Yet, I’d decided to dothistonight.
There was something up with me, some wire crossed in my brain. I’d always liked to make myself feel a little bad about things. I enjoyed sad movies and music and stories that made me want to cry. There was just something about feeling that huge swell of emotion. But now I couldn’t stop riding the terrible wave and there was no end in sight.
I climbed into the van and gently set my bag on the passenger seat, then took a second to breathe and stare around at everything. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and found directions to the club I was interested in. I’d overheard some locals at the airport talking about how there was a regular bar in the front, then the back had a special, smaller area where the real party took place. The definition of what counted as clothing was very loose in this nightspot. Excitement swirled in my gut, even though I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
Places like that usually were LGBTQ friendly, too.
I glanced at my bag. Should I change here?
No, better wait.I needed to get away before Mack caught up with me.
With one final glance at my phone where I had it propped on the console with the map app open, I started to drive, even though I hated that everything was on the wrong side of the road. Focusing on the van did take my mind off my nervousness, though, because the different road rules forced me to pay extra attention while I drove.
I pulled the van to a stop at the front of the Munted Mudskipper, which seemed to have a strange theme going on because the sign had a bizarre fish with one fin holding a beer and the other around the silhouette of a busty woman. The parking lot was packed. The idea that all those people might look at me made my stomach flip. I held my breath. I could go in like this, in my jeans and T-shirt and let everything else go, but I had a horrible desire to prove myself right.
No one in the whole world wanted me now.
If I tried, then failed to get laid in Miami—which I had—then did the same thing here,I would know. My shaky breath slipped out of me and I gripped the wheel hard enough that my hands hurt.
“Fuck it. Are you a Killough man or what? You’ve got a set of balls, right, Finn? You’re a McCorkell. What would Mickey do? Well, that’s probably not a good thing for anyone to ask, even him. What would Sloan Killough do? Whatever the fuck he wanted, that’s what! And now you’re talking to yourself, but that’s okay,” I mumbled, snagging my bag as I ducked back between the seats.
The van windows were tinted, so while someone might notice that I was changing inside, I doubted I would really be flashing anyone. I kept an eye out anyway as I peeled off my jeans. I already had on the underwear that would stop me from truly shocking anyone, a pair of see-through tight pink lace briefs that would keep my balls and cock in check.
I grabbed my bag and pulled out a silky piece of fabric, then slid the shorts on. The bottom part of what had been listed as a “teddy” when I’d bought it was pink silk polka dotted with black pinpoints and outlined with black silk lace around the legs. I slipped my shirt off and pulled the top up. I’d worn things in the past that were made for women, but this outfit was designed for a man, so there wasn’t a lot of extra silk fluttering around my chest as I brought the ends of the pink fabric up and tied it around the back of my neck. I swallowed hard. The strips of fabric covered my nipples and left the center of my chest and abs exposed. I ran my hand down the smooth skin on my stomach and tickled my finger below my belly button.
Men used to fight over who got to bring me drinks when I went to Phryne’s Cabaret in Miami.
I let out a long breath and dug in my bag for the satin pink heels that went with this outfit while kicking off my shoes. The socks went next. I’d shaved first thing after our flight got in today, so my legs were smooth—along with the rest of my body. I slipped on the heels and was thankful that part of me still looked good.
The tattoo of pink roses that vined around my right ankle and curled up my calf to wrap around my knee was pretty.
Now for the worst part.
I shut my eyes and dug around in my bag for the makeup I normally wore. I dragged out my eyeshadow and did that first—a light smear of gold over my eyelids that was mostly glitter. I tried not to look at any one piece of my face too long. I used to take the time to do full makeup, but now with the bumps from the scars it just made my stomach churn when I tried, so I dragged out a tube of shimmery pink gloss and slicked it across my lips. I completed the look with eyeliner and mascara.
I wanted to do so much more but didn’t.
Maybe I could hide the scars if I tried to learn how, but I only shook my head. Covering my face with makeup wouldn’t make the red lines on my shoulders any less prominent, and I couldn’t imagine trying to cake my whole body with concealer. I dumped the makeup into a small pink purse with a long strap, then looped it over my neck so that it sat across my body on my left hip. Finally, I pulled out the thing that never failed to make me smile.
I’d bought this treat earlier today when I’d gone out to grab a few things, and it had taken a huge chunk of what I’d allowed for traveling expenses—sadly. The bottle of Black Opium caught the light and the dark glitter embedded in the glass sparkled as I held it up and spritzed myself. I loved the earthy scent that always hit me with just the right amount of vanilla. My mood lifted as I stuffed the bottle back into the black bag. I dug around inside and pulled out a long, silky pink coat. It was really almost more of a robe, but I could hold the sides together, then ditch it when I was in the back room.
Fuck, why do I feel so awful?
I swiped my short hair behind my ears, then took out a pink headband and settled it on my head. Hopefully the lights would be low, and I could dance with someone without them asking me a million awful questions or saying shit like, “What happened to you?”
Sighing, I closed my eyes and thought about all the reasons I wanted to try this one more time. I loved the way the silk felt on my body and the perfume smelled as it warmed and wafted from my skin. I loved the heels on my feet. I loved the makeup on my face. I loved the way these things made me feel like I was something sensual for a man to consume, and I loved men looking at me as if I’d done something special, all because they got to see me looking this way.
Nodding, I reached up and snagged the keys, then tucked them into the tiny purse. I opened the door and carefully stepped out, pulling the silky coat on, then closed. The fabric draped and hit my knees. After closing the van door, I hit the lock button on the key fob and walked toward the bar with my head held high.
The Munted Mudskipper actually looked much nicer than the name indicated. It was a tall classic building with a white stone exterior and an upper and lower veranda on the front. Stone pillars went from the ground floor to the roof and iron railings ran in between. People sat at tables on the second floor, laughing and drinking.
There was a line at the door, though not much of one, and I dragged my ID out of my purse. My stomach dropped. What if they wanted my passport to let me drink? Why didn’t I bring it with me? The man at the door didn’t even really check my ID, just sort of waved me through with barely a glance.
“I’m looking for the private club,” I said, smiling up at him.
The big man turned back to me, then did a double take.
My stomach shriveled to the size of a pea.
