‘You guys don’t really need me for prep work, do you?’ Her voice was quiet and sweet, as if she was up to something.
‘We actually do, babe,’ Zola replied. ‘Why?’
‘Of course we do, Katy. We have a full pitch to get down,’ I added. ‘It’s lock-in time.’
‘Because I’ve kinda got a date. But, I mean, it would only be for a couple of hours. I swear I’ll be back and ready to do whatever work you want me to do tonight!’
Katy grinned widely, as Zola pushed her playfully.
‘We haven’t even got our luggage yet, and you’re seriously already thinking about your hole!’ I replied, giggling.
‘Look, I promise I’ll be back by eleven, ten even, but I’ll definitely be back with more than enough time to go over everything. Deal?’
Zola looked at me, trying hard not to smirk.
‘Ugh, fine!’ I moaned. ‘But seriously, don’t fuck up, Katy. This is such a big deal!’
‘Urgh, as if!’ She tutted. ‘But I can’t promise I won’t get fucked, because I’m young, free and single! And I’m in New York City, baby!’ She lifted her top, flashing us her small, neat tits and jiggling them about till we were laughing and squealing so much we were soon hysterical in Zola’s luxurious walk-in wardrobe.
Chapter Five
Katy
Katy left the apartment around eight that night, freshly showered and wearing a strapless navy minidress. Her hair was down, puffier than usual from the heat of the hairdryer and the humidity of the new city. She was meeting Mason for a drink at the Please Don’t Tell bar, so she hopped in a classic yellow taxi for the fifteen-minute journey to the East Village to meet him. As the car took her through the streets, she admired the city. She passed by the massive buildings with butterflies raging in her stomach, desperate to explore. Part of her didn’t even care about the pitch; she just wanted to spend time in New York with her friends, scoping out the American men and this crazy city they lived in.
As the car pulled up outside a hot dog shop, Katy got out, feeling confused. She took out her phone and texted Mason.
Katy:I’m at the address, but can’t find the bar? Maybe I told the driver wrong? X
She glanced along the bustling street, squinting her eyes. Fuck, lost in New York was not what she had hoped for.
Mason:Go down into the Crif Dogs, turn left at the phone booth and dial 1. I promise I’m not luring you to your death x
She had been messaging Mason for only a day since she’d updated her Tinder location settings to New York. He was American, but was in the city for work tonight, so this was the only chance they had to spend together. Mason was cute and kind, immediately commenting on how pretty and natural she was in her photos. Even if she had Snapchat-filtered the life out of herself, she took the compliment. To Katy, it felt like a movie plot: how they’d meet up once and have a perfect night together, only to go their separate ways, always wondering what could have happened if they weren’t ordinarily separated by the Atlantic Ocean. Realistically, deep down, she knew Mason was probably after a quick pump in a hotel room while he was travelling, but who knew? He could be the one. She liked his cute, shy demeanour combined with his endless flow of compliments. He asked lots of questions about her, not like the usual Scottish men who spent half their conversations boasting about how much they could lift at the gym or how big their dick was. Mason seemed respectful and genuinely interested in everything Katy had to say. She liked him, and she hadn’t even met him yet.
She turned towards the Crif Dogs hot dog shop and walked down the steps to enter. Slight hesitation clouded over her as she wondered if she was about to be trafficked by a New York street gang and live off hot dogs for the rest of her life. Even if the second part of that option felt slightly appealing, she didn’t fancy the first. The shop was busy with a small queue of people waiting for food. She walked a few more steps inside and spotted a large vintage wooden phone booth, just as Mason had described. It looked more like decoration than anything else. Was this a prank? Get the Scottish dafty to enter a phone box, dial a number, so that anyone watching could have a good laugh at her expense? Katy started to feel anxious.
Mason:Are you there? Dial 1. Excited to see you x
She took a breath.Katy, you have one life. Get a grip. She entered the phone box and dialled ‘1’ on the antique red phone, cautiously glancing around to make sure no one was watching.
Suddenly, one of the walls of the booth opened, revealing a secret passage, inside which a petite, smiling waitress was waiting to greet her.
‘Welcome to Please Don’t Tell. Come on in,’ she said, leading Katy into a chilled-out cocktail bar.
Katy grinned from ear to ear, hearing inexplicably cool jazz music surround her. She took a few more steps inside and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Wow.
‘Hey there.’ A blond man with dark brown eyes approached her. He was about six foot tall, wearing a white Ralph Lauren shirt, belt and combat-style trousers. He looked exactly like his Tinder pictures, or even slightly better.
‘Hi, Mason,’ Katy said, grinning. ‘This place is amazing!’ She was still taking it all in. The only secret parties she had ever attended were in her teenage years, when she would hide out in gaffs, often ending up in someone’s gran’s dusty old cupboard, waiting for the police to disappear.
‘Wow, your accent is so cute.’ Mason held his chest, then leaned in to kiss Katy on the cheek. ‘And you!’ he said, stepping back, his dark eyes scanning her body. ‘You look even better in real life,’ he added, with a devilish faux-swoon.
Katy blushed, feeling grateful.
‘So do you!’ She returned the compliment. ‘I can’t believe this place is inside a hot dog shop!’ She laughed. ‘I thought I was about to get trafficked.’
‘Trafficked?’ Mason beamed, leading her to a cosy booth. ‘No, I usually wait till the roofies kick in before I traffic my women. Makes them a lot more cooperative.’
