Winter Jacket: Finding Home (19 page)

Corinne was a small woman with a Mediterranean complexion. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that sat high on her head. She had impossibly long hair and eyelashes, which I guessed were both fake. Her silver halter dress all but disappeared when she sat down on the plush couch.

“So what’s your story?” She plucked a shot glass from the tray Lucy had left behind and drank the liquid down. “Lucy told me at the bar that you’re a writer.”

“You mean
Gretchen
told you,” I corrected her.

“Whatever. You can talk about anything you want inside the club.” Her nose crinkled. “It’s Hollywood, not the CIA.”

“I write for Lucy’s show,” I confirmed. “And since we’re being transparent, my name’s Elle, not Sylvia.”

“I’m Jasmine,” she returned, drinking down another shot. “Like the princess.” She motioned towards the tray of shots. “You’re falling behind, Elle. Keep up.”

I was a beer drinker with the occasional glass of wine or champagne. Hangovers tended to follow me if I drank hard liquor, but I didn’t want to stick out more than I already did. I picked up one of the miniature glasses and inspected its clear contents.

“What’s your flavor of choice?” she asked. “Men, women, or something in between?”

“Women. You?” I drank down the shot and repressed a shudder as the liquid burned down my throat.

“I’m pansexual.” Her lips twisted into a smirk. “But don’t tell my publicist that. Hollywood may boast how open-minded it is, but when it comes down to it, network suits are just as bigoted as the rest of the assholes in this world.”

I studied her face a little longer, trying to place what show she worked for. With her heavy makeup and the club’s dim lighting it was hard to determine her age. She could have been in her mid-twenties and yet playing on one of those teen dramas I didn’t know.

Jasmine scanned the lounge area and yawned. “This place is dead tonight,” she complained. I did a similar cursory scan, but didn’t come to the same conclusion. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what a wild evening at Nightshade looked like.

She grabbed another shot glass and tipped the clear liquid back. It was her third shot in only a handful of minutes. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed the empty glass over her shoulder. “Do you want to get a room?”

“A room?” I repeated, not understanding.

“Yeah. This is all fun out here,” she said, gesturing to the bar scene before us, “but the real action is in the private rooms at the back of the club.”

My eyes widened when I realized what she was asking. “Oh, I ... I’m not ... I’m not here for that.”

Jasmine’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Lucy told me you just got out of a relationship.”

“Lucy seems to have a big mouth.”

Jasmine laughed and threw her head back. I knew I had to do something before the situation escalated any more. It had already gone well beyond my comfort zone.

“You’re very lovely, Jasmine, and I’m very flattered,” I began. “And Lucy’s right—I did just get out of a relationship. But it’s really too soon for me.” I wiped clammy palms against my knees. “I wouldn’t have come tonight if I had known where Lucy was taking me.”

“Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “You’re saying no?”

I sucked in a deep breath through my teeth. “Really.”

“It’s no strings attached.” She flashed me another smile, this one predatory. As she leaned toward me, her breasts nearly fell out of the top of her dress. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

Her hand fell to my bare knee and I leapt up from the couch, mumbling an excuse about early meetings or bedtimes or something equally lame. “I’m sorry. I really have to go. Enjoy your night.”

I would have lingered longer and continued to apologize, but her eyes had already taken on a disinterested look, moving on to scan the club for someone more interesting than me.

+ + +

My morning alarm went off and so did an explosion in my head. My stomach was gurgling and my head was pounding, but at least I had woken up in my own bed and alone. After running away from Jasmine and temptation, I’d taken a cab back home and gone straight to bed. My precautions, however, hadn’t saved me from a massive hangover.  

Outside of my apartment, the sun was brutal; not even my largest pair of sunglasses offered me reprieve. And even though the studio was only a few miles away from my apartment, it still tried my patience on the way to work when I got caught at every stoplight on the way. By the time I found a parking spot, I was ready for the day to be over, but it hadn’t even begun.

“God, you look rough,” Gloria bluntly observed when I stumbled into the writer’s trailer that morning. “Late night?”

“Yup,” I rasped.

I slumped down in my usual seat at the writer’s table.  Aviva was in her usual seat, typing away at her tablet and Gloria was reading through one of the trade presses. I winced at the sound of each turn of crisp newspaper. Edward and Guillen were still missing, so I didn’t feel as guilty about my disheveled appearance.

While we waited for the guys to show up, I checked for missed messages on my phone while I waited for the rest of the writing staff to show up.

I had plans to send Troian a text that she was never allowed to leave me alone again. But when I opened my contact list, I noticed a new entry. Whoever had put it in hadn’t wanted me to miss it: there was an asterisk preceding the person’s name, which had catapulted it alphabetically to the top of my list.

* Jasmine

“What the?”

“Everything okay over there?” Gloria asked from her chair down the table. Her shrewd gaze fixed on me.

I hadn’t meant to speak out loud. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m good.”

I stared at Jasmine’s contact information that was inexplicably programmed into my phone’s contacts. There was no way, even with all the alcohol I’d had, that I would have forgotten about acquiring her number. Plus, I had been required to leave my phone at Nightshade’s coat check for security reasons. Lucy must have returned to the coat check after she’d disappeared with Jasper and put her friend’s number into my phone. There was no other way to explain it.

I was momentarily pulled from my thoughts when I sensed movement beside me. I looked up to see Sonja setting a chocolate-covered donut and a black coffee in front of me. I had been so fixated on my phone, I hadn’t noticed her arrival.

“Troian might have mentioned this morning that you went out with Lucy Denario last night,” she explained the gift of food and drink.

“I guess I’m not as young as I used to be,” I croaked. “When I woke up this morning, my body made that perfectly clear.”

She seemed to lick her lips. “I think your body is doing just fine.”

I had no idea what to say or how to respond, but luckily I didn’t have to. I’d forgotten to put my phone on silent and its shrill ringtone caused everyone in the room to jump.

I silenced the ring, but when I saw it was Hunter calling, my heart leapt in my throat. I rarely heard from her beyond a random picture text every few days to let me know Sylvia was alive and that my house hadn’t burned down. I secured my phone and hustled outside of the trailer, leaving my donut, coffee, and Sonja behind. Maybe this was the universe rewarding me for good behavior.

“Hey, can you talk?” she asked when I answered the call.

“Sure. What’s up?” I tried to keep my tone casual. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

“I need to talk to you about something. But I’m not sure how to say it.”

If she had started to date other people already, I was going to lose it. “Just say it.”

“I told you I’d look after Sylvia and your house, and I’ll continue to do that, but I can’t live here anymore. It doesn’t feel right.”

“But I don’t mind. It’s not like anyone else is going to be living there.”

“
I
mind though. It was different when we were together, but now …” she trailed off. “I can’t continue to take advantage of your generosity.”

“Do you want to pay rent?” I had no intention of keeping her money.

“So you’d go from being my girlfriend to my landlord? No thanks. I’ll figure something out. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Good morning, Elle!” Edward cheerfully greeted. I covered the receiver with my hand and flashed a smile at my coworker as he walked by, belying my internal emotional struggle.

“You know that’s not a possibility for me,” I rasped into the phone.

Housing was a challenge in our town. The city was small enough to begin with and the rental market was highly competitive because of the university. Rental agreements followed the cycle of the academic calendar. The only available apartments at this time of year would be those that had been picked over by college students. Troian and Nikole had finally sold their condo, so I couldn’t even suggest she move there.

“I won’t be homeless,” she assured me. “I’ll only move out when I’ve found something more appropriate.”

Maybe that would be never. I reluctantly agreed. “Okay.”

I hung up and clenched my hand around my phone and made a throwing motion, although I didn’t actually throw it. So much for the universe rewarding me for good behavior.

I opened up my hand and glared at my phone. The technology was neutral; it could bring me pain or pleasure. Before I could talk myself out of it, I swiped open my phone’s contacts and began to construct a text message:
It’s Elle. Do you still want to get a room?

CHAPTER TWELve

There were few things I could control about my life lately. I’d been disorganized and discombobulated by my new life in California. I hadn’t gotten to choose my apartment, I had little power over if the network picked up our show for a full season, and I hadn’t been able to do anything to convince Hunter to stay with me. But when I was Topping someone, I was in complete control.

I’d worn an unassuming outfit of skinny jeans and a dark top to Nightshade, but I’d changed into a secondary outfit while I’d waited for Jasmine to show up. The bottom hem of my sheer white robe reached mid-thigh and I wore it untied in the front. Beneath the robe I’d opted for a simple pale pink bra and panty set, sexy enough not to be worn on an ordinary day, but sturdy enough for what this night promised. I didn’t have anything in my limited wardrobe that would have been more appropriate, but it wasn’t the clothes that made the Mistress, it was the attitude. The hungry look in Jasmine’s kohl eyes and the slight lilt to her wide mouth when she showed up told me she approved.

“I got you a drink,” I said in greeting.

“That was thoughtful, thank you,” she said, standing before me. “I have to admit, your text was unexpected.”

“Was it?”

She hummed. “When you took off last night like a scared little church mouse, I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. What changed your mind?”

“Does it really matter?”

“I suppose not.”

I stood from the couch with the coaxing pull of my arm, but I still hesitated. I hadn’t been nervous showing up at Nightshade; for the first time in a long while, I was taking back control. But now that Jasmine was leading me down the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the club, I was having second thoughts.

We stopped at an unmarked door. Jasmine fished a keycard out from somewhere and swiped it through an electronic card reader. The lock clicked open, and she pushed through the doorway. On the other side of the door was a private room, all in white. The walls were curved like the rest of the club and slightly padded. High vaulted ceilings and minimal furniture decorated the rest of the space. The floors were also white—a solid piece of marble. In the center of the circle-shaped room was a square bed. It was the only angle I had found in the entire club. The bed was covered in red silk sheets, another contrast from the all-white décor found elsewhere in the room. There was no headboard, but four solid-looking bedposts dotted the corners.

Jasmine crossed the room and her stiletto heels echoed against the floor. “The people who run this place have thought of every detail.” She pressed her hands against a compartment in the wall and a previously hidden drawer slid open. “Pick your poison.”

Sex toys of various size, shape, and color lined the drawer. In an adjacent drawer were other items like eye masks, ball gags, and riding crops.