Page 2 of Hard Ride
“Liar. You liked that guy’s picture a lot.”
I’ve known Laurel since law school. She’s with a corporate law firm in Midtown, while I’m with Harlow and Nelson, divorce lawyers to New York’s rich and famous. She thinks I need to get out and meet someone, because she’s worried about my current sex drought. I, on the other hand, am not worried about it. I can take or leave sex, to be honest, and anyway, work takes up most of my time. I don’t need Laurel hooking me up with anyone on some stupid kink app.
Come on, it’s Tate. Tate O’Rourke.
So what? I’m over him and over all the horrible, confusing feelings that consumed me back then. I’ve got no desire to revisit them.
If Tate’s on that app, Lucas is probably on it too.
Oh shit, that’s true. Lucas Thorne, Tate’s best friend and mine.
“Yeah, he’s okay,” I say noncommittally.
Laurel frowns at me, then looks down at her phone. “Your gauge is busted. He certainly makes me want to sign up in a heartbeat.”
I should tell her not to get anywhere near him, because he was a whole thing ten years ago, and I’m sure he still is. I mean, I had to leave without telling him, because I didn’t want him to follow me. And he would have. Both of them would have.
Every so often, I’ll look him up on the internet, mainly for nosiness reasons, and every time I do, he seems to have gone from strength to strength.
He was into engineering back when I knew him, always tinkering around with cars and other machines. Now, he and Lucas own an airplane company that builds fantastically engineered and expensive private planes for rich people. O’Rourke and Thorne Aeronautics.
Laurel gives me a speculative look as she glances back up from the phone again. “I’ve got an idea.”
Oh, God, no. It’s never a good thing when Laurel has an ‘idea’.
“Perhaps we can talk about that—” I begin.
“The Club actually has a venue in Manhattan,” she interrupts. “It opened last week and they have a night for people new to the scene.”
I tense, because I know what she’s going to say. She’s going to say ‘let’s go down and check it out’ and I’ll have to refuse, because there’s no way I’m going to a sex club.
“I’m not sure I’d be into it,” I say. “I don’t want to be bossed around by some asshole.”
“You don’t have to be if that’s not what you want.” Laurel has that gleam in her eye, the one she gets when she’s taken an idea and is running the fuck away with it. “I bet there’s all kinds of other things there you might be into.”
“Lor—”
“Hemight be there.” Laurel gives me a meaningful look.
I blink. Tate? Here in New York? His company is based in California, I’m sure of it.
“Uh, why?” I ask stupidly.
“Because he’s based in New York, according to the app. And if he’s on The Club app, I bet he’ll be at The Club itself.”
I want to tell her that’s an excellent reasonnotto go anywhere near The Club itself, yet five minutes later, we’re both sitting in an Uber as it makes its way Downtown.
I can’t quite believe I’m coming with her, but sometimes Laurel is impossible to resist. She told me that even if I wasn’t interested in anything at The Club, she was, and that she needed me to be her emotional support vanilla.
It’s definitely not because I want to see Tate again. I absolutely donotwant to see Tate again. I never ever think of him, even, so it’s not as if I’m still love with him. Or with Lucas.
Besides, even if by some evil miracle they’re there, I’ll just leave before they can spot me. They’ll probably have forgotten me anyway. It was a long time ago, and they’re rich as hell, not to mention extremely hot. They’ll have models and movie stars hanging off their arms and won’t be at all interested in some freckled redhead they once knew ten years ago.
The Club is nothing like the sex club I was expecting as we pull up outside. In fact, it doesn’t look like a club at all. It’s a historic mansion, with old gas lamps on the facade, stone columns, and wrought iron balustrades. There’s no sign anywhere, just a gold plaque on the wall beside the big double doors.
A couple of normal-looking people dressed in normal clothes approach, then disappear inside. They don’t look super kinky, so maybe it won’t be wall-to-wall vinyl corsets and gimp suits inside.
“Wow,” Laurel mutters as we get out of the Uber. “This isnotwhat I expected.”
