Bang (Club Deep #3)

Hudson lets me lean on him and I make my way up the stairs on shaky legs. I get my coat, and he gets a piece of paper. “Now, about that phone number.”

6

When I got home from Club Deep, I swore that I wouldn’t go back for at least a week. Everything that happened between Hudson and me was so intense and so amazing that I told myself to take time to process it all. Hudson texted me his schedule—which put him at the club nearly every night—and told me that whenever I came, just to tell the doorman I was there for him, and he would be there.

I really thought I could do a week, too. I could power through the ache between my legs reminding me of how he pleasured me relentlessly. I could survive Sandra waggling her eyebrows at me and subtly prying for details about the party. I dodge phone calls from my mother and sister because after what happened I’m unwilling to talk about Keith Overton and what they view as my lack of relationship possibilities. And every time they call I’m reminded of Hudson and everything that happened. It was amazing. But it wasn’t just the sex. I became someone else. Someone powerful and beautiful and confident, and I loved it. And along with wanting Hudson to share more of his fantasies with me, I wanted that freedom again. It’s perfect this way. He never has to know the real me that spends her time in front of a computer darkening shadows on images. That kind of person wouldn’t captivate someone as fascinating as him. So I’ll keep being that woman he met at the party—confident and together and mysterious. And that will be enough. But not for another week.

The phone calls from my family pile up until it feels like I can’t go an hour without hearing their ringtone. On what I think might be the hundredth call I roll my eyes and pick up a call from Catherine. She doesn’t even give me the chance to speak.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

“I’m sorry?”

She scoffs, “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“Yes, Catherine, that’s because I have a job and I don’t have time to answer a call every hour from you.”

“Whatever. You’re probably just saying that to make me think you were busy. I’m calling to find out where you were last night?”

I frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about dinner,” she practically shrieks, “With Keith. Mom and I set it up, we left you at least five messages. You could have had the decency to show up.” Her words are seething with rage, and now I am too.

“I told you I had no interest in going out with him, Catherine. What the hell were you thinking setting me up on a date like that?”

She sighs, a sound of long-suffering I’ve heard way too many times over the years. “Mom and I set it up because it’s embarrassing. Everyone your age is settled down now, and instead of putting down roots and making a family, you’re off gallivanting in the city. Do you want to be an old maid?”

Every time I think that Catherine can’t shock me, she does, and I wish her words didn’t hurt, but tears still prick at the back of my eyes. “Well, I’m very sorry that I’m an embarrassment to you, but I’m still not going out with Keith. End of story.”

“Fine,” she sneers. “Don’t come crawling to me when you’re forty and single and unhappy. You’re not special, Christine. Stop acting like it.”

The line clicks dead, and for a few minutes, all I can do is stand there. I hate how much her words resonate. I do fear that I’ll be alone, that no one will like me. But at the very least I know that Keith isn’t the answer. Deep in my chest a dull pain throbs, and I push it aside. At least for the night, I can be someone amazing and sexy.

Which is why, only two days into my week, dressed in a skimpy outfit, I get in my car and drive to the club. The whole way I tell myself to turn around, but I know that I’ve already made my decision. My body sings with anticipation as I pull into the parking lot. I can’t really believe that I’m doing this. Not that I’m doing it, but that I’m doing it. Me, Christine, the boring girl.

Tonight’s outfit isn’t quite as daring as the party, but then again, that was a special occasion. I had some strappy red lingerie from an old relationship, and I paired it with a pair of pants I own that are so tight that they’re practically painted on. I take a second to paint on a lipstick that matches the lingerie top, and take a breath. Don’t turn back. You’re not you. You’re ‘club Christine.’ Brazen, confident, and unashamed.