I lift my drink to her in a mock cheer. “No, it isn’t.”
She ignores me after that. And when we leave, it’s Jordan who helps her on with her coat. It’s Jordan’s arm she hangs on as we walk to the valet. It’s Jordan who drives—I’m well on my way to drunk. And it’s Jordan who walks her up to her apartment.
I wait in front of the building in the passenger seat of my own fucking car until he comes back and gets in with me.
“Well?” he says. “What do you think?”
I shrug. Eager to get home and do some more drinking. “She’ll do.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Jordan asks as we make our way through the nearly empty streets of downtown towards the club. I stare at the gold dome of the capitol building, lost in my own thoughts. “Well?” Jordan prods. “You gonna answer me?”
“Nothing,” I say.
What I don’t say is… I’m thinking about Rochelle and Adley living their little happily ever after with Quin. I’m thinking about Chella and Smith and when that announcement will come. The one when Smith says, “We’re pregnant.” I’m thinking about how they’ve moved on and I’m still here… alone.
Because I’m not thinking about any of that.
“I like her,” Jordan says as we pull up to Turning Point. “I think she’s… interesting.”
“Well, good for you. Do you need a ride home? Tell the valet to give you a car.”
And then I get out, slam the door, and walk inside without saying goodbye.
I don’t know why I’m so pissed off, but I am.
I don’t talk to anyone in the lobby. I don’t stop and have a drink at Smith’s bar on my way upstairs.
I just disappear.
My apartment is… God. I need to get the fuck out of this place.
I walk into the kitchen, get the bottle of brandy and a glass, and sit down on the couch. I stare out the window, just fixated on the capitol building, wishing I could turn back time one year. One year and a few weeks, anyway. Back to when Rochelle was just a weird mystery and Chella, Smith, and Quin were still mine.
My cell phone rings in my suit coat pocket. I take it out, and look at the screen.
Nadia’s number. I recognize it from the other night when I called her.
“Yes,” I say, after tabbing accept.
“I just wanted to thank you for a lovely evening.”
I almost snort my drink. “Was it lovely?” I ask.
“Yes, it was. Didn’t you have a good time?”
“Not particularly,” I say.
“Was it me?”
“Are you needy tonight, Miss Wolfe?”
“Yes,” she says. She’s using that purring voice. The low, whispery, husky one. “I thought we’d spend the night together after dinner. I can’t deny I was a little disappointed.”
“Well.” I sigh. “New game, new rules, right?”
“I’m not sure. I never played the old game.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say. Which is the whole problem. I want the old game back and it’s gone for good. But I don’t tell her any of that. She’s not worth it.
“Would you like a goodnight… kiss?” she coos.
“You want to make sucky-face noises in the phone?” I ask. “Pass.”
She laughs then. A soft one. Maybe even a real one. “No, you dumbass. Like… phone sex, Bricman. Come on. Why are you so surly?”
“You want to phone-sex me?”
“Are you a phone sex virgin?”
“No… not exactly.”
“Have you ever done it before?”
“Did Jordan put you up to this?” I ask her.
“No. I just kissed him goodnight a few minutes ago. He enjoyed it, he said. Came all over my imaginary face.”
It’s my turn to laugh. Just a small one.
“Ha,” she says, still almost whispering. “I made you smile. So do you? Want to phone-sex, I mean?”
I look down at my cock and find it… uninterested.
“I can make it fun.”
“Were you a cam girl in your other life?”
“No,” she says. Still playful. “I just think it’s erotic to get someone off with words, you know? And imagination. It’s an art, I think.”
“And you’re what? A come artist?”
She chortles this time. “Call it whatever you want. But how about you unbutton your pants while we talk? Take that fat cock out and hold it. Grip it tight for me, Elias.”
And maybe I’m just drunk, or maybe I’m just lonely, or maybe I’m actually thinking it might be fun, but I do it.
“OK,” I say into the phone. And then I put her on speaker and set the phone down. “I’ve got it in my hand. Now what?”
“Play with your balls,” she says. “Grab them, lift them up, and massage them. Press them against your hard shaft, Elias. I want you good and ready for me.”
“Are your fingers in your pussy?” I ask.
“Not yet. I’m just getting started.”
“Are you already wet? From Jordan?”
“Yes,” she says. “Are you playing with your balls?”
“Yes,” I say, massaging them in the palm of my hand, rubbing them against my now fully-erect cock. There are all kinds of warning bells going off in my head right now. Warnings like… She’s controlling you, Bric. She’s getting her way. She’s trying to change the rules in her favor. She wants to win, Bric.
But I don’t even know what winning means anymore. I’ve been on a losing streak for so long, I’ve lost perspective. Maybe this is winning?
“Stop thinking so hard, Elias.” She purrs my name. Like a trained whore, I tell myself. Or… like a woman and not a girl. “Just relax. Lean back. Are you on your couch? Or in a chair? Give me a visual.”
It’s a bad idea, but I don’t care. “Couch,” I say.
“Keep playing,” she says. Her voice is so low now. Such a soft whisper. And her breathing is picking up. Just a little. Just enough for me to picture her too. “And tell me what the room looks like.”
I look around my apartment. “It’s cold,” I say. “Leather chairs and couch.”
“What color?” she asks.
“White. And the floors are black marble.”
“So you live in your own version of the Black and White Rooms?”
“What?” I say, my hand pausing mid-stroke on my cock.
“Do you have a view? From where you’re sitting?”
I glance out the window and find the gold dome of the capitol building. “No.”
“Such a shame. Do you want to know where I am?”
“Sure,” I say, losing interest fast. What the fuck am I doing?
“Well…” she breathes. “I undressed as soon as I came home. I was regretting my choice of dress all night because I didn’t feel sexy in it. It was too tailored. Too buttoned up. Too professional. I wanted you to look at me, Elias. Look at me in a way that made your eyes heavy and your heart beat faster. And you didn’t. So I was disappointed.”
I wonder how true that is?
“So I put on something else. And made myself up in a different way. Do you want a picture?”
“Sure,” I say, glancing down at the phone.
I hear the sound of a camera click, then a few seconds later my phone beeps. I tab the message and open it up.