Page 5 of The Pact

I’ve tried to ignore their conversations, but they’re in here far too often for me to pretend I don’t hear what they talk about. Their business seems to be doing well. And I can tell that Thea is hardworking. She takes her photography seriously, like she’s willing to do whatever it takes to be successful. It’s a trait I see in myself.

She lets her friend Cassie do most of the talking and decision making. I’m not sure if she prefers others to take charge, or if Cassie’s Type-A personality railroads her so much that she doesn’t bother rocking the boat. Maybe she’s just a quiet soul who prefers to observe and take everything in.

These are little mysteries that I can’t wait to unravel as we get to know each other.

I’ve been biding my time, not wanting to appear too eager. What sealed the deal was her comment today about me asking her out. She would say yes. I thought my heart was going to give out right there.

Pulling out my phone, I scroll until I see Thea’s name. It feels too good to be true. Yet it’s not, I remind myself. This is happening.

In the meantime, I find another contact. Sierra Ritter. I hit call and wait for her to pick up.

“Hey, I need a favor that’s a little more…intimate than my normal request. I could really use your special touch. Are you available tomorrow night?”

THEA

Tonight, I’m someone else. I’m not Thea, I’m Noelle. My middle name is a convenient alias for when I go to the bar. I don’t feel guilty lying, mostly because whoever I meet here won’t be anyone special.

Hopefully, I’ll never see them again.

These weekly outings are my version of therapy. I’ve done actual therapy, but this seems to make me feel a whole hell of a lot better. It’s probably more destructive than anything else, yet I can’t help it.

It all started a few months after I broke up with Gavin. I was second guessing my decision and couldn’t get a hold of Cassie, so I drove to the nearest bar for a drink.

Barely presentable in sweats and my hair in a messy bun, I ordered a drink and let the loud music drown out my thoughts.

Not even a few sips in and I had some guy slide into the chair next to me at the bar top, offering to buy my next drink. I figured, what the hell, I was single after all.

The guy wasn’t particularly handsome, still it was nice being noticed. I spent twelve years with a man who barely touched me, let alone looked at me with desire. So when this guy’s eyes bounced between my lips and tits, I felt satisfaction surge through me.

I let him run his hand up my thigh. He even leaned in and kissed me, the alcohol on our breaths mixing. I probably should have been ashamed, but I wasn’t. Maybe because that’s where I drew the line.

Excusing myself, I told him I had to use the restroom and I’d be back. It was a lie. I circled the room and waited until he wasn’t looking to dip out, leaving him with the tab.

I told myself it was a onetime thing. Then, I found myself getting dressed up every Thursday. I needed my fix.

At first, I felt guilty making them pay. Eventually, I reconciled that with the fact that they were only buying those drinks with the hope I’d get drunk and let them fuck me.

Atlanta was easy—it’s huge and there are bars everywhere. I could go to a new spot every week before having to circle back.

Now that I live in Willow Hill, it’s not that simple.

The first time, I made a rookie mistake by coming to the only bar in town. I tricked a guy, leaving him with the tab and a mean hard on. Then, I realized he probably lives nearby and there’s a good chance I’d run into him.

After that, I made a list of all the bars in the towns surrounding Willow Hill. So far, I haven’t run into anyone who’s noticed my little scam. I also make sure that the guys I choose now are pretty drunk, so that remembering me is more difficult.

I’m sitting on the barstool, sipping on tequila, waiting for the first poor sucker to fall into my trap.

It’s lady’s night, however the cutoff was a half hour ago.

There’s still plenty of people here, some finishing their drinks and others so drunk that they’ll keep buying. I take a sip of mine and lock eyes with a man across the bar. He’s older, yet still handsome, giving me a smile that tells me he knows it.

I return it. He pushes off of his stool and saunters over, standing at the empty seat next to me.

“You’re looking awfully dangerous this evening.” His eyes travel over my body and I fight not to laugh at the cheesy line.

My slinky black dress lands on my upper thighs and hugs me tightly. The thin straps curve over my shoulders. The front has a small V cut and gives a peek at my pushed up breasts.

My eyes fall to his feet and drag up his body, lingering over his crotch for a second longer than I should, before moving up his torso and meeting his gray-blue eyes. “I could say the same thing about you.” Matching his lame line with one of my own.

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