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“Where else?” I grin back.
“O’Jackie’s,” we say in unison.
While I still have an eternity to go before my hair is done, they call Luce away as it’s time for her appointment. It sucks they couldn’t sit us together. To entertain myself, I pull my phone out and mindlessly open my socials.
I’m tagged in a picture of a huge champagne bottle that Luce posted a few hours ago. The caption reads: Even though we prefer tequila, we’ll make an exception on New Year’s Eve. #SabertoothsKnowHowToParty #BestiePower.
Laughing, I like it and open the comments. There are thousands; fans wishing her and her husband, the Sabertooths forward, a happy New Year. I’m just about to shut down the app when I see that Mickey and Soren, Sawyer’s two best friends, and fellow hockey players, have commented, both of them expressing their regret that they can’t be there.
Since I’m not going either, their words are inconsequential, but the way my body reacts to them isn’t. Suddenly, I feel hot, like there isn’t enough air in the room, and my core clenches. Fuck. Those two are trouble. I’ve known that since I was drinking alone with them less than two weeks ago.
Seriously, that night might go down in history as number one on my list of epic fails. I should have said yes, but I wasn’t able to. My other… commitments had to take priority, sadly.
As I think about said commitments, I open my email. There’s no update about my gig for New Year’s Eve, which I take as a good sign. I click on the confirmation and read through the entire thread for the millionth time.
Dear Abigail Wilson,
We received your email regarding updating your preferences for working at the Cupid’s Court on New Year’s Eve.
Per our previous emails, we were already pleased to accept you as one of our floor girls. However, only a few hours ago, we received a client request that aligns perfectly with your updated availability.
We have taken the liberty of accepting on your behalf with reservation.
Please read through the attached booking requirements, which include wardrobe expectations and any specific instructions from our clients.
Pay extra attention to the indicated number of gentlemen asking for your company on page two of the attachment.
We look forward to hearing from you.
Cupid’s Court
Even reading the email is making me blush like a schoolgirl. Well, not exactly like a schoolgirl. My heated cheeks have nothing to do with shyness, it’s all due to anticipation.
By now, I’ve memorized the clothing requirements, which were easy. After I accepted the gig, they outlined the items I needed to purchase and what will be provided. The mask I’m expected to wear will be waiting for me when I’m picked up, so the only items I had to buy were the lacy, crotchless thong and a matching black bra.
Now, with my new hair, I’m more than ready. For them—the faceless men who have bought me—and for a night of debauchery where I can shed my good girl image.
Gail
My neck is beyond stiff and sore after the hours in the chair at the hairdresser, but as I admire my new hairdo in the window next to the booth we sit in at O’Jackie’s, I can’t complain. Totally worth it.
“Stop checking yourself out,” Luce cackles.
I pick up the Cosmo and eagerly suck on the straw. “Why would I do that? My hair looks outrageously epic.” I playfully waggle my eyebrows.
My bestie nods and snaps another picture of me. “If anyone can pull it off, it’s you, Gail.” She takes a sip of her soda. The traitor has abandoned alcohol, apart from special occasions. “Explain it to me again, and use small words so I can follow.”
I laugh nervously. “I’m not sure I can.”
“Try.”
Sighing, I lean against the wall behind me. “All my life I’ve done the right thing, you know? But look at where it’s gotten me. I’m twenty-eight, single, no kids, and now jobless. It’s… I feel like I’ve wasted years doing whatisright instead of doing whatfeelsright.”
“I get that,” Luce says, and I’m relieved there’s no judgment in her tone or eyes. “So you’re, what, exactly? Rebelling? Screwing the man?”
We both burst out laughing. “Kinda,” I hiccup, swiping tears of laughter away from my eyes. “I just want to do something for myself. Something to discover myself. So I…” Trailing off, I look down at the table.
It’s not easy opening up about my struggles, especially to someone as close to me as Luce. My fucked up brain tells me I’ve let her down and that she’ll be disappointed. But as we sit across from each other at O’Jackie’s, I know I need to get this off my chest. There is also so much to say, I’m struggling with where to begin.
