Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“The party’s obviously not here,” I say. Hope.
“I will check Google Maps again.” She sighs and, head down, inputs… whatever. Her thumbs barely lift from the screen when the app’s android voice fills the air between us.
“You are at your destination, Ardeo Lifestyle Club, Paris.”
My heart skips an actual beat. “Sabine? Why did it say lifestyle club—what kind of lifestyle are we talking here? Sabine?”
“Comment dit-on…” she mutters, barely glancing up. “My English is not so good.”
“I understand French,” I remind her.
Her mouth flattens. “Alternative, I think you would say.”
“Lifestyle—a lifestyle club. As in a sex club?” I’m not a complete hermit. I have Netflix. “I can’t go to a sex club,” I hiss. “Are you listening to me?”
“Primrose.” She pivots to face me, “Your sister, she would not have a problem with this. Lavender would say this is a great lark.”
That’s probably true, and for a second, I consider that Lavender might’ve set me up. But she wouldn’t believe I’d still be standing here. In fact, none of my family would. Not our Little Miss Goody Two Shoes. They probably think I’m asexual. That my previous relationships were platonic. But I just haven’t been interested in putting myself out there.
Boys, men. Relationships. It’s all too difficult.
And the truth is, I really hate doing things I’m no good at. Ergo, I don’t do men.
“It’s not remotely funny that you failed to mention you were inviting me to an orgy!”
“It is just a party.” As though I’m a small child on the verge of tears, she pats my arm.
“A party where people have sex.”
“Some people. But an orgy…” She shakes her head.
“If more than four people going at it, it’s definitely an orgy. Google it if you don’t believe me.”
“There is also a pool.”
“Why didn’t you say so!” I throw my hands up in the air. “I would’ve worn my swimsuit!”
“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.