Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie

Nine

Chase

“Do you wanna go in the back?” Brittney presses her barely clothed body up against mine, and her hand grazes my crotch.

I lift her hand, polite and all, but I’d rather she not fondle my junk. I’m not anywhere near drunk enough for this shit.

EJ sits back in the center of the booth, watching the show going on stage, while Blue Bell cradles up beside him. I step back. I have a hunch what her hand’s doing underneath that table, and I’d rather not see it. Sure, voyeurism can be great, but this right here isn’t my scene.

It’s one thing to show up with a bunch of guys, sling some drinks back, watch some shows, get a few lap dances in. I’ve noticed the married guys are somewhat likely to take a chick into one of the back rooms. Me, I don’t need to buy it.

Several of the domainers I do business with are Eastern European, and they fucking love this shit. EJ, the client who has been all over me to come tonight, is one hundred percent American, but he’s a bit guido. Can’t say I was shocked to learn he knew about this place or liked coming here. For all I know, this place is how Tom and Evan won his business. Can’t underestimate the value of networking.

Still, it’s awkward as fuck. Me standing here holding Brittney’s wrist, a sex act going on behind me, and EJ sprawled out like a kingpin getting fondled in front of me.

“EJ. Man. What the fuck am I doing here?”

“Come sit.”

“Nah. Man. Come on, now. I was at my buddy’s engagement party, and you made me come out here to sit?”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” He shifts in the booth and grasps Blue Bell’s wrist, shoving her arm as if it’s a napkin he needs to dispose of. Then he slips out of the booth and hands his cell over to her.

He zips his pants up and drapes an arm around me and, to Blue Bell, says, “Take a photo.”

“What the fuck, man?” I shove his arm off me, careful to avoid touching his hand. “How’d you even get a phone in here?” They collect phones before anyone comes into this side. No one here wants photos commemorating this shit. It’d be powerful blackmail over half the suits that come to this place.

A stupid-ass, sloppy, drunk grin spread across his face. Fuck. What a fucking waste. I had things going with Sydney, and this fuck…

A bright camera light flashes, cutting through the blue wave strobe lights.

“What the fuck?” EJ and I say in unison.

“Dumb bitch. You can’t use a flash in here.” EJ reaches across the table and snags the phone.

He messes around with it then hands it back to her.

“Once more. For posterity.” Then he reaches out and pulls Brittney over, positioning her beside me. The black leather straps across her chest leave her breasts and nipple piercings fully exposed, and the black leather thong doesn’t cover much either.

Blue Bell smiles as she holds the phone up, angling it every now and then. EJ’s so hammered he can barely stand straight. Brittney’s hand roams over my chest, and once again I stop her from going lower, this time with a pointed shake of my head that clearly says no.

“Who else is here?” I ask without attempting to soften my annoyed tone.

“Bennett and Mitchell are in the back. They’ll be out soon. Sit.”

He gestures to the booth as a bouncer approaches.

“I need that phone. You know you can’t have it in here.”

“Fuck you’re gonna take my phone,” EJ slurs, getting all up in the bouncer’s face. The muscle-bound guy shoves his chest out, my cue to back away.

One thing about Club Casablanca, they are on it protecting members’ privacy. No need to worry about those photos, ’cause they’ll never see the light of day.

The sex act on stage hits a climax, pun intended, and both men ejaculate all over a woman as she holds her tongue out like it’s marshmallow creme. Annoyance and anger simmer, and the whole scene on stage has the effect of someone raising the heat level on an almost boiling pot.

Fuck EJ. Fuck these guys.This is all bullshit.

My shoes pound the concrete floor as I head to the exit. A bouncer has some chick cornered up against one wall, and her fist clutching the velvet drape strikes me as desperate. It’s a small detail that barely registers. One step farther, and I see her face.

What the fuck?