tomorrow night’s open house, be there at 9
No ‘do you have plans’, no ‘hi’ or ‘how have you been?’ but I wouldn’t expect anything else from Maxine.
What if I said I have plans? Then what?
don’t be a brat
Ahhh, but brats are your favorite.
I can practically hear the sigh heave from her chest through the phone. Maxine and I have been friends since college, and if there comes a time one of us isn’t poking fun at the other, it’s probably because one of us is dead.
You haven’t been here since before Christmas which was also the last time I sawyou in general
I’ve been busy. For being such a small town, Cupid somehow takes up all my time.
Tomorrow night, be here at 9. I’m trying out a new anonymous event for the open house. Your mask was delivered to your house this afternoon and there’s no reason for you to really say no
If you missed me you could have just said so.
9 o’clock, Nolan
Fine, see you then.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and look up as the sound of heels clicking against the tile floor catch my attention. Dark hair ripples along Harper’s back as she walks down the hall in front of me. Every step she takes pulls me further and further into a hypnotic sort of trance. One that is impossible to escape, not that I want to.
There are lists longer than I’ll ever be able to read that spell out what constitutes a terrible person. There’s the standard stuff—murder, people who steal candy fromkids, grown men in crocs at the beach, the usual, and I’m about ninety-percent sure the images flowing through my head of my friend's daughter are on that list as well.
Harper stops at the water fountain, and like the greedy bastard I am, I stop moving so I can let my mind wander while I watch her. She bends at the waist and someone hits the slow motion button on my life. Water flows from the spout as she dips her head until it splashes against her pouty red painted lips. One of her hands holds all of her hair to the side to avoid it falling into the basin and I can’t help but fantasize what it would be like to wrap it around my fist.
Can I wrap it around once or twice? If I thrust into her, what kind of noises will she make? Tiny whimpers of pleasure, or loud gasps that echo across the room?
If I told her how many times I’ve stopped to watch the way her tight skirts stretch over her round ass as she bends over and how it makes my hand itch to strike the soft flesh I know is underneath, would she blush, or cry out for more? Or both?
I hope if I ever find out, it’s both.
God, I would do unfathomable things to get Harper Hawthorne bare and writhing underneath me. But instead I watch her from afar because there are a million boxes onwhy I shouldn’t want her and every single one of them is checked.
Harper wipes away the drops of water that fell onto her chin with slow precision as she stands, too quick for me to react. She turns and locks eyes with me because I’m too focused on her to remember that I shouldn’t be staring.
Even from this distance, I can see her brows scrunch together, and her dark eyes dart around to figure out why I’m hanging around in the middle of the hallway. I feel like a schoolboy, unable to control my desires when I’m near her. So I do the only thing I can think of, I turn on my heel without a word and walk in the opposite direction.
Maybe Maxine is right, I’ll never tell her that, but it's been too long and maybe I did need to go to Midnights.
January 31
Nothing about the twohour drive to Midnights is sexy. I should have splurged for a hotel room and avoided this nervous sweaty trip all together.
Before leaving, I checked my reflection no less than a dozen times, and each time I foundsomething new to agonize over. Either my dress was too tight, showing off too much of my stomach outline, or the slit was too high, leaving me thinking people would see the way my thighs rubbed together every time I took a step. Mascara keeps smudging under my eyes, slowly turning me into a raccoon and not giving the chic runway model I was going for. Nothing felt right, and trying to fix what’s bothering me is an impossible task when everything and nothing is wrong at the same time.
Up until the second I walked out the door, I fought to tear the faux red silk from my body, plant my ass on my couch in my favorite sweats, and pretend I never found out about Midnights all together.
Who needs to come at someone else's hands anyway?
Apparently I do.
If I don't go tonight, I’ll never get the chance again. Mainly because they only do the invitation only nights a few times a year and my name is sure to be blacklisted if I no-show my first time being invited.
One day when I’m old and grey, maybe even married for thirty years, I can look back and reminisce about the time I went to Silicon Valley’s premier sex club.
