I tell the boys I’m going to the bar heading back down the hall to a less-crowded area. The bartender is quick to serve me a scotch which goes down smoothly. I don’t remember how many I order, but when I struggle to focus on the glass in front of me, I slow it down and let it all sink in.
Tonight is supposed to be my last night of freedom according to the ritual of the bachelor party. But at what point was I free before? Zoey and I are in a committed relationship. Neither one of us has cheated, at least, I haven’t cheated. With that dickhead Slater around, who fucking knows? And the more I think about it, the clearer the picture becomes. She’s always busy at work and never has time to stop, and he’s always at work with her. When I call her at lunch, she never answers the first or second time. Supposedly, she has lunch with him. She’d been hitting the gym and exercising nonstop claiming she needs to fit into her expensive dress. She did that exact thing the last time she was trying to put herself back on the dating market.
And then, she holds back the sex.
If that isn’t a dead giveaway.
It all makes sense. The scotch clears the incessant rambling in my head. Fuck. Could she really do that to me?
My chest tightens, my posture falling over as I cradle the glass of scotch in my hand. I want to crawl into bed and smell her beside me. Taste the Cola-Cola Chapstick on her beautiful lips.
I don’t finish the glass in front of me pushing it away along with my morbid thoughts as I walk back to the rooms desperate to erase my mind of her if only for tonight. The boys are still with the threesome. However, I wander off to a deserted room where the couple on the bed behind the glass window are fucking hard and fast.
The man takes his dick out slapping it against her stomach before entering again. The woman appears to enjoy it clutching the sides of the bed and exposing her tits for him to fondle. It makes me miss Zoey more, and perhaps my stupid thoughts are unwarranted. I simply want to go home and have her fuck me. Make her want me. Erase the miserable weeks that have passed and go back to the way it used to be between us.
A couple walks in and sits at the opposite corner. I avoid making eye contact until I hear my name being called.
“Drew?”
I turn around to see Raine staring back at me. Although the room is dark, she looks embarrassed, narrowing her gaze and avoiding direct eye contact.
“Oh, hey.”
Fuck, if this isn’t the worst place to run into a colleague.
She says something to the guy beside her—some dorky-looking fucker who’s wearing a tie. Why the fuck would you wear a tie to a sex club? He steps out of the room leaving us alone. Raine makes her way down the rows until she’s sitting beside me. She’s wearing a tight, white dress that sits very short exposing her thighs. I’ve never noticed her hot body until now, mainly because it’s always hidden behind scrubs.
I also never noticed how her tits are so full?
Perky?
Stop fucking looking.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say, breaking the silence.
“It looks like you’re sitting in a sex club… alone.”
“Yes, but I’m here with some friends. Bachelor night.”
She scans the room, and I’m quick to add, “They abandoned me for the lesbian trio in room five.”
“Ah.” She giggles softly. “I was just at room five. Didn’t do anything for me, but probably where my date’s run off to.”
“Right. So that’s your date?”
“Uh huh. The fetish-list one.”
“I didn’t peg you for someone who hangs out in places like this.” I keep my words minimal, the alcohol not helping at all.
“Because I’m a mom?”
I nod, revealing the truth.
“I like sex, Drew. It gets my mind off work and my kids. Call me a freak, but it’s the only thing that calms the tension. Take, for example, today, that man dying. It was just too much.” She lowers her voice shifting her gaze to the couple in front who have now switched to doggy style. “That’s why I called Rick. I needed something wild to clear my head.”
I completely understand her point. It’s why I often bury myself in Zoey. She is my ray of warmth, my safety net. She’s the only one who makes me forget the world outside our apartment exists.
“Our job is stressful,” I mumble.