Aidan’s taking me to Python, the renowned ‘pleasure club’, and I won’t lie: I’m a bit nervous. Still, after everything we’ve been through, that nervousness is barely noticeable; more than nervous, I’m excited to go there. The place where dreams come true, everyone says about Python, and I’m curious to find out how much of that is true. After what happened during the photo shoot with Mistress Strokes, I doubt anything can top that.
I mean, since I’ve met Aidan, I think I’ve probably done more growing up than I’ve ever done in my life.
This is like the damn sex talk that your parents have with you, only as an adult.
Why did no one ever tell me about these things?
Did you know? Did you know sex could feel so amazing?
Sorry, I’m not going off on you – it’s just that my life is so different now than it was just a few short months ago. And my writing has changed too.
It was Aidan’s idea to visit Python; it’s time we fuckin’ celebrate, he said after Big Dick climbed through the Rainforest’s rankings and earned its place amongst the Top 100. That helped us sell more and more, giving us a much needed boost, and we’re still climbing through the rankings. It’s a good thing Aidan decided to get me out of the house today, or else I’d just spend the night with my laptop propped up on my knees, refreshing the rankings every fifteen seconds.
I mean, don’t roll your eyes at me, okay? Hitting F5 to refresh my screen is something I absolutely do.
But there’s only so far the books going to go. I told Aidan this too.
“Without the budget to do publicity that the big traditional publishers have, we’ll never make keep it in the Top 100 for long,” I tell Aidan. “It needs more publicity that we just don’t have the dollars for.”
This was never a problem before. Bad Boy Publishing used to handle it. But now, its me and my limited budget.
“Here we are,” I hear Aidan say as we grind to a halt in front of what looks like the entrance to a large building from some wicked fairy tale. I swing my legs off of the bike and, taking the helmet off, run one hand through my hair.
“This place is huge,” I tell Aidan, looking up at the neon lights above the tall double doors. They blink in a crimson glow, spelling Python one letter at a time. Robust men in dark suits lace the entry to the building, waving people in slowly, and I feel my heart sinking as I realize the line is simply too big; there are hundreds of women waiting for a chance to get inside, all of them wearing heels and dresses probably a few inches shorter than they would wear for a family gathering.
“We’re never going to get --” I start, but one of the security guys waves at Aidan. He laces his arm in mine and we cut the line. I can feel hundreds of jealous eyes burning on the back of my head as we move toward the entrance, but I try my best to shrug it off.
“It’s been a while, Aidan,” one of the bald guys in a dark suits says with a smile, and Aidan just claps him on the back.
“Yeah, feels good to be back. Is Austin in?”
“Yeah, he just got here. He should be in the main room, just look for him.”
“Thanks,” Aidan says, handing both of our helmets to the security guy.
I just nod and smile through the whole conversation, and then the realization dawns on me. “You never told me you used to work here!” I whisper at Aidan as we walk up the stairs to the main room.
“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs, walking inside the building’s cavernous hall as two security guys push the double doors open. Loud music and dim lights flood us at once, and I have to blink my eyes a few times before I realize how big Python really is. The room we’re in has enough space for a few hundred people, and the elevated stage right in the middle seems like something out of rock concert.
“Wait here, I’ll go get us a booth,” Aidan says, but I’m barely listening to him. My attention has been snagged by the two men on the stage, both of them wearing firemen uniforms. Their heavy bright jackets are open, though, and they're not wearing anything underneath. Their abs and toned muscles gleam under the spotlight, and I feel my jaw dropping a little as they throw their jackets over the crowd of shouting women, the sight of their naked (and extremely ripped) chests sending the crowd into a frenzy. No wonder Aidan used to work here; he fits right in with these guys.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you used to work here,” I say, but when I turn to the side I realize Aidan’s not there. I look around and I see him leaning by the counter, talking happily with a gorgeous man in a dark tailored suit, his jacket thrown over the counter and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. They shake hands, exchange a few words, and then Aidan makes a beeline toward me.
“Who’s that?” I ask him, following the tall man with my eyes as he steps through a Personnel Only door.
“That’s Austin Price, the owner,” he says, and then takes my arm again. “Lets go, he hooked us up with the best seats.”
Arm-in-arm with Aidan, I let him lead me to the upper level of the room. We walk up a set of stairs, and then he takes me to a booth that overlo
oks the stage. The walls are lined with couches, and there’s even a pole in the middle of the room. This booth probably services large groups, but we have it just to ourselves. I’m betting that this Austin guy must have liked Aidan a lot when he worked here.
We choose the seats closer to the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, the ones with the best view toward the stage, and I notice there’s a bucket with a bottle of champagne on a small table to the side, two glasses close to it.
“Oh, nice,” Aidan says, grabbing the bottle by the neck and popping the cork out with a quick flick of his thumb. Champagne gushes out in a torrent, and I hurry to get the glasses under the bottle.
“To Abby, the greatest writer ever,” he says, taking one of the glasses and raising it up with a grin.
“To Aidan, the second greatest writer ever,” I tease him with a chuckle, and we touch glasses. I down all of my champagne at once, and then search for my phone, rummaging inside my purse with one hand. Fishing it out, I head straight to the Rainforest website.