15. Charlotte

15

CHARLOTTE

I have high hopes for my Sunday morning, until I wake up to texts from Nate.

Nate: Char, just call me.

Nate: Char, babe. You’re being really unreasonable.

Nate: Don’t tell me you’ve got some other guy over there already, and that’s why you’re ignoring me.

Nate: Were you just waiting this whole time to be a slut?

Nate: I’m sorry babe, I’m just going crazy not hearing from you. My brother is getting sick of me crashing on his couch.

Nate: We can talk this out. Just call me. You’re not going to throw away five years just like that, are you?

Just reading the string of texts before I’ve even gotten in the shower makes me feel tired, and douses some of the glow I’ve been riding on since my date with Ivan. That couldn’t have gone better, so much so that I’ve been looking forward to filling Zoe and Sarah in on it at brunch. Jaz already knows, obviously—-I texted her nonstop the minute Ivan dropped me off at my apartment after the play. She’s of the mind that the fact he didn’t even try to kiss me is concerning. I think it’s gentlemanly.

It made me feel like he really cares more about spending time with me than anything else. Like he really does see more about me that he likes than just my appearance.

I ignore the messages from Nate, tossing my phone back on the nightstand before going to shower and get ready for brunch. If anything, the date with Ivan made me that much less interested in rekindling anything with him. In fact, I’m starting to wonder if Nate’s cheating was a blessing in disguise. Sure, it hurt to find out about, and it made me feel like shit at the time—but I feel like my eyes have been opened since then to everything that I was missing.

Brunch is at Amuse-Bouche, one of our favorite spots. Zoe and Jaz are there first, and I get a text from the group chat just as I’m getting out of the Uber, letting me know that they have a table. When I get there, there’s already a pitcher of pineapple mimosas that they’re sharing, while picking at a plate of cinnamon knots.

“Heyyy!” Jaz exclaims as I sit down. “Oh my god, I can’t wait for you to tell Zoe about your date.”

“I’ll wait for Sarah to get here.” I settle into my chair across from Zoe, noticing an odd-looking man out of the corner of my eye, sitting at the far end of the patio. He’s dressed all in black and wearing a leather jacket and cap, focused intently on something on his laptop screen. Something about him sends a shiver down my spine, but I shrug it off. There are all kinds of eccentric people in the city; there’s no reason to think there’s something particularly off about him.

Sarah comes flying in a few minutes later, breathless. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, dropping into the empty seat next to me right as the server brings me a mimosa. “I had to go to a board meeting last night that they decided to hold at Grapevine, that new wine bar, and we ended up staying out a little too late. I overslept.”

“No worries,” Jaz says cheerfully. “Brunch isn’t supposed to be stressful! You get here when you get here.”

“Was it a meeting for that nonprofit you’re on the board for?” Zoe asks, and Sarah nods.

“I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. But first, I want to hear about Charlotte’s date.”

The whole table—even Jaz—is rapt as I fill them in on the details: the restaurant, the play, the second date he agreed to, the lack of a kiss at the end. Zoe frowns when I say that last, unsurprisingly a similar reaction to Jaz.

“Okay, but if a guy didn’t want to kiss me at the end of a date, I’d be worried,” she says with a frown. “Like maybe he was just into me as a friend.”

“I definitely don’t think it was that.” I bite my lip as the server brings our breakfast orders: smoked salmon eggs Benedict for me, a vegan omelet for Zoe, a ham and Swiss croissant for Sarah, and avocado toast for Jaz. “I could definitely feel that there was—something there. I think he was just being polite. Maybe he picked up on the fact that I didn’t want to take things too far on the first date.”

“You were pretty clear about that with me.” Jaz shrugs. “So maybe he did pick up on those vibes.”

“He agreed to go on an apple-picking date with me next weekend.” I can’t help but smile at the memory of that conversation. “I really didn’t think he would, but he seemed—I don’t know, kind of excited about it. Which was surprising.”

“I would not have pegged him for the kind of guy who would go apple-picking,” Jaz agrees. “So yeah, he must really like you. Even without the kiss.”

“There doesn’t have to be a kiss on the first date,” Sarah argues. “I’ve had plenty of good dates that didn’t end in a kiss. Colin didn’t kiss me until date three.”

Jaz smirks. “And how did that go?”

“Aw, that was a little low.” I give Sarah a sympathetic smile. She’s only a couple of months off from that breakup, and I know she hasn’t been out much since. Much like my relationship with Nate, she expected that one to go for the long haul.

“Well, that brings me to what I was going to ask,” Sarah says with a small laugh. “Like I was saying, I’m on a board for this nonprofit. My work has been encouraging us all to get involved with some charity work, and I picked this one—it helps fund inner-city schools. Anyway, there’s a gala for it Friday evening.”

“A gala?” Jaz looks at her curiously, and Sarah nods.

“They hold them now and then, dinners for fundraising. Seven hundred dollars a plate,” she adds, and Zoe whistles.

“I’m a trust-fund baby, and that’s too rich for even my blood,” she says with a laugh. “But some of them buy dresses for the evening from my boutique, so I can’t argue that it’s not stimulating the small-business economy,” she adds, still laughing.

“Who goes to something like that?” I ask curiously, and Sarah shrugs.

“Politicians, wealthy investors, those kind of people. Anyone important who wants to be seen doing good. Some people who do…less than savory business, too, but who need to seem aboveboard. I don’t doubt that there’s some money that gets laundered through their contributions. But I guess overall, the nonprofit sees that as a lesser evil.”

I can’t help the shocked expression on my face. I know, of course, that there are criminal operations in the city—there are in every big city. I know that there are a few that have been caught because they’ve slipped up somehow with the federal organization that Sarah works for. But I always thought of them as secret, shadowy, like creatures living underground. It never occurred to me that they might be out and about in the real world, among all of us, doing something as outwardly charitable as contributing to the betterment of city public schools.

“It happens all the time,” Sarah adds, clearly seeing the look on my face. “Anyway, I was going to ask if one of you wants to come with me as my date. I don’t have one, and I’d rather not go alone. It feels a little depressing, especially since Colin was going to go with me before the breakup.”

“I can’t,” Zoe says apologetically. “Like I said, people get dresses from Velvet Luxe for these things. I’m going to be exhausted by then. I’ll want to go home Friday night and soak in a hot bath with some trash TV, not be out chatting up the creme-de-la-creme of Chicago.”

“I have a date,” Jaz says with a grin. “With a super hot guy I matched with on Tinder last night. I love you, Sarah, but there’s no way I’m putting this off.”

“Charlotte?” Sarah gives me an entreating look, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her no. The gala sounds exhausting, to be honest, and I’m not really good at parties. But I can see from the look on her face that she really, really wants one of us to go.

“Sure,” I tell her, and I can see the look of relief on her face instantly. “It’ll be a fun excuse to dress up and eat whatever constitutes a seven-hundred-dollar a plate meal,” I add with a laugh, and Sarah grins.

“It’s probably not going to be as good as what you had out with Ivan,” she cautions. “It’s definitely over-inflated. But still pretty freaking good. And you’ll have fun, I promise.”

“Are you going to come get a new dress?” Zoe asks with a smirk, and I sigh.

“I guess I’m going to have to. I probably need a long dress, right? The velvet one or the one I bought for my date with Ivan won’t work?”

“You do need an evening dress,” Sarah confirms. “A lot of people rent one if they don’t want to commit to buying.”

“Come on, come give your credit card a workout at my place,” Zoe says. “I’ll make sure you look fabulous. You’ll leave with so many numbers.”

“I’m not sure I want that,” I say with a laugh. “But okay. My credit card really is getting a workout lately, though.”

I notice, as we start to talk about dress options, that the man at the far side of the patio is packing up. I really have no reason to look at him—he’s just an eccentric patron—but something about him keeps drawing my attention. I watch him in my periphery, trying to figure out if I’ve seen him somewhere, but I can’t place anything. It’s just a feeling, and then he’s slipped out of the side gate and is gone.

“Let’s go when we’re done eating, actually,” Zoe says enthusiastically. “I’m closed on Sundays, so it’ll be like you’re getting your own private shopping experience.” She grins. “I have some new dresses that just came in that you’ll look incredible in.”

I’m not entirely sure how I feel about going shopping for an evening gown on a full stomach of eggs Benedict and mimosas, but Zoe is so enthusiastic that I can’t tell her no. “Okay,” I agree, finishing the last of my eggs and slipping my wallet out. I can tell that Sarah and Jaz are eager to go and play dress-up, too, and Sarah looks so relieved to have a “date” to the gala that I don’t want to do a single thing that might burst her bubble.

And truthfully, this morning is exactly what I needed. The uncomfortable feeling left by Nate’s texts has dissipated, and I’m back to feeling excited about the next time I see Ivan. Excited about my future.

It also occurs to me that if I were still with Nate, there still wouldn’t have been anything stopping me from going to the gala with Sarah. No date that I would have had to cancel or disappointment from him that we wouldn’t get to spend time together on a Friday night. I can hear what his response would have been in my head: Oh good, now you won’t be lonely while I’m working late. I’m glad you have something to do. Enjoy yourself.

On the surface, it seems like a good thing. For a long time, I really believed that it was, that I had a good, well-adjusted partner who didn’t care if I was out having fun without him because it meant his hard work wasn’t impeding my life. But now, I’m realizing that I was just always a second priority. I was never as important as his job. He wasn’t passionate about it, but he still put it before me.

He put a lot of things before me, apparently. Including other women.

We all pile into an Uber to go to Velvet Luxe, tipsy on mimosas and giggling the whole way. Zoe unlocks the door with a raised eyebrow and an air of secretive mystery that makes it feel like we’re doing something we’re not supposed to—even though it’s her boutique. Sarah and Jaz flop onto the jewel-toned velvet couches in front of the three-way mirror, and Sarah lets out a sigh.

“I was going to wear something I already had in my closet, but now I’m starting to think I should get something new. You have so many gorgeous things here, Zoe.”

Zoe beams. “I just got the new fall line in. I’m so excited. And Charlotte, I have the perfect thing for you. Hold on, and I’ll go grab it for the back. Maybe I’ll pull a couple things for you too, Sarah,” she adds with a wink, just before disappearing into the back of the store.

“I love how perfect all of this is for her,” I murmur as we watch her go. “She’s been so passionate about it since college. And it’s all worked out.”

I want to feel that passionate about something. I’ve always enjoyed tech and working with computers; there’s something about it and the changes that it’s continuously making in our world that I find compelling, but I don’t spend my days voraciously reading about the latest innovations or talking to my friends about it in my off time. Zoe lives and breathes fashion, and Jaz lives and breathes adventure. Sarah isn’t particularly passionate about her work, but she loves the influence that it gives her to work on projects for nonprofits like the one throwing the gala Friday night. And I—I just kind of float, from day to day, in a life that has never felt particularly unique or interesting.

What if it’s not some thing that I want to be passionate about, but some one? That seems like it goes against everything I’m supposed to want as an independent woman, that I shouldn’t crave a person that I can lose myself in, and who will lose himself in me. But I think of what Ivan said at dinner the other night—that once I realize that he’s the one who can give me everything I want, what we have will be forever—and it sends a shiver down my spine that feels good . It feels anticipatory, like what should frighten me is instead unlocking a craving that I didn’t even know I had.

“Here we go!” Zoe emerges from the back of the store, holding an armful of gowns. “Charlotte, this is perfect for you.” She hangs one dress in front of one of the velvet-curtained dressing rooms, and the other three in front of another. “Sarah, try these on.” She directs us with all the authority and confidence of a military general, and Sarah and I jump to obey just as quickly. This is Zoe’s domain, and all of us listen to her when it comes to our fashion choices.

For something like this, anyway. Zoe has long bemoaned the fact that I haven’t changed up my day-to-day wardrobe in half a decade.

The dress that she chose for me is gorgeous hanging up, and when I slip into it, I have to admit that her choice was flawless. It’s a deep burnt orange silk, with fluttery straps and a boned bodice with stiff cups that push up my breasts to their best advantage. The gathered skirt flares out, with a slit that goes up to my upper thigh, and there’s a lighter-colored, feathery leaf print all over the entire dress.

It’s stunning with my dark hair and light green eyes, and I feel like an autumn princess. I feel beautiful. And I suddenly wish that Ivan was going to see me in it on Friday night.

When I step out, there’s a gasp from Jaz, and Zoe has a satisfied look on her face. “I knew it would be perfect,” she says, spinning her finger to indicate that I should do a twirl. “You’re stunning.”

“Oh, my god. It’s perfect,” Sarah echoes, stepping out of her own dressing room a second later in a dusty blue satin dress with a scooped neckline, thin straps, and two high slits that make her look like a much sexier Cinderella with her blonde hair and icy blue eyes. “We’re going to be the prettiest belles at the ball.” She grabs my hand, spinning us both around, and the smile on her face makes spending my Friday night at a stuffy charity dinner entirely worth it. “We’ll take them. And Charlotte, I’ll buy yours, since you’re agreeing to be my date.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I start to argue, but she shakes her head firmly.

“It’s the least I can do.”

After a little more chatter, and Zoe putting the dresses in garment bags for us after Sarah pays, I head home. I opt to walk, because the day is crisp and chilly, with the sun filtering through the trees in that specific way that it only seems to do at the beginning of fall, and it feels good.

My life is better without Nate. I believe that more and more with every day that passes. I just need to figure out what comes next.

Or maybe I don’t. I shove my hands down into the pockets of my coat, wondering if maybe I don’t need to figure everything out just yet, or for a while…or maybe not at all. Maybe what my life would benefit from is me just letting things happen, for a little while.

After all, I’ve been doing that for the last week or so, and it’s been good. Better than things have been in a while, really.

A feeling prickles up my spine, and I twist around, suddenly getting the sensation that someone is watching me, or following me, maybe. But there’s no one there, and I do my best to shrug it off as I pick up my pace a little, reasoning that I’m probably just jumpy because of the texts Nate sent me this morning. Now that I don’t have my friends with me to distract me, I can’t help thinking about them again, and his hot-and-cold attitude sends a shiver of discomfort through me. Not to mention the way he called me a slut—which doesn’t exactly fit with his excuses that he never asked me to do the things he wanted in bed because he respected me too much.

I push the thoughts aside, imagining instead that it’s the man I was talking to online, Venom. That he tracked down my information, and he’s the one following me. I picture a fit man in dark clothes—maybe like the clothes that the man on the patio at Amuse-Bouche this morning was wearing—with a mask over his face, slinking through the shadows as he trails me home.

I picture him slipping into the service entrance to my building, following me into the elevator just before the doors close. I picture gloved hands like the man at Masquerade’s sliding around my throat, his thumb pressing into the hollow of my jaw, holding me back against the wall of the elevator as I watch what’s happening to me in the other mirrors on either side.

Another shudder runs down my spine, but this time, it’s excitement. I feel it pool in my stomach, hot and thick, clenching between my thighs. It’s all impossible, of course—there’s no way that Venom could have tracked me down. Websites like that are in that shadowy corner of the Internet for a reason, where everything is encrypted, and identities can be hidden. But that’s precisely why it’s so erotic, because it is so impossible. An impossible fantasy that makes my mouth go dry while my panties are suddenly wet, clinging to my skin as I speed up my pace this time because I want to get home.

I want to be alone with my fantasy.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m upstairs in my room, fumbling to open the drawer next to the bed as I lay back against the pillows. I barely get the zipper of my jeans down before I push the small bullet vibrator into my panties, holding it against my clit as I let my head fall back, hips arching up to meet the sweet pleasure of the vibration against my most sensitive spot.

It takes me seconds to come to the fantasy of my masked man hovering over me, holding me down on the bed by my throat as he pushes the vibrator against my clit, edging me with it until I’m pleading for him to let me come, begging for release, and then?—

The orgasm crashes over me, wracking my body with several seconds of white-hot pleasure as my back arches, a ragged moan escaping me as I come hard. I’m panting by the time it ebbs, sinking down into the mattress as the afterglow wraps itself around me like a thick fog, and I close my eyes as I toss the toy aside. It felt so good, but I want more.

It’s dark outside when I wake up from my orgasm-induced nap. I clean my toy and put it away, changing into a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt as I go to make myself something for dinner. I settle for heating up leftover Thai noodles, eating them cross-legged in front of the TV as I watch a rerun of a house renovation show on HGTV. But as I watch a moderately handsome man and his pretty blonde wife slam hammers through drywall, my mind keeps drifting back to that website, and Venom.

I can’t resist the urge to log back on again. Not just to talk to anyone, but to talk to him . I feel a little guilty about it, knowing that I just had a wonderful date with Ivan, with another one planned this weekend—but isn’t that why I’m doing this? Why I told him that I don’t want anything exclusive, so that I can experience for once in my life what it’s like to do what men do? To not dive in head-first and close myself off to all the other options?

The urge doesn’t leave as I finish my dinner and clean up. I pour myself a glass of wine, tapping my nails against the glass as I try to talk myself out of it, but I find myself walking down the hall to my room anyway, my mind already ten steps ahead.

Getting myself off to thoughts of him this afternoon didn’t make me want it less. It only made the need to experience more of this feel even more intense. More demanding.

I log on, scrolling through some of the videos, checking every few minutes to see if Venom is online. Watching the clips of women getting fucked in bondage by men with their faces covered, running through mazes until they reach a room where a man is waiting for them, getting fucked in a roomful of mirrors with a different man on each end—all of it turns me on, making me feel warm and shivery at the same time, but none of it quite gets me there, to the point where I feel like I can’t do anything other than touch myself, like I felt when I chatted with Venom last. I don’t feel that aching, desperate need to come.

I’m about to give up and log off when I see his name pop up suddenly, and for a brief second, it feels like my heart stops in my chest.

Venom69xxx: The pretty dove came out to play tonight. You know what a snake does to a pretty little bird?

My heart comes back to life, stuttering in my chest as I suck in a breath, quickly typing out a response.

CuriousDove24: Why don’t you tell me?

I know it’s not the most daring response, but I don’t think that matters. What matters is that it feels daring to me . I feel breathless, excited, flirting with this man who is so much more than a stranger, separated from me by walls of data and an anonymity that I won’t ever be able to breach.

A moment passes, and another, until I wonder if he’s going to respond at all. And then a message pops up, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

Venom69xxx: He eats her.