Page 3 of The Stranger

“I think swimwear is optional.”

But I’m too busy hyperventilating to answer. Naked people and a pool. People having sex in a pool. A giant Petri dish—an ick-filled germ-fest! I swing away, my heels hammering hard against the pavement. I can’t believe an orgy is the reason I’m traipsing through the streets of Paris in shoes that are rubbing the heel!

Sabine is suddenly at my side. “Sex or not, we will be there for the music.”

“Not the soundtrack?” I adjust the strap of my tiny purse wondering again why I’m wearing it considering it’s too small to hold my phone.

“The party is in a huge villa—three floors. Different, how you say, levels for different activities.”

I make a noise, part disbelief, part disgust as I abruptly halt and thrust my hand into my pocket to pull out my phone. It has barely any signal and worse battery life. I forgot to charge it again. Mentally crossing my fingers, I pull up the Uber app… only for the screen to go black.

“Shit,” I mutter. I have the worst luck and an even worse sense of direction. Without my phone, I’ll end up lost. Murdered. My body thrown in the Seine!

“It is not such a big thing.” Sabine’s tone softens. “But I am sorry I did not tell you.”

“You should’ve been honest,” I snap.

“I was afraid you would not come.”

I bite my tongue from asking if she’s heard about me, which is ridiculous. Unless she knows my ex.

“You will come, yes?”

“No, I’m not coming to a bloody orgy!” No way. Panic flares inside me again. One look at me, and those sex-positive types would know they have an imposter in the mix.

It’s not that I’m not sex positive—I’m not judgy in the least. Provided what tickles your pickle isn’t harming anyone else, I say bang on! Literally if you want. But banging is for other folk not me, because the only thing sex positive about me is I’m positive I’m no good at it. The act. The intimacy. The feels. All of it.

“I cannot go alone,” she pleads.

“You should’ve thought about that before trying trick me.” I move to the edge of the pavement, scanning left and right for a cab.

“I am truly sorry. I promise you, Primrose, I did not think it would be a problem.”

I harrumph, rolling my lips inward against a softer response. “Ah. Taxi!” I raise my hand. Wave it. Then curse as it whizzes by.

“I cannot go alone.” She gives a sad sniffle.

A tiny ache lodges itself under my diaphragm. I will not feel sympathy for her, I think to myself. Being nice gets you nowhere. I know this, yet I can’t help be this. A soft mark. A people pleaser. A pushover!

Need your weekend shift covered? I’m your (easily manipulated) girl. Have a pet that needs looking after while you jet off for a dirty weekend? I’m usually your (unhappy) kitty-litter scooper. I truly detest that I so often end up doing things I don’t want to do. I’ve tried to break the habit, but something inside me always makes me give in.

I swing away from the curb, my heels hammering hard enough to break as I storm back along the street. Balls, balls, fucking balls!

“Where are you going?” Sabine calls out, jogging a little to catch up.

“To a sex club, apparently,” I bite out. It’s just bodies, right? Maybe they’ll be in better shape and condition than the ones I usually deal with. But I can’t let her go alone. Goodness only knows what might happen to her. And if you can’t look out for those around you, then what is the point of humanity?

On the bright side, maybe I’ll learn a thing or two.

Academically, obviously.

Or maybe, if I’m really lucky, I’ll just spontaneously combust.

“Merci, Primrose!” Her relief is obvious and I find myself wondering what kind of dick this Jay is to invite a girl he likes to a sex club.

Moments later, we’re back at the forbidding gate.

“I’m only coming—” I close my eyes briefly. “I’m only tagging along to charge my phone, okay?” I really ought to do better at that.