Page 22 of Gym With Benefits

We clinked our glasses, and knocked it back. The gin hit the back of my throat with a botanical sting, layering the heat of the club with a crisp edge.

“And one for the road,” David announced, calling the bartender back over.

We began our synchronized weave toward a velvet booth in the corner after getting our drinks, David’s hips swinging in time with the music. I tried to match it. Tried to show anyone looking that I was as chill about being out on a school night as he was. That I was chill, period. We reached the table just as the tracktransitioned into a deep, melodic house beat that seemed to pull the amber lights even lower.

“David?” The woman materialized out of nowhere. A vision of architectural precision, from her sleek silver dress to her cropped, platinum-blonde pixie cut. “I thought I smelled you. Glad to know I was right.”

We hadn’t been seated for a minute, and already he was getting attention.

"Sloane." He pulled her into a brief embrace that felt too intimate for outside eyes. "You look like you just stepped off a yacht in the Mediterranean. Jess, this is Sloane. She’s the only reason the D.C. arts scene hasn't collapsed in on itself."

Sloane turned her gaze on me, her eyes a cool, intelligent gray. "The roommate, I presume. The one who works with the dead."

"They’re champion listeners.” The gin was already taking effect, and I relaxed into the velvet of the booth. “I’d say it’s more therapy than work.”

Sloane gave a rich laugh and slid into the vacant spot beside me. “I have a therapeutic outlet of my own, if you’re interested.” She met David’s gaze, and so much passed in that one second. So much I wasn’t privy to. “His name’s Antoine, and he’s finally made it out of the embassy."

Her revelation summoned a man from the crowd. Antoine. David’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. And I could see why. The guy possessed a dense, athletic gravity, wearing a linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the solid mass of his chest.

"Antoine," Sloane said, resting a hand on his forearm. "Meet David, and Jess."

The air between the three of them suddenly pulled tight with a static charge. A triangular pull of attraction that made me feel like a hapless spectator.

"I like your vibe," Antoine said, his voice carrying a French-inflected lilt. He reached out to take David’s drink, his fingers grazing the sensitive inside of his wrist.

The contact was brief, but the reaction in David’s eyes was an unmistakable flare of interest.

And when Antoine went on to take a sip of the drink that wasn’t his… I don’t think I’d ever seen my roommate this visibly turned on. It should’ve grossed me out. I wanted to be grossed out. But God, help me, I couldn’t look away.

"I’ve been told I'm a natural resource," David quipped, though his usual sarcasm lacked its bite. He settled into the space between Sloane and Antoine, a central point in a very specific, very heated map.

Sloane whispered something into his ear that made him flush a deep, appreciative red. Then a silent communication passed between her and Antoine. A nod, a tilt of the head.

"We're going to dance." Sloane slid out of the booth at the same time as David, and hooked her arm into his. "Get to know each other a little better."

David and I shared a look. Mine was a question, and his only answer was a shit-eating grin. I didn’t know what to do with that. Antoine was more direct, with his hand on the small of David’s back. The last I saw of my roommate was an elated glance back over his shoulder as they were swallowed by the pulsing mass of bodies.

The gin cooled in my hand as I watched the three of them merge to the dirty bassline of a song I hadn’t heard before. Davidhad one hand on Sloane’s waist, the other on Antoine’s shoulder. No, wait, Antoine’s neck.

This wasn’t a dance. It was a proposition.

Six minutes later, David returned to the booth alone, out of breath, his tie askew. He collapsed onto the velvet, staring at the ceiling with the expression of a man who had just seen the face of a god with a very specific penchant for the erotic.

"Thanks for ditching me."

"I’m sorry," David panted, grabbing my glass and emptying it of the melted ice. I’d been too busy stewing to get a refill. “But it was totally worth it.”

"I guess it’s kinda cool when the woman you’ve been seeing on and off doesn’t mind you openly flirting with someone else right in front of her.”

"Jess, you sweet, linear-thinking creature.” A flash of mischief sparked in his eyes. “We were all flirting. With each other.”

The back of my neck grew hot. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… They’re cruising for a third tonight,” he replied with a shrug. “And it’s just my luck they bumped into me.”

The logistical nightmare prioritized itself in my head. “That sounds like a lot of work. Double the texting. Double the ego-stroking.”

“It’s basic chemistry,” he argued. “A balanced equation.”