.” They clink their glasses together.

Every time a new group of men filter in, we all put our drink menus up in front of our faces as they walk past.

“They should rename this place,” I scoff. The girls frown. “The Dry Cleaners.” They frown again. “You know, where you would go to pick up a suit.” They both laugh. “Seriously, look at the demographics of this place. All men, rich, over thirty, in very expensive suits. Where do their wives think they are?” We all narrow our eyes as we take in our surroundings.

“Shit,” Abbie whispers. “They are all on frigging work conferences.” We nod.

“You’re right, these are all men who work together. Fuckwits,” Bridget snaps.

Blondie bartender comes over, “Last drinks at half price, ladies.”

“Half price, these cocktails are twenty dollars a pop,” I answer.

He smiles. “I know, at 1:30 a.m. they double in price.”

“Why?” we all ask, mortified.

“That’s when the shows start.”

We all frown. “Haven’t we been watching shows all night?” He smiles and shakes his head. “No, I mean the real fun.”

Sure enough, over the next fifteen minutes we watch as group after group of men in expensive suits fill the place. So many, in fact, we are flat out trying to keep up our spying duties and some are slipping through the cracks.

“Shit, is he here?” Bridget whispers.

“I have no idea,” I answer. “I’ve lost track. I think the place is full,” as I crane my neck to look around the crowd.

“I know, this is crazy. The drinks are hell expensive. Rich men are seriously stupid.”

We are all feeling quite tipsy and at one thirty exactly the lights all go out except the stage spotlights and silence falls over the audience. We are all experiencing a serious case of the fuzzies and very loudly shh, shh each other. We’re holding hands under the table and giggling, feeling quite apprehensive about what is about to unfold. Thankfully, it looks like Jeremy is a no-show. The track “My Pony” by Ginuwine, rings out on the high-powered sound system, a remixed version. Two girls walk out onto the stage and the crowd goes wild. Some of the men chant their names— it seems they have a following. The three of us sit still in silent amazement as our eyes are transfixed by the stage. A stunning brunette dressed as a hot policewoman complete with hat and baton leads a beautiful redhead dressed in prisoner get-up onto the stage by the handcuffs.

“Oh, fuck,” Bridget whispers as she squeezes my hand. The redhead is led out and sat in a chair at the end of the runway. The policewoman walks around her a few times, sizing her up. She bends down and grabs her by the hair. Pulling her head back, she bends and gives her a slow passionate tongue kiss and the crowd goes wild. Bridget hits me on the leg and when I glance at her she nods at Abbie. I look over and Abbie is so into it her mouth is open. Bridget and I get the giggles.

“Wow,” I mouth to Bridget, and she nods. The policewoman stands and walks around her again in a slow torture kind of build-up, and the crowd goes silent again. She very slowly starts to undress the prisoner, and my heart is in my throat. After what seems like an eternity, she slowly slides her G-string down her legs as she sucks her breasts—this shit is hot. My god, I’m getting turned on, what the hell? She slowly starts to finger-fuck the prisoner who lies back in the chair. The audience are collectively holding their breath and we are sitting forward in our seats. The brunette drops to her knees and the crowd goes crazy—oh no, don’t tell me. Oh my god. She starts to go down on the prisoner. The audience falls silent again, listening for the sound effects. I am interrupted from my lesbian fantasy as Bridget taps my leg again. I look at her and she nods toward the door and pulls up her drink menu. I grab mine quickly and peer out to see him, but to my horror the face I’m looking at isn’t Jeremy’s. My stomach drops as I watch Joshua Stanton, my Joshua Stanton, walk in with a group of men. They are laughing with the girls on the door and I sit still, too stunned to react. He puts his arm around one of the girls and whispers something into her ear. She giggles and slaps him. What in the hell did he say? This night just went from hero to zero in a millisecond. Abbie has just noticed what we are looking at.

“Oh fuck,” she whispers, the shock on her face evident, and she pulls up her drink menu.

This is something I don’t want to see, the room is suddenly suffocating and I need to get out of here, like now. I watch as they enter and walk over to the stairs with the red rope. They have been here before; they know the drill. He is with six other men, all in suits. I don’t know any of them, but one looks like his bodyguard, actually yes, it is, it’s Ben. A bleached blonde walks over and talks to them, and I watch in slow motion as Joshua gets out his wallet and hands over his credit card. Oh dear god, no. They are going upstairs to the VIP room. I feel sick.

I want to run over and stop him. To beg him to come home with me because I know if he goes up there, I can never touch him again. It will have gone too far to go back. Silently in my head I start to pray, Don’t do it, baby. Please don’t do it. I start wringing my hands together under the table and I have broken out into a cold sweat. The group of men all bundle up the stairs as soon as she unhooks the rope. Just as Joshua is about to take the stairs he stops as he notices something and looks toward the stage.

My eyes flick to the stage to see what he is looking at. The policewoman is now on her knees fucking the prisoner with the baton. My eyes go back to him. No. I watch in horror as he clenches his jaw and cracks his neck—he’s aroused. The pain of watching the man I love become aroused by another woman, or two in this case, is crippling and I put my head down onto the table unable to speak. Bridget rubs the back of my head, unsure of what to say. No, I need to see this. I look back up as he calls the blonde back over and lights a cigarette. Huh, he smokes now? I watch as he says something and gestures to the stage. She nods and smiles. Just when I thought this nightmare could not get any worse, I watch as he runs the backs of his fingers from her throat down between her bare breasts and down to her G-String. He rims his fingers around the inside of the waistband and gives i a jerk before he lets her go. With his cigarette between his teeth he says something, and she gives him a filthy smile before he turns and heads up the stairs. I’m in shock, did that just happen? I look to my dear friends, and their faces say more than words. Bridget grabs my hand and Abbie rubs my leg. There are no words for this situation, no words at all. I put my hand over my mouth—I think I’m going to be sick.

“Tash, let’s go, baby,” Bridget whispers. “We have seen enough.” I shake my head, still unable to speak. I shake again. I don’t want to leave him here. I don’t want him to wreck it. “Tash, come on, we have to go.”

I look at the girls again. “I don’t want to leave him here, please don’t make me,” I whisper. The act on stage finishes. The crowd goes wild and the girls both bound up to the bar to get a drink. Blond bimbo says something to them and they both smile and head up to the VIP room, obviously at Joshua’s request. My heart drops lower than I ever felt possible. Bridget has had enough; she is getting mad.

“He’s a fucking prick, Natasha, just leave it. You can do a lot better.” I know they are right. If I cause a scene, I will never forgive myself. It is with deep regret I allow my friends to scrape me up out of my seat and lead me out of a place that will haunt me forever, a place that has my heart splattered all over the table. A place where I saw his other side.

We sit in silence in the back of the cab, everybody too afraid to speak, determined not to say the wrong thing.

“Where to, ladies?” the cabbie asks.

Before anyone can speak, “The nearest McDonald’s,” I say flatly.

The cashier is cheerful and happy, “What will it be?”

“A super-sized Big Mac meal with Coke. An apple pie and a chocolate sundae, extra salt on the fries.” I look back at my friends who are both wisely staying silent, pretending to look at the menu board. Operation Slim Down is officially over.

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