Page 18 of Damaged

They both sound like parakeets in the sheets. The noise would be a deal breaker, if the two didn’t get along so welltogether.

But it’s been a week since I had a girl over. I saw Natasha out the morning after I’d given Sophia a ride home, and I haven’t asked her over since. A week. It’s the longest I’ve gone without sex in a while. Putting it that way, it sounds like I have an addiction. But so what? I’m clean. Safe. I just like the opposite sex.

Not just their asses and tits. I like a gorgeous smile. A demure blush. The way they nervously twirl their hair around me. It’s not just about how they submit, but the look in their eyes before they do.

It drives me as wild as it drives them. And everyone has a good time, although I have had a few locks of my own hair cut off while sleeping and a vase or two thrown at my head. Some don’t like the fact that I’ll never be monogamous, that I believe Don Draper was right when he said love was invented to sell nylons.

But I’ve always been upfront about the fact that I only fuck. I’m not one of those skeevy men who whisper sweetnothings to get into a girl’s pants. I don’t need to do that to get all the women I want.

“No. I’m not seeing anyone,” I finally say.

I swear I see Alex gulp. “I know several girls who’d be interested.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t need a wingman. I’m not in a drought.”

“Good. But stay away from Sophia,” he says teasingly, like I’m a hound who can’t be trusted. I suppose I can’t blame him.

“I think you mentioned that.”

“What’s up, bros?”

I look up to see a blond man standing in front of our table. He’s in his late twenties but is dressed in tight khakis and a polo like he just got out of prep school. But the most infantile part of him are the bangs that reach to his brow.

“Can we help you?” I ask.

“Roman Andersen.” He extends his hand over a thin puffer coat he’s holding.

I stare at his hand, confused.

“James, this is the man from Nevada I was telling you about,” Alex says.

“Ah,” I say, realizing I’m going to have to make an excuse to leave early this evening. This kid looks like he’s the front for a boyband.

“So, I hear you guys like the wild side of New York, yeah?”

James and I look at each other. This isn’t true. I much prefer an evening poker game than clubbing with the lost molly-loving souls of Manhattan.

“I’ve got a treat for you,” Roman says. “And I don’t want us to be late.” He looks at his enormous dive watch. It’s about twice the size of his thin wrist.

“We were just settling up,” Alex says.

I frown at Alex. This isn’t the kind of client he usually takes on. He deals with foreign governments, not trust fund kids. I don’t have time to question him, however. I don’t bail just yet. I’m kind of curious where this night is going.

After having Alex grill me about Sophia, I’m looking forward to ditching him at whatever club Justin Bieber brings us to with a teasing smile.

Bangs has a car waiting, and the three of us get in the back. We don’t drive to a club. He takes us to the warehouses near the Brooklyn waterfront.

It’s the kind of place where many of the city’s crooks have breathed their last breath before being tossed into the water. Brick buildings with broken windows. Trash everywhere.

I’m looking at Alex, who seems just as confused.

“This is it!” Bangs says, excited. He knocks on the partition rapidly to get the driver to stop.

“Alright, boys, you ready for a fun one?”

Alex just nods while I stare at him. We follow Roman towards the warehouse. He walks quickly, like maybe he’s already on drugs, and Alex and I stroll several yards behind him. This area is used for crime. That’s it.

There are no secret clubs or speakeasys in these warehouses that some kid from Nevada would know that I didn’t.

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