Page 23 of Playing By Their Rules

That’s so far away, and the vibe is bound to be quieter on a Sunday night than it would be on a Friday or Saturday. Inwardly, I pout, but I give him a smile and say, “Okay, Sunday.”

* * *

Maisie

I wait for Sunday. And I wait, and I wait. Wednesday passes, then Thursday, then Friday.

By the time Saturday comes around, I’ve done a ton of thinking, and I realize that going to the club with Bradley is probably a bad idea. Having his support sounds good on paper, but how am I supposed to find myself a man (or two) to spank me senseless if my best friend is there, lingering on the sidelines? It sounds pretty weird, the more I think about it.

Also, if I’m honest with myself, I’m impatient as heck. There’s a whole kinky club, hiding behind Vice? I need to see it.

It’s Saturday night. Mina’s working at Pepperoni Palace. Bradley’s attending his cousin’s wedding in Clear Springs.

And I am free, with too much time on my hands and a sexy, dark blue dress hanging in my closet.

What does one wear when trying to infiltrate a secret sex club? I’m hoping this dress is it, because I have no other ideas. I do subtle make-up and I wear my black hair so it hangs straight down my back. My magenta lipstick is my signature color, so it’s the brightest part of my face. I frown at the tube, because it isn’t in the same part of the bathroom drawer where I left it. Did Mina borrow it again? I hate it when she does that. I don’t mind sharing clothes, for the most part, but make-up is a boundary. I’ll have to talk to her about it tomorrow morning. If she insists on wearing the same shade, she can get her own tube.

One hour later, I’m fighting my way into a very crowded Vice. I’ve never come here alone before. Being by myself makes me nervous, but also sets me free.

I kinda like it.

I order and down a shot of vodka to take off the edge of fear, and then I’m dancing my way across the floor, carried on a current of rhythmic bass and the energy of the crowd. The whole time I’m dancing, though, I’m looking around and wondering: if I was hiding a secret kinky club, where would I put it?

There’s a set of stairs leading up. Maybe the secret club is on the second floor? When I look toward it, all I see are dim windows. That could be it. I move to the stairs and start to go up, but a woman wearing black slacks and a black top is standing on the first landing. She shakes her head at me with a regretful smile. “This is a VIP area, and you have to rent a lounge if you want to come up here.”

It’s possible the secret club is on the second floor, but I also don’t see a lot happening. Something in my gut says this isn’t the place.

“I’m neither VIP nor interested in renting a lounge room,” I say with a grin, “but thanks anyway.”

She nods and I go back the way I came. There are restrooms at the rear of the club, but no other doors in that direction. Then I see it—only because I’m looking. What had appeared to be a solid, black wall is actually hiding a passageway. If the strobe lights hadn’t flashed right at the moment I was looking at it, I never would’ve noticed.

This is it.

Trying to look like I totally belong back here and that I know where I’m going, I step into the passageway. I wait for someone to shout that I’m trespassing, but nothing happens.

Halfway down the hall, though, I reach an obstacle in the form of a grouchy-looking man with blond hair and a no-nonsense grimace.

I give him a little wave and start to walk past him, but he says, “Hold up. I need to see your ID and card.”

“My ID card?”

“Your ID and card,” he repeats.

“I, um, I just have an ID,” I say.

“Then you should go back the way you came.” He nods behind me, like I don’t know where that is.

“I want to go to the other club, the one back here,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Not without a card.”

“I…um…left it at home?” I try. I don’t expect it to work.

He looks offended that I even made the attempt.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Maisie,” a familiar, gravelly voice says from behind me.

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