The message is clear, and it's perfect… for Max.
For the other strangers here?
I swallow hard and slip my ticket into my sleek black clutch.
"You want to dance or drink first?" Izzie slides her arm around my waist, the perfect, confident date.
"One drink."
"On you."
"What kind of date are you?"
"The kind who believes in equality."
"Okay, on me." I follow her around the edges of the club, past a row of red loveseats, two friends scoping out their options, a man and a woman making out like there's no tomorrow, a man watching the room carefully.
He's tall and handsome, but he's not Max. His hair is too light, and his clothes are too casual.
I don't know what Max wears on his time off, but I know he wouldn't show up here in jeans.
This place isn't officially a bondage club. There are no memberships, Doms on hire, rooms packed with instruments of pain. But there's an off-limits to most upstairs, where people pay for the privilege of watching the action from above.
Or… participating in their own action from above.
The stairs are on the other side of the club and the loft wraps in both directions. Mirrors and red lighting and happy voyeurs.
Is Max up there?
It's too dark to tell.
Izzie taps me on the shoulder. "What are you drinking, sweetness?"
"Sweetness?"
She nods. "Do you prefer angel?"
"Sweetness."
She motions go on. "Greyhound."
"Make it two."
"You hate grapefruit juice."
"I'm a gentleman."
"I thought I was paying."
"An enlightened gentleman."
My laugh breaks the tension in my shoulders. She's right. I'm here to have a nice night, dancing with my friend.
I'm not here to stalk Max. Or, uh, set up a situation for Max to stalk me.
After the bartender fixes our drinks, I pay with cash, and I chug half my vodka cranberry. It's not the world's finest cocktail—the vodka is cheap and the grapefruit juice is stale—but it's strong.
Izzie takes small sips as she scans the room. "What about him?"
I follow her gaze to a guy in leather pants and a harness. No shirt. "Aren't you my date?"
"Because you haven't seen him."
"He's wearing a collar."
"And…"
"And…" Fuck. I take another sip, but the alcohol does nothing to stop my blush. "I prefer the other way."
"Oh my god, Opal, you're adorable."
"What?"
"You're shy about wanting Max to tie you up."
"No."
"You're wearing a harness. I don't live under a rock."
"But—"
"And I knew this was a BDSM club. Why do you think I agreed?"
"Because I'm insane and you're a good friend."
"And I want to come and see what's out there."
"What about Jamie?"
"Opal!"
"Did you break up?"
"You agreed."
"Okay, I just… I always support you. Always. But if you want me to lie to him—"
"I'm just dancing."
"I won't lie."
"Except to Max?"
"I'm trying not to lie. To anyone."
"Really, Opes. I'm here to dance and look. That's all."
Are they together? On a break? Broken up?
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. If she needs time with it before she tells me, I respect that.
If she wants to dance with strangers without judgment, I respect that.
I'm the one here with purpose.
"Oh, three o'clock." She takes another small sip. "He's checking you out."
Sure enough, there's a cute alternative guy at three o'clock. Tight pants, long bangs, leather jacket. But he's not checking me out. "He's looking at you."
"He's not."
"He is." I catch the guy's eyes and motion to Izzie.
She looks away with a blush.
"He's shy too."
"We're here to stalk your boyfriend, not find me a date."
"He's not my boyfriend and we're actually—"
"Setting up a situation for him to stalk you, yes. It's very twisted."
"I prefer romantic."
"You would." She glances at the alt guy then returns to the search. "Ah, bingo. Him." A tall guy in a suit.
For a second, I think he's Max, but then he steps into the light, and his face is all wrong.
"He'd tie you up."
"I don't know…"
"What's wrong with him?"
"He's fine."
"And…"
"He's just fine."
She shakes her head. "You're picky."
"Of course. I have the hottest date in the room."
She blushes. "Okay, for that, you have to dance." She finishes her drink in one long chug and offers her hand.
I finish mine, take her hand, follow her into the crowded space.
Even four feet into the dance floor, the energy is different. No one is here to talk. They're here to fuck. The space hums with sex and sweat, leather and plastic.
I close my eyes and sway with the beat. I'm not an excellent dancer, but I love the feeling of freedom that comes with catching the beat.
Everything else fades away. The entire world is me and the music. The entire world is free and easy.
I move with Izzie until I bump into someone. No, run into them.
The alt guy, no longer trying to keep his distance, totally ready to move in on Izzie.
Izzie tries to hide her desire to dance with the new partner, but it's written all over her face.
I motion go for it.