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“Your ex-roommate who clearly had a goal.”
That, I have to agree with. “Yeah, she definitely knew what she was doing. She had everything planned out—right down to the outfits.”
“Ah. Places like that often have dress codes.” He nods, his gaze dropping to my coat again as if he’s suddenly much more curious about what’s underneath. “It’s all designed to titillate.”
“So I noticed.” I angle my body toward him more, crossing my legs. I’m aware that the movement makes the coat ride up my thighs a little, but I don’t tug it down. “They were more like costumes than outfits, really. Like putting on a disguise, or an entirely new persona.”
I have his complete attention, and I try not to fidget.
His gaze pins me in place.
“That’s true, in a way,” he observes. “Pretending to be someone else can be freeing. There are no strings, no baggage from your real life. You can just let go and enjoy yourself.”
There’s a certainty in his voice that makes my stomach flutter. Is he speaking from experience? Is that what he does when he goes to one of those clubs like the one Jacquelyn took me to? Become a whole new person, stepping outside of whatever doubts or worries or struggles he’s dealing with in his real life?
God, that idea is strangely appealing.
I find myself wishing we were having this conversation back at Club Noir. Hearing him talk like this makes me think that maybe I missed the whole point of the club. What it could be like. How fucking hot it could be to let go of everything holding me back for one night and just… let go.
“I see the appeal of being anonymous,” I murmur, taking another sip of my drink and watching as he does the same, his gaze never leaving me. “But I’m such a nerd, I’d have to do my homework beforehand. Because it’d have to be more than just fancy hair and makeup and a costume. I’d need a name, a backstory—everything.”
He chuckles. “You’re overthinking it.”
“There’s a lot to think about though.”
“Wrong.”
He sets down his glass, and before I know what’s happening, he’s gripping my hand in his, his fingers completely enveloping mine. His palm is warm, and the shock of his skin against mine makes my brain stutter, so it takes me a second to realize that we’re shaking hands.
“Your name is Sara,” he tells me. “It’s been a while for you. You’re at the sex club to fuck.”
My breathing hitches as his words wash over me. Hearing the word ‘fuck’ come out of his gorgeous, full lips does something to me that sets my blood on fire, and the heat builds to a white-hot inferno as I realize what he’s doing.
He’s inviting me to play pretend.
To be anonymous.
To do everything I might do if we really were at Club Noir, and I had decided to shed all of my inhibitions for the night and have sex with a stranger. Back at the club, that idea was off-putting and vaguely terrifying. But here, with this man whose voice and scent and very presence makes me feel like I’m melting from the inside out?
I want it.
The only question is, am I brave enough to take it?
“Why has it been a while for me?” I venture, my voice a little husky. “What’s wrong?”
“Doesn’t matter, Sara. Maybe you had a breakup.” The way he’s eyeing me, I’m sure I’m giving away all my secrets. It feels like he can read me like an open book. “Maybe you’re tired of your own touch. Maybe you have to have someone else in the equation to get off. Either way, you’re here because you need this. Don’t you?”
My heart is pounding. It’s crashing against my ribs so hard that it feels like it should be popping out of my chest like a cartoon character.
How is it possible to be this nervous and this turned on at the same time?
Because I am Sara.
Everything he said about her is true for me too. But because it’s a character he created, that’s all it has to be. I don’t have to think about Brad or how alone I am, or what I want to do with my life.
I’m here—in this increasingly real scenario—because I only need one thing.
Sex.
