“Exactly,” Chloe says, pointing her fork at me. “For both safety and efficiency, you need a couple of steady partners. Casual, reliable. That’s how the Fuckit List gets done.”
“Oh, baby girl,” Sloane practically purrs, a grin spreading. “I know just the place to take you.”
CHAPTER 13
Emmy
“Stop fussing.”
Sloane slaps my hands away from my hem. I’m wearing one of her dresses – a short, lacy, black dress with sheer panels on the sides. It’s more lingerie than clothing, and even under my coat I feel half-naked.
“You sure this isn’t too much?” I try to tug the hem lower. She just rolls her eyes.
“It’s the perfect amount,” she says. “Tonight is strictly recon. Remember that. We are going in, we are shopping around for anyone you think is hot, and then we are exiting. You’re not ready for anything more.”
“You’re beingawfullycryptic about where we’re going.”
I frown. It’s Saturday night and we’re in a cab. Sloane won’t tell me where we are going, only that it’s strictly exclusive and that I have to keep an open mind.
Eventually the cab pulls up on a nondescript street somewhere near Millbank.
“Are you sure this is right?” I raise a brow at Sloane, who’s already hauling open the door and climbing out of the car. I follow, tottering slightly in heels I’m not used to.
“Yep,” she says, giving me a wicked smile. “Now, remember what I said. Strictly recon. Don’t freak out. And remember this is a very exclusive, members-only club, so don’t do anything that will get me kicked out.”
I roll my eyes, but she gives me another smirk and tugs me along the pavement. A few seconds later, we stop outside a door and Sloane presses a discreet doorbell with an S on it.
Seconds later, a tall man with a serious expression opens the door. He looks like a bouncer, if bouncers were dressed by Savile Row. “Name?” he asks, casting a scrutinising eye over me.
“Sloane Reed,” replies Sloane, handing over a card, which the man scans. “And tonight, I’m bringing a guest. Emmeline Warner.”
“Of course, welcome back Ms Reed. And welcome, Ms Warner. Please read our house rules, sign your name, and then complete the NDA at the end.” He hands me an iPad with a series of documents lit up on the screen.
“An NDA?” I ask, side eyeing Sloane, who returns my look with a solemn nod. “Ok…”
I scan over the list of rules. It’s heavily focused on consent and mutual respect, which is nice to see for what I’m assuming is some sort of nightclub. It’s only when I get to a section on pee and the polite request to “please keep it to the designated room” that I start to wonder whatsortof nightclub this is.
“Sloane, is this a sex club?” I hiss, quietly enough so only she hears me.
“It’s a very exclusive members only club,” she replies, evenly. “Where… consenting adults can find discreet corners and spaces for kissing and such.” She gives me a theatrical wink.
“Oh my god, why didn’t you warn me!”
“You might not have come!!” she hisses back. “This is the perfect place to meet people for the Fuckit List! It’s full of super-hot horndogs who are going to be all over a hot little slice likeyou. No strings, everyone’s vetted so there are no weirdos, and you don’t have to waste a bunch of time dating ugly city bros you match with on Tinder.”
“You could have warned me! I haven’t even had a wax!”
“Like I said, this is a PG-13 visit. We’re window shopping. Besides, some people go wild for a bit of hair,” she says, glancing pointedly at my crotch. “I wouldn’t take you anywhere I didn’t think you’d be safe. This place is legit. It’s classy. The owner is a total daddy and this is the perfect place to shop around for fuck buddies. Sex friends.Pussy partners.” She waggles her eyebrows and grins.
I roll my eyes again but I’m smiling at the same time. Maybe she has a point.
A sex club’s actually a pretty efficient way to find no-strings fun. And really, is it any weirder than kissing Sloane in a bar? Or seeing God courtesy of Lotus’s magic fingers?
I swallow and pull up my metaphorical big girl pants. The new Emmy does all sorts of wild shit. She wouldn’t blink twice about going to a sex club.
“Ok. You’ve made your point. Let’s do it.” I sign the forms and the NDA, and put my game face on.
“Thank you, ladies,” the bouncer says, nodding graciously. “Welcome to Salt.”
