Page 8 of Masked Seduction
I’ve never been skinny like her. I’m more soft curves and strategic outfits. Claire’s always made me feel like a walking ‘before’ picture, though she’d be furious if she knew that.
“Living room’s a disaster,” I warn, stepping over a pile of laundry.
She shrugs. “So are we.”
We pop the cork and pour modest glasses. Claire kicks off her heels and sinks into the couch like she owns it. “Alright, talk to me. You’re practically vibrating.”
“I think I’m sexually frustrated,” I mutter, sipping slowly, savoring the sweetness. “Like, dangerously.”
Claire snorts. “Finally. I’ve been waiting weeks for this confession. Tell me everything.”
I groan and bury my face in a pillow. “It’s Abram. My boss.”
“The Russian Bratva zaddy,” she gasps. “I knewit. You’re finally admitting it.”
“He’s not a zaddy,” I mumble, though the heat in my cheeks betrays me. “He’s a controlling, egotistical asshole who makes me want to throw a stapler at his face and at the same time ride him like a mechanical bull.”
Claire howls with laughter, nearly spilling her wine. “Girl, Ihaveto see this man.”
“He’s not a man, he’s a tyrant.”
“Alright, so he’s a hot tyrant. But the job’s good, right?”
“Amazing pay,” I admit. “And I get full benefits. Plus, it’s not boring.When he calls me into his office, I never know if I’m walking into a scheduling emergency or a crime in progress.”
Claire lifts her glass. “To hot criminals and health insurance.”
We clink and drink.
Claire leans back on the couch. “So. Are you gonna show me a picture of this hot tyrant or what?”
I roll my eyes and take another drink. “Nope.”
“No?”
“I’m not feeding your fantasies.”
Claire grins. “Oh, so he’s seriously hot.”
“I’m not doing this.” I stand, grabbing my phone. “Wanna go out? Catch a buzz? Make some bad decisions?”
Claire blinks, then tilts her head. “Wasn’t expecting a bait-and-switch. But yes, obviously.”
“How about Junebug’s?” I offer. It’s a dive bar on East Fremont with sticky floors and strong drinks.
She makes a face. “Mmm, tempting. But since we never get to hang out anymore, I vote we mix it up.”
I hesitate. “Like how?”
She drums her fingers on her glass. “Like, let’s do something we haven’t done since we were fresh out of college and thought Vegas was our playground.” She jumps to her feet. “Let’s go dancing!”
I blink. “Like, real dancing? Music? Sweaty strangers?”
“Maybe even some making out in a dark corner.”
I laugh. “Fine. Let’s find a place.”
I grab my laptop and set it on the coffee table. Claire plops beside me, pulling her knees up and balancing her glass on one thigh like it’s a skill she’s trained for. I pull up a few club sites—VelvetRoom, The Underground, Haze. She scrolls with a distracted hum before stopping abruptly. Her eyes light up, her mouth curving in a way that sets off a mild alarm in my chest.
