Page 23 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
After putting on another coat of lipstick, Aimee is done. My favorite thing about her is how she can get ready in under ten minutes. She always knows what she wants to wear, and she doesn’t waste time putting on a lot of makeup. Neither of us can afford anything other than the essential products anyway.
We both put on heels—nude pumps for me and red stilettos for her—and walk to the street to wait for the Uber she called a few minutes ago. I don’t even know where we are headed until we get there and I immediately regret my friendship with Aimee.
Chapter Eight
If you could get up
the courage to begin,
you have the courage
to succeed.
David Viscott
I groan as soon as I see the sign for Rogue above us, a sense of dread filling my empty stomach.
“Aimee, I hate you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You suck.”
“Well, you don’t, because you’re going to get us into the club with your newfound connections.”
And I do.
Or it could be how we look tonight. Either way, the bouncer takes one look at us and ushers Aimee and me inside, much to the chagrin of the hundred-plus people that are waiting in line. When we’re personally greeted by a pretty bottle girl and led upstairs to the VIP level, I know this treatment has nothing to do with how we look.
Our first time at Rogue, we waited in line for hours with our stupid heels killing our feet. Now, we’re being treated like VIPs, ushered straight from the Uber inside the club and escorted directly to the VIP level. The only thing missing is a damn limo. This has Asher Black written all over it.
The VIP level is stunning. On the sides of the room are glass walls tinted white with bright lights behind them. Through the tinted glass, I can see the outlines of dancing bodies. There are five girls on each side, their shadows forming movements that are clearly the product of formal training. We can make out their shadows, but they can’t see us. It’s like a one way mirror in that regard.
A long but skinny table lays in front of an expansive booth-style bench. The open booth is made of blood red velvet and is pressed against the center wall. In the middle of the booth sits Asher. He doesn’t look surprised to see me. In fact, his handsome face is completely void of emotion, as hard to read as ever.
Aimee grabs my hand and drags me over to him. I nearly topple over my high heels. As we approach, I get a better look at him. He’s wearing a suit, of course, but it’s a dark navy blue this time. The fabric is tightened around his thighs from sitting, and Horny Lucy admires how muscular they are.
As excessive as Aimee can be, she’s right this time.
Horny Lucy needs to get laid.
I sweep a longing glance behind me, wondering if it’s too late to head to the dance floor below and find a suitable candidate for what I want. I’m starting to refer to the deviant side of me in the third person.
This is bad.
How long has it been since I’ve had sex again?
Over two years.
I have to remind myself again and again, because I can hardly believe it. I went from having an almost-daily friend with benefits to quitting cold turkey for years. That has to be some sort of record. And not the kind I’d want advertised.
“Ladies,” Asher greets us when we reach him. “What brings you two to these parts?” He looks all too smug for my liking.
I avert my eyes but take a seat anyways.
Aimee speaks for me, “Lucy, here, needs to get laid.”
