SEVER

not waiting for where we’re going.”
“I don’t understand.”
She throws me a winning smile. “You don’t have to. Just follow me.”
We walk down a flight of stairs, a stunningly beautiful chandelier greeting us in the otherwise dark foyer.
“This isn’t your regular club,” I say more to myself as I take in the elaborate surroundings.
Samantha shoots me a knowing look as the woman dressed in a see-through black lace dress holds open the door, gesturing for us to enter. I give a small smile as we pass, unsure of what to expect on the other side.
Samantha leans in close. “Drinks are expensive here to cover the costs of having capped numbers, so it’s never too crowded which is good. Keeps all the shit out on the street. As you saw out there, they don’t let just anyone in.”
I look around the room, taking everything in. Those who are allowed in are dressed beautifully in designer-brand suits, dresses, handbags and shoes—enough money that could feed a small nation.
“Now you understand why I got you to wear Givenchy.”
I nod, thankful she did. The lights are low and intimate, the walls adorned with oil paintings. The music isn’t the typical type you’d find in a club. It’s sensual, a heavy bass reverberating through my body rousing senses that haven’t been awakened for some time. We move through the people, my heart pounding with both excitement and apprehension. This club almost has a ‘dirty little secret’ feel to it—if the dirty little secret involves provocativeness and luxury. It’s most definitely sexy and so is everyone in it.
We find a free table, and before we place our purses on the leather top, we’re approached by a strikingly handsome waiter. Before my eyes land on him, they dart around the room only to notice that all the wait staff fall into the exceptionally high-caliber category of good-looking, each presenting their own version of sex appeal.
“Good evening, ladies,” the waiter greets with a husky voice I can’t help but smile at. I wonder how many times that voice has gotten him laid. His eyes are alive and dance over us with a flirtation that would leave any girl hot between the legs.
“Evening,” Sam and I reply in unison.
“What can I get you both to drink? Our martinis are extra dirty tonight.”
“I. Bet. They. Are,” my sister coos. “We’ll take two.”
I turn to her, wide-eyed. “You hate martinis.”
She shrugs. “I might just learn to love them. So… what do you think of this place?”
“It’s… amazing,” I say, eyeing the obvious imbalance. “The men certainly outnumber the women, don’t they?”
I turn in time to see Samantha shrug at the question. “They do? Oh…”
Her reaction causes me to frown.
Did she not notice the men in this place are three to one?
I watch as the fellow patrons interact, a masculine hand resting on the curve of a woman’s hips, the way they inch closer as they speak private words to each other before being joined by another man who seems equally as invested in what the night has to offer. The way eyes linger on sensual bodies while drinking in every inch of their bare skin, fantasizing about what treats lie underneath their designer wear. How sipping champagne takes on a quality of its own, now risqué and titillating.
“It’s almost surreal. It’s not a swingers club, is it?”
Samantha laughs. “No, but the people who come here aren’t your average run-of-the-mill. They have money and know how to spend it. They have sex appeal and know how to use it. They know people in high places, and this is a safe place for them to come and be sociable without any limitations.”
“I didn’t even notice a sign when we walked in.”
“Othello. This place is called Othello.”
“And just what are we doing here in… Othello?”
I certainly am not as wealthy as these people nor do I know people in high places.
My sister winks. “I have connections. But if you’re looking for that type of club, I—”
“Ladies,” the waiter returns with our martinis and places them on the table. “Complimentary from the gentleman at the bar.” He winks before disappearing into the crowd.
We look in the direction the waiter pointed, but see no one who looks familiar or who wants to be acknowledged for their generosity.
“Well,” Samantha raises her glass. “Cheers, my sister. To new beginnings.”
I clink mine with hers. “To new beginnings, whether they’re wanted or not.”
~
Not long in, I call a ban on any Shawn talk. After a few more dirty martinis, I’m tempted enough to call him, just to hear his voice, even if he does just give one-word replies. Even if hearing his voice is simply listening to his voicemail. While not drunk, I feel my raw emotions bubbling to the surface, and the last thing I want is to make a decision I’ll later regret. That decision being, begging Shawn to fix things. Because I already know the answer, and I’m shit out of luck in that respect.
Samantha seems taken in conversation with a handsome stranger who might be a good fifteen years her senior. With his sprinkling of salt-and-pepper hair, and amazing jawline, the age gap could be forgiven. Sam places a hand on his arm, keeping it there long enough to make her intentions loud and clear. Whatever floats her boat.
“Well… this is a pleasant surprise,” the familiar deep sound says from behind while lips graze my ear. I don’t need to turn to know who it is.
“Mr. Alexander,” I greet, ignoring the tremor of delight coursing through me. “This is a surprise.”
“Call me Kane,” he rumbles, his stubble tickling my cheek.
“Kane,” I repeat, breathily. “Is it you buying our drinks tonight?” The same sexy waiter had returned three more times with martinis, and on each occasion saying they