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I’ll be there in fifteen.
I hit send with a nervous smile on my face. Standing from the chair, I check myself in the mirror on the door. I’m wearing a sheer black crop top over a black bra and high-waist black pants. Turning to the side, I check my profile and notice that my stomach doesn’t stick out any more than it used to. Although when I look at my body straight on, my waist doesn’t have the curves it once had. I’m starting to fill out on all angles, but at least it’s not obvious that I’m pregnant. No one wants to see a big pregnant belly at the club.
Grabbing my coat from the hook, I log out of the computer and dash out the door. There’s another floor manager on duty tonight. I was supposed to get off at nine, but as I wave goodbye and rush out through the back door of the club, I briefly wonder if I should tell Luke that I’m not coming straight home.
Will he worry? I mean, I already know he’ll be angry, but he’s always angry.
Will he punish me for this? Is that weird, punishing me for hooking up when I was supposed to come home?
Oh well. That’ll be tomorrow-Sadie’s problem because tonight-Sadie needs to get off.
I climb in my car and make the short drive over to Club Max, trying to remember the good days before the very, very bad one.
Fresh out of high school, my friends and I would make our rounds every weekend night to each of the city’s nightclubs. We were underage and high on our youth, but whenever my friends rejoiced at the clubs that didn’t look closely at our IDs, if they even looked at them at all, I cringed.
My interest in nightlife always went a bit deeper than everyone else’s. My friends were out to get drunk, get laid, and be reckless. But I was too busy looking deeper, seeing potential, seeing risks, and finding flaws.
Nightlife could be so much better than this. It didn’t have to be seedy and dangerous. That’s not what we wanted. We wanted liberation and expression in more forms than just shots and grinding on a dance floor with a stranger who smelled like cheap body spray and bad decisions.
In my early twenties, I discovered sex clubs, mostly by accident. I found a few online, and it opened my eyes to a whole new world. I toured for a year straight, absorbing everything I could learn, picking up small jobs here and there, apprenticing, and immersing myself headfirst in a world that was wildly flawed with so much potential.
Then I came home. Opened up my own consulting business. Worked at a few random clubs, and then picked up a job at Pink. And the rest was history.
Now, going back there with two years of meaningful work under my belt feels slightly good, like I’ve grown and changed since my time there. I’m not the same girl I was that night.
After parking, I pass the line waiting outside and breathe a sigh of relief when I see a doorman I recognize from the few times he’s worked at Pink. His stern exterior breaks into a smile when he sees me.
“Sadie?” he says in a greeting before opening his arms for a hug. I let him embrace me and laugh a little at how soft and sweet most of these scary-looking bouncers really are. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Meeting up with a friend,” I reply.
He lifts the red rope to allow me in before patting me warmly on the back. “Any creeps give you trouble, you just text me.”
“I will. Thank you,” I reply with a grin, feeling a bit better now that he’s said that.
As I enter the club, I’m surprised to find it so crowded. Immediately, my skin starts to crawl and I feel a sense of unease wash over me. A sweaty arm brushes mine, and I resist the urge to scream and run.
Ignoring my rising panic, I wind through the masses toward the couches in the back. I have no doubt that’s where Jax is. Someone like him doesn’t sit at pub tables or around the bar.
“Sexy Sadie!”
His voice rings over the deafening beat of the music, and I look up to find him holding his arms up for me. Immediately I can tell by his smile that he’s drunk, a slightly unsettling realization. I really don’t want to hook up with someone who’s intoxicated, but I’ll give him a chance. Maybe I’m wrong.
When he pulls me into his arms, I breathe in the scent of his cologne and try to just savor the feel of his large frame engulfing me.
This is so nice.
“Come sit,” he shouts over the music. “You want something to drink?” He tries to put his iridescent blue drink to my lips.
With a wince, I shake my head. “No thanks.”
“Oh yeah,” he replies before throwing his head back and laughing. “I keep forgetting.” His gaze drops to my stomach and then back to my face. “How the hell are you? I got those pics you sent me, but I’ll be honest, I couldn’t see shit.” He laughs again.
Forcing a smile, I shrug. “It’s okay. I couldn’t either.”
I really don’t want to talk about the baby.
As he tugs me toward the giant blue couch situated in a square around a round table littered with empty glasses, I notice the crowd as they all look up at me with scrutiny. It’s mostly women, all thin and blonde and beautiful.
