It will be hilariously ironic if I’ve gone through all this work to hook up with West and Rob—if I’ve disguised myself and shown up to this event only to have sex with them—and I can’t even find them.
Think positive, Mel.
Finally, I spot them. First Rob, and then West. They’re both masked, but I’d know them anywhere. Rob looks impatiently at his watch. His leg jiggles, which is Rob-code for ‘I’m getting restless.’ At his side, West is talking to someone he doesn’t like. His expression is perfectly pleasant, but he runs his hand through his hair, something he only does when he’s exasperated beyond belief.
Any minute now, they’re going to break away to take refuge at the bar.
All evening, I’ve been wondering if this is the best course of action. But now, now that I see them, my doubt evaporates.
West and Rob are gorgeous. I know this, of course, but something about seeing them here really brings it to life. Both men are tall and broad-shouldered. Their suits fit perfectly. Black masks partially cover their faces. My insides tighten. I didn't think I would find the masks a turn-on. But there is something about this scenario—being in a sex club, a mask guaranteeing my anonymity—that makes my pulse race.
I want Weston Fontaine and Robert Yarrow. I’ve wanted them for a year. In two weeks, I’m leaving F&Y, and who knows when I’ll see them again.
If there’s ever a time for action, it’s now.
A calm certainty fills me. I hurry to the bar and get there just as they do. West gallantly gestures for me to order first. I almost order my usual drink of gin and tonic, only to catch myself at the last minute. “I’ll have a Chardonnay, please,” I tell the bartender.
Rob orders a Scotch. I wrinkle my nose, making sure he can see me. I’m going out on a limb here, but I think Rob likes a challenge. “I never understood the appeal,” I murmur.
He quirks an eyebrow at me, no hint of recognition in his eyes. “You’re not a fan?”
I shake my head. My heart is hammering in my chest, but my voice comes out steady, thank heavens. “Too smoky for me. Every time I taste scotch, it feels like I’m licking an ashtray.” I’m deliberately pitching my voice low so he doesn’t recognize it. I let my gaze run all over him, lingering just long enough for him to get the message. It feels wild to openly ogle my boss. “You look like a purist. Let me guess, you drink Scotch with a side of spring water, and you’re about to spend the next fifteen minutes lecturing me on its merits.”
Rob gives me a wicked smile. “Now, why would I do that? Especially when there are so many other things we could talk about?” He sticks out his hand. “I’m Rob.”
I know. “Cat,” I lie, stealing my sister’s identity. Sorry, Cat. I’ll make it up to you. I take his offered hand, and a jolt of electricity runs through me. “What would we talk about?”
He tilts his head to one side. “Club M is always an easy conversation starter,” he says. “I would ask you if you’ve been here before. And you would say. . .?”
“I would admit that it’s my first time.”
The bartender pours West his beer. West nods at me and turns to leave. Rob opens his mouth, possibly to take his own farewell.
It’s now or never.
“And then,” I continue before either of them can get a word in, “I’d lean in and whisper that although I’m quite nervous about being here, my pulse is racing with anticipation.” I lick my lower lip. “I would also ask if you’d show me around.” I look at Rob, then at West, and then at Rob again. “Both of you.”