There’s that sigh again. “We’re not city people, Christine. You’ll see soon enough. You’ll be right back here with your family.”
“Aguila is ninety minutes from here. It’s not like I moved across the country. And no, I don’t think I will be seeing that anytime soon.” And even if I did, I wouldn’t be going back for pricks like Keith. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date or done…anything else, but still, I’m not that desperate.
“Oh, you will.” The smug certainty in her voice is enough to make me punch a wall. “And that’s what I told Keith. He wants to have dinner with you when you get back into town.”
The barista calls my name and I grab my cup of iced coffee with my mouth hanging open. “You told Keith I would have dinner with him?”
“Of course. He’s a nice man, and he’s better than any of those city men that will use you and leave you.”
“I swear to God, Catherine. This needs to stop. I’m not going to dinner with Keith. I am not moving back. I am not—”
“Come on, Christine,” she cuts me off. “We both know that you’re not going to get many other offers. So you should pay attention to the ones who might actually want you.”
My mouth drops open, and even though I’ve already drawn more than enough attention to myself, my voice rises. “Excuse me?”
Catherine laughs, and my stomach drops. Chills run over my body, and I feel like I’m shrinking. “Well you’re not exactly the kind of person to turn a lot of heads. So I’m just trying to look out for you. If you go out with Keith, you might actually have a chance of not ending up alone.”
I swallow, trying to think of something to say. She’s right, men aren’t exactly lining up at my door. But Keith Overton? Not exactly my dream of Prince Charming. But do I have other options? Catherine is still talking, something about how Keith has really made something of himself since high school.
Turning, I’m ready to get out of this coffee shop before everyone in here knows my life story, and slam into another body. A tall, hard body, who’s holding hot coffee. The top of his drink pops off at the same time that mine does and we’re both soaking in liquid caffeine. My mouth is open again, my shirt suddenly soaked through. “Catherine, I have to go I just spilled my coffee.”
I hang up, cutting her off in the middle of what I’m sure was a fascinating monologue on the merits of Keith Overton, the misogynistic fat-shamer. “I’m so sorry,” I say, lunging for the nearest napkin dispenser. Coffee is all over the floor and everyone is staring at the girl who clearly doesn’t have her life together and these napkins aren’t nearly up for the job of cleaning up the huge puddle on the floor.
I reach for more and a large hand stops me. “Are you all right?” The voice is so deep that it rumbles across my skin leaving chills. It makes me freeze, and I turn to see the man I collided with. Though the only reason I can tell that is because there’s a giant coffee stain on the front of his shirt. I was so pre-occupied with Catherine that I hadn’t even looked up. And what a damn shame that would have been. He’s tall, and that’s not just because I’m a shorter-than-average human, he towers over everyone else in the café. And he’s gorgeous. This man is exactly my idea of prince charming. Tan skin that speaks of the outdoors and maybe some Native American heritage, and that coffee is doing me some favors because his shirt is clinging to him and doesn’t leave any question about just how ripped he is. The fact that I’ve been in a dry spell suddenly rears its head. I would be very happy ending my dry spell with somebody like that. The only word my brain is thinking is ‘Yum.’
He smiles, and I laugh, suddenly aware that I’m just staring. “Yeah, I think I’m okay. I’m really sorry about your shirt, though I’m not sorry that it got me off the phone.”
“Don’t worry, I have other shirts,” he says, “And it sounded like an unpleasant conversation, so I’m happy to help.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Do you mind if I ask what you were arguing about?”
I start to mop up the coffee again, “Just my sister trying to set me up with this horrible guy from high school and telling me I won’t find—” My words come to a screeching halt. This isn’t something you tell a perfect gorgeous stranger. “It’s nothing.”
He pulls me aside as the girl from behind the counter starts to mop up the mess. “I’m really sorry,” I say to her.
She shrugs. “It happens.”
He’s still looking at me. This intense look that makes the blood rise to my cheeks and feel the urge to step closer. “If your sister was telling you that you would never find anyone, she couldn’t be more wrong.”
I blink, stunned. His voice holds nothing but sincerity and something deeper. “Thanks.” My heart is beating in my chest and I feel breathless in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
“I’m serious,” he says. “I have a feeling you have no idea how beautiful you are.”
My face is on fire. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. He can’t be serious. Is he serious? I’m not beautiful. I’m completely average and always have been. I have no idea what to say to something like that, so the first thing in my mind comes out. “Are you sure I can’t reimburse you for dry cleaning your shirt? People affected by my clumsiness deserve some form of compensation.”
Seriously, Christine? That’s what you say to the man who just called you beautiful? Nice move.
He chuckles, “No, I’ll be fine.”
“Dinner, then.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I even think them. “Or a drink. Just to let me say that I’m sorry.” I mean, I know I sound a little desperate, but he so gorgeous that I don’t want him to leave the coffee shop without at least giving it a shot. And since he said those nice things, maybe he’ll want to. Even if it’s out of pity.
His mouth—how I hadn’t noticed his mouth is beyond me, it makes me think of kisses and gasping and other naughty things—tips up into a smile. “I would like nothing more than to have dinner with you, but I can’t tonight. I have some prior responsibilities. But,” he reaches into his pocket and takes a card from his wallet, “if you come to Club Deep, tonight or any night, I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink.”
“Okay.” I say, still a little spellbound by his face and voice. “I’m Christine. Christine Everett.”
Taking my outstretched hand, he shakes it gently, and I’m overwhelmed by the way my tiny hands are swallowed up by his. “Hudson Carlisle. Maybe I’ll see you again, Christine.”
I’ve never understood that stereotype of loving the way someone says your name until this moment. It makes it sound like a new and intimate word that you’ve never heard before.
He smiles, something playful and hopeful at the same time, and he lifts my hand to that wonderful mouth and presses his lips to the back of it. Definitely Prince Charming. My skin tingles where he touched it and I can’t stop staring as he leaves. As he leaves, the view of him from the back is almost as good as the view from the front, and that’s saying something. Realizing I still haven’t looked at the card he gave me, I look down. It’s all black, with a silky finish that’s not quite matte. His name isn’t on it, hardly anything is. Just some small silver lettering.
Club Deep
Be who you really are
And on the back, their website. My stomach sinks. There’s no phone number, no way to directly contact him. I head out to my car. With an adrenaline shot like the one he gave me, who the hell needs coffee? Besides, I’m not going to waste any time before finding out what the hell Club Deep is. He seemed like he might actually be interested if he didn’t have ‘responsibilities.’ So if this is the only way to see him, then maybe I’ll go. How bad could it be?
2
The Desert Rose Photography Studio is quiet today. The last couple of weeks have been crazy with all the high-school homecoming celebrations and portraits, but now we’re in that period where everyone has had quite enough pictures, thank you very much. I’m hoping that in the downtime
I’ll be able to take some time and work on my own stuff, but we’ll see how it goes. Right now though, I’m engrossed in a website. Club Deep’s website, to be precise.
This is not at all what I expected.
The homepage is dark, the background a subtle picture of dancing women in silhouette. Their tagline the only text on the homepage: “Be who you really are.”
But it’s the ‘About’ page that really gets me. Club Deep is a sex club. A real-life actual sex club where people go to do…well it seems like pretty much anything. There are pictures of themed rooms for sex, packages for private rooms and pictures of a massive dance floor. I didn’t realize that these things existed outside of movies and books. This isn’t something I would have ever considered doing, but the way he—Hudson—said it so casually, If you come to Club Deep.
What would it be like to go to a sex club? Maybe not even to have sex, but to just see what it’s like? To see what kind of people actually go. And if I happen to run into Hudson while I’m there, then that’s all the better, right? The thought makes me blush almost as much as I did when he called me beautiful. Even when I wasn’t in the middle of a dry spell as wide as the Sahara Desert, this is not usually something I would think to do. I’m not that daring.
I click on the tab labelled ‘hours and rates’ and I look over the schedule. I’ve never been a lucky person, but something about running into him earlier and then seeing this page feels like my luck just might be changing. They’re having a special event tonight, a masquerade party since Halloween is a few days away. You have to buy a special ticket for the party, but it’s not expensive. No wonder he said he had responsibilities. If I had bought a ticket to a secret sex costume party I’d make sure that I went, too.
Oh wait…I just bought a ticket, too. Oops.
It’s almost four o’clock. I’m out of here in a half an hour which is plenty of time for me to hit up a store for a costume and not be there too early. I have a feeling it’s more awkward than polite to show up for a sex party early. Then you’re by yourself just waiting for other people to show up? No. That sounds like a terrible idea. What should I wear?
The door to the back office opens, and out comes Sandra, my boss, who’s the most laid-back woman I’ve ever met. She’s a hippie through and through in the best way. She looks around the studio, “Do we even have any appointments today?”
I laugh under my breath. “No. And I already cleaned the studio.”
She shrugs, “Oh well. They’ll all be back for Thanksgiving family photos.”
“Won’t that be fun.”
Sandra swats me lightly on the arm, but she’s laughing. “Well, at least we’ll try to make it fun.”
We both know that holiday family photos are the worst. Half the family doesn’t want to be there and it’s hell trying to get them all to smile and have their eyes open at the same time. But I stay here because Sandra pays me well and gives me plenty of time to pursue my own photography goals. She pokes her head over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”