Club Prive: Sweet Escape (Kindle Worlds Novella) (2 page)

“You’re not a doctor?”

I smile at the oxygen wearer, used to that exact question offered in that exact same tone. “I’m a board certified physician assistant under the supervision of our hospitalist program. We’re in the process of getting your friends settled, but I didn’t want you to wait and worry.”

That statement softens them immediately. The lady with the walker leans forward and covers my hand with hers. “Thank you, dear. We’ve been terribly worried, and they wouldn’t tell us anything downstairs.”

Unwilling to toss a fellow department under the bus, I simply say, “I’m sorry about that. They were probably dealing with multiple emergencies.”

“Gang banging crack heads, most likely,” oxygen lady mutters.

“Oh, Dottie,” the one with a tight bun on top of her head says, “let our doctor here talk.”

“She isn’t a doctor,” Dottie grumbles.

Another one speaks up, and I admire her pink-tipped white hair. It’s sassy and matches the twinkle in the kind eyes made larger by her thick glasses. “Hush up and let her tell us how Henry and Irene are doing.”

Dottie opens her mouth to speak, but I quickly take back the floor. “Henry is in critical but stable condition. We have him on a ventilator to assist with his breathing while his heart heals, which is our hope it will do.”

“And Irene?” bun lady asks.

“I’m afraid her condition is more critical. I’m very worried about her. Her heart was heavily damaged and isn’t beating strongly enough to circulate her blood efficiently.”

“Well, can’t you do something?” Dottie snaps and adjusts the cannula in her nose.

“We’re providing her with oxygen support and keeping her comfortable, but she has a ‘do not resuscitate,’ which means—”

“We’re all over eighty,” Dottie pipes in, “we know what a DNR is.”

I hide my smile. In spite of her gruffness, I like the older woman. I like all of them. Little old people hold a special place in my heart, and I wish I had time to listen to each of their stories, know what their life was like before their bodies slowed them down.

“Are you saying that Irene is going to die?” the pink-tipped lady asks.

There’s no easy way to answer her question, so I rip the band-aid off. “Yes, most likely today or tomorrow. As soon as we get her settled in the room, I’ll let each of you in so you can say your goodbyes.”

My heart cracks a bit as I watch theirs break.

With nothing else to report, I stand and excuse myself, heading toward the door.

“Doctor?”

I turn just as Dottie grumbles, “She isn’t a doctor.”

Ignoring her, the one with the bun asks tentatively, “Will Henry be able to get it up again once he’s better?”

I choke on my spit. Recover. Then cough into my hand. “I’m sorry, could you ask me that again?”

Dottie rolls her eyes. “Can he get it up?” she snaps. “You know, pop a chub. Raise the tent. Bring out the one-eyed trouser snake. Goo—”

“Got it,” I jump in, raising both hands in self-defense as if her words have the ability to attack me. “It’s too early to—”

“Oh no,” pink-tipped lady drops her face in her hands.

I take a deep breath and look into each of their bespectacled eyes. “Many elderly gentlemen go on to have a very healthy sex life following a myocardial infarction—”

Bun-hair pats pink-tipped lady’s hand. “See, Edith, you’ll get your turn.”

I cough again to cover either a laugh or a groan, I’m honestly not sure which. Before I can say anything, Dottie leans forward, pointing a gnarled finger at me. “Henry is the stud of the home, so we need him to get better.”

Leaning my shoulder into the wall to steady myself, I force my face into its most neutral position. “So Irene and Henry aren’t a couple?” I ask, then add, “Exclusively.”

Pink-tipped lady sniffs. “No, dear. We take turns because, well, our options are rather limited.”

“I see.”

The one with the walker adds, “We have what you young people call an open relationship. It works well.”

I can feel my face growing hot, and Dottie pipes in, “You young people think you own the stock market on sex, but you know what I do when I go to a family reunion?”

Mutely, I shake my head.

“I look around at all my children and grandchildren and the couple of greats who’ve come along and think, ‘you fuckers are only here because I had sex with your grandpa.’”

I can’t help it. I laugh.

Pink-tip lady is busy chastising Dottie for cursing in public when I clear my throat and ask, “Are you four and Irene his only … companions?”

Pink-tip taps her lips. “Well, there was Agnes, but she died a couple weeks ago.”

“Jan broke her hip, so she’s out for a while.” That tidbit comes from the one sporting the walker.

The four of them have a discussion of who all Henry might or might not be “courting.” They get into an argument over whether he’s still seeing someone named Jean.

I edge my hand to the doorknob, excuse myself, and slip out of the room before running to the staff bathroom, covering my mouth to muffle the hysterical laughter that wants to bring me to my knees.

Chapter Two – Avery

Ten hours later, I open the door of my apartment and drop down on the couch, completely exhausted from the rest of my shitty day.

We lost Irene, and we also lost Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Cat dream – four, patient – zero. But before I’d even left the unit, both of their beds had been filled. It’s always that way, a revolving door of sickness and pain.

“Get up, you’ve got to get ready,” Brooke yells as she steps into the living room, a towel wrapped around her head.

My roommate for over a year now, Brooke is every man’s wet dream. Blonde, busty, and beautiful, she’s also incredibly smart, having graduated in the top twenty-five percent at Columbia Law.

I groan and place a pillow over my face. She yanks it off and promptly hits me with it. “Up. Now. You promised.”

Falling sideways on the couch, I curl into a ball. “I’ll go next time. Cross my heart.”

“No. You say that every time and you still haven’t gone.” She sits beside me and strokes my hair. “It’ll be fun, I promise. We’ll dance, have a few drinks, watch the show. If you don’t meet someone or if you aren’t having fun, we’ll leave.”

“But I have to work tomorrow,” I whine.

“Which is why we won’t stay out too late. Besides, when do you ever sleep anyway?”

She has a point there. Sleep isn’t a concept I’ve fully embraced in years. Not since…

No! Don’t think about it.

“Can we just go to a normal club?” I plead, still very uncomfortable with the idea of my roomie’s favorite place.

“No. I told Leslie we’d be there tonight.”

I turn onto my back and look up at her. “Isn’t it weird that you’re going to the same sex club as your law partner?” I ask her in all seriousness.

“No, it’s awesome. And it’s one of the reasons we work so well together. We have no judgments about the other. Besides, she’s happy with Paxton, so she just goes to enjoy the scene since they built their own playroom at their place.”

I cover my ears, and she pulls one hand off.

“Please. Go with me, Ave. If we go and you hate it, I’ll never ask again.”

I stick out my lower lip.

“And I’ll do dishes for a month,” she adds.

My lip sticks out even further.

She rolls her blue eyes. “Okay, okay. And I’ll scrub the damn toilets too.”

That warrants serious consideration. Bathroom duty cannot be taken lightly.

I blow out a breath. “Alright, but…”

She doesn’t even give me a chance to finish, but is off the couch and dragging me up with her. “Take a shower.” She pushes me toward the bathroom. “I’ll do your hair and make-up. I have the perfect dress.”

I whirl around. “No, no, no. I want a real dress, not a bandage.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Okay, we’ll find you something presentable.” She says the word as if it’s dirty. “Shave your legs and your—”

“Got it, even though it will be a waste of a perfectly good razor.”

Her pale eyebrows bob up and down, then she pushes me toward the bathroom again. “You never know who you might find at Club Privé.”

***

As our taxi pulls up to the front of Club Privé, I wonder why there isn’t a line down the street.

“Bummer,” I say to Brooke, snapping my fingers in faux disappointment. “Looks like they’re closed. Let’s get something to eat and go home.”

But the taxi door is opening, and my roommate is soon on the curb, handing a few bills to our driver. “Come on,” she says and crosses her arms over her chest until I slink out behind her.

A limo pulls to the curb in front of us and half a dozen women appear, rocking their sexy, thousand dollar dresses to the door. Their expensive shoes and diamonds nearly blind me. As does the collars and leashes half of them are wearing.

I don’t fit in here; I know it at once. There’s too much bare skin being flashed for my halter dress to be anything but boring. Sure, there’s a deep v in the front and no back to speak of, but the skirt flows down to my knees, making me feel like a nun in her habit in this crowd.

Brooke slaps my hand away when I reach up to rub my eye. I’m not used to wearing this much makeup, especially the false eyelashes that make me feel like I have a spider sitting on my face. I run my tongue over my teeth, hoping the goopy lip gloss has stayed where it’s supposed to.

With her hand firmly on my arm, Brooke marches straight up to the man guarding the door. “Brooke Jenkins, guest of Leslie Calvin.”

A thick finger taps a screen, and the bulky man inclines his head. “Brooke Jenkins plus one.” I squirm in my schoolmarm outfit as he scrutinizes me from top to toe.

Dang it. I love this dress. I’ve always felt flirty and girly in it. Until now.

Unhooking a velvet rope, the big guy lets us inside. Soon, we’re in the door, and Brooke is pulling me to the side.

“Remember, don’t walk around with your mouth hanging open, and if you point at anything or anyone, I’ll bite your finger off.”

I nod dumbly.

“If anyone approaches you and you’re interested, just nod. If anyone wants to take you into a private room, don’t go until you’ve told me first. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“If you do go to a private room, have fun, but only let things go as far as you’re comfortable. Remember to be honest and tell them that you aren’t a Sub and that you’re only here to play. Make sure a safe word is established and if one isn’t, walk out. Same thing if they refuse to wear a condom.”

Oh God, what am I doing here?

“Don’t panic,” she implores me, sensing my growing unease. “Remember that the Dom has the control, but the Sub has the power. The men inside here are members and have had background checks. They screw up once with a Sub, and they’re out. The owners take no shit from anyone. There was some big scandal a while back, and they are extra cautious now to make sure everyone has a good time but are safe.”

That makes me feel a little bit better.

Brooke places her hands on my shoulders. “Avery, you deserve to have fun. You work too hard and never let yourself off the hook. That’s what being a Sub is … handing over control for a little while and just allowing someone else to care for you, bring you alive in a way that is consensual and releasing.”

“Will it hurt?” I ask the question that has been niggling around in my head.

She grins. “If you’re lucky.” Her hands tighten on my shoulders when I try to turn around and bolt. “I’m kidding. It’s totally up to you. Your Dom can play with pain and if it doesn’t also bring you pleasure, tell him to stop. Use your safe words. They’re there for a reason.”

“Green, yellow, and red.”

“Those are the most popular, just make sure they are the ones you two decide to use.”

I blow out a deep breath. “Okay. I think I’m ready.”

Brooke lets go of my shoulders and pushes my hair back from my face to check my makeup. The look she gives me turns serious. “Listen to me. If you decide to go into a room with a guy, I won’t judge you. If you only dance, I won’t judge you. If you only sit at a table and watch, I won’t judge you. If you curl into a corner and suck your thumb, I won’t judge you.” Her eyes twinkle. “I might tease you for the rest of your days, but I won’t judge you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, I’m listening. So you won’t be disappointed if I don’t hook up with someone?”

Her eyes grow serious again. “Disappointed in you? Never. You’re the best person I know, Avery. The people inside those walls are quality people, not some dumb shits you’d find at a regular club. They know the lifestyle, and they honor the lifestyle. I trust them with you and you with them.”

I look past the blonde bombshell exterior of the woman in front of me and into the intelligent and caring interior of my best friend. She trusts this place, and I trust her. And she’s right. It’s been way too long since I’ve let my hair down and just did something reckless and fun.

And sex.

My insides tighten at the thought. Sex with someone who is experienced and knows how to bring pleasure. Not some fumbling boy who has only had hours of porn as his teacher.

I take Brooke’s hand. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Chapter Three – Gray

“Welcome to Club Privé.”

Turning from the balcony overlooking the dance floor below, I’m greeted by a man who could pass as my brother, even though he’s clean shaven and I prefer a neatly trimmed beard. We both smile in surprise at the resemblance and the beautiful woman beside him laughs.

“Wow,” she says, her warm brown eyes smiling up at me, “are you two related?”

I shake my head, still amused. “I don’t think so, but we might want to visit ancestry.com just to be sure.” I stick out my hand. “Grayson Atwood.”

My doppelganger shakes, and I feel an immediate kinship, blood relative or not. “Gavin Manning and my glorious wife, Carrie.” I take her small hand in mine, pleasantly surprised by her strong grip. “We own the club and are always pleased to see new faces, especially those who come so highly recommended. What can I order you to drink?”

“As this is my first night out in New York, how about a Manhattan?”

Carrie beams, and she seems lit from within. “Whiskey?”