Hey There, Delilah... (8 page)

I glare at Calvin as he waves to Delilah as her cab pulls away. Calvin is a naturally flirty kind of guy, but it is seriously irritating me that he is being flirty with Delilah. Not that I have any claim to her or anything, because I don’t want her.
Yeah, dumbass, keep telling yourself that
.

“Dude, can you knock that shit off?” I grumble and start for the parking garage where my
2013, candy-apple red, limited edition, V8, McLaren Spider Convertible, is parked.

Calvin turns to me with a rakish smirk. “She is super cute, my man.”

I roll my eyes. “You think anything that walks on two legs and has tits is cute.” I sigh.

Calvin chuckles. “True,
but dang…”

“I’m hungry,
let’s get out of here,” I say and jerk my head for Calvin to follow.

Calvin and I make it to the restaurant and
are seated right away. We start chatting as we look over the menu. I’m thinking about getting a nice juicy steak, needing something manly to eat since I’ve been having all these sappy emotions lately. The waitress comes by to take our drink orders and leaves blushing from Calvin’s flirty comments. Half of the time, I think he just does it for that purpose alone, to get a reaction, or make women blush.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to see who it is. Julianna. Shit, I forgot all about her. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Calvin as I get up from the table and answer the phone.

“Where are you?” Julianna snaps in my ear.

I pull the phone away from
my ear and stare at it as I make my way through the tables toward the front door. Who the hell does she think she is snapping at me like that? She must think that I put up with being disrespected; well, she has another thing coming. I step outside and put the phone back to my ear.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” I growl.

“I am at the hotel waiting for you, Nick,” she replies, ignoring my question.

“Something came up, I’m not going to make it tonight,” I tell her.

“What? Are you fucking kidding me?” she squawks in my ear, “You’re blowing me off?”

“Like I said, something came
up. You can stay in the hotel tonight if you want, on me.”

“You asshole!
I don’t want to stay in a hotel room by myself!” Julianna shouts into the phone.

Alright, that’s it!
“Listen, woman. I’ve had enough of you and your attitude. No one talks to me that way, so I don’t know where you get off thinking that you can.” I snap. “Don’t call me again, Julianna, unless it’s strictly business.”

“Wait! Nick!” Julianna cries frantically, but I hang up on her.

I really don’t need shit like that from a woman who I just fuck on occasion. I don’t know who she thinks she is, because she’s nothing to me. I don’t care about her one iota. And I don’t deal with women who have attitudes like that. I’m the one in charge, not her. I am always in control and I will never relinquish that control to a woman. Never. My phone rings again but I ignore it. I will not be speaking to Julianna again unless it is about a case.

I head back into the restaurant and take my seat across from Calvin. He raises an infamous eyebrow in question. I just shake my head as if to s
ay, “It’s nothing, forget it.” Calvin shrugs. That’s why I love hanging out with him. No bullshit, no drama.  He is so easy going; sometimes I wish I could be like that. After the waitress leaves from taking our meal order, Calvin folds his hands together on the table and leans forward.

“So tell me more about Delilah.
Is she single?” Calvin asks with glint in his eye.

I know that glint. He wants to take Delilah out.
Hell-to-the-no!
That’s not going to happen! Delilah is mine…I mean, she’s my secretary…and I can’t have Calvin screwing with her and making her quit on me. Delilah is the best secretary I have ever had.

“Don’t know, don’t care.
Do I look like her keeper?” I grunt, going for indifference, I don’t want Calvin to think that I’m attracted to her in anyway, because I’m not.
Mmm hmm, sure buddy.

Calvin rolls his eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me. She is really
adorable, though, and she seems sweet. I would like to get to know her better, find out what’s under those baggy clothes of hers, if you know what I mean,” Calvin says, wagging his eyebrows at me.

Oh, I know what he means, because I want to find out the same
thing.
No I don’t. Okay, so maybe I do
.  “Leave her alone, you horn dog. I will not have you cost me my secretary,” I warn, pointing a finger at him.

“Oh come on! You’re no
fun! I know! Let’s tag team her. Will you let me have her if you’re involved?” Calvin smiles.

I try not to smile, but it just doesn’t work when I have
this giant black man with a goofy ass grin on his face sitting across from me. “No! We will not tag team her, and you will stay away from her.” I chuckle.

“Dammit!” Calvin says, pretending to be disappointed.

I know he’s really not, though; he can get any woman he wants. Calvin is a very good-looking dude, even I can see that. Women fall at his feet all of the time. Shit, maybe I need to keep Delilah away from
him
.  He doesn’t really need her, he just wants to see what she’s hiding under her clothes. The conversation quickly turns to other things and Delilah is quickly forgotten…thank God.

♫♩♫♩♫♩
♫

a
nd Nick once more…

I am more confused than ever.  I thought my dinner with
Calvin and blowing off Julianna, would give me time to think and figure shit out, but my head is fucking spinning. And now, I have to go into work feeling this way?  God dammit! I usually enjoy working; it helps me focus, but fuck, not today.  I am aggravated as hell.  I just need to get through today and make it to the weekend. A visit to Club Masquerade tonight should definitely help dull this headache.

It is finally the end of the workday, and I
was pretty much an asshole to Delilah most of the day. Maybe I should apologize, but she is partly the reason I am acting like a total selfish prick. She didn’t do anything wrong, per se, but she is fucking with my head, and I have to blame someone other than my unruly dick.

I am dressed and ready to
go to the club, and if I don’t get in a good fuck tonight, my entire weekend will be shot to shit.               I am wearing all black tonight – shirt, pants, shoes, and belt. That seems to be what most women have responded to in the past. I am not wearing any jewelry, except for my Rolex Submariner, hoping to catch the eye of a bunch of women.  I like to have my pick of the litter.  I don’t give a shit if she is a gold digger because I’m only looking for a one night lay.  I slick my hair back and slide my mask into place; it, too, is black, reminiscent of a Zorro mask.  Now all I need is the cape and sword. Well, maybe just a cape; I come well equipped with my own sword, if you know what I mean.

I walk
into Club M with one mission - find a hot piece of ass, and fuck her until Delilah is entirely out of my head.  I like coming here because of the complete anonymity. Of course, it helps that I am tight with the owner so I get special privileges, like free drinks, free VIP status, and first pick of the VIP rooms. And you want a VIP room. They all have different themes, and are already set up to accommodate specific tastes, including all the tools of the trade. They all come with a basket of condoms to choose from, but I always bring my own because the ones here never fit me right. I should talk to Calvin about supplying me with some magnums. Your nametag is also designated ‘VIP,’ so all of the women know you’re a big fish. And we all know how much easier it is to get a woman to spread her legs when she knows how fat your wallet is.  All of the other rooms are pretty average – they just look like an upscale hotel room - and we all know I am not an ‘average’ kinda guy.

I give Monica a head nod when I walk in. She has been working the front for Calvin for years and greets everybody by name. Well, at least the name she is
given as I register, not my ‘real’ name. It can’t be that difficult of a job since everyone has to register to get in, and is prescreened. I already have my mask on and Monica has my VIP nametag all ready for me. Calvin must have given her the heads up that I am coming in tonight.  I trade with her my cell phone for an in-house messaging system, and she adds my contact number to my nametag.  From this moment on, I am no longer Nick Santino - I am “Nico, #812.” 

I walk up the two flights of stairs to get to the actual club
, which is on the third floor. From this point forward, there is no speaking permitted, and masks are required at all times, even while you screw.  There are a lot of security measures taken to make sure that there are no unwanted guests, and I have to show my VIP pass to numerous people before entering. I walk through the ten-foot tall wooden double doors into the main room. It is dimly lit, yet bright enough to be able to see the people and read their tags to get their numbers to message.  The walls are painted a deep merlot red and there are chandeliers hanging almost every twenty feet. When Calvin first told me the color scheme he chose, I immediately thought it was going to look like a bordello, with skanky hookers floating around. But it is nothing of the sort. It is actually ridiculously classy and looks like he spent millions to get it this fancy schmancy.  There is a dance floor in the middle of the room with a small stage for the live band to play. Well, not really a live band so much as a three-piece string orchestra, with a harpist, violinist, and cellist – very classy.  There are small tables surrounding the dance floor, and the perimeter of the room is lined with plush eggplant colored booths. They are set in low lighting for a more private atmosphere.

Directly across from the double doors I enter
ed through is a bar.  It spans the entire length of that wall, and for lack of a better word, it is beautiful. Can you use that word to describe a bar? Guess so, because I just did.  It is made from a solid piece of a high-end Burmese Teak wood, like they use on million dollar yachts, as it is naturally water resistant. It is so big, Calvin actually had to have it imported from Malaysia, or India, or Indonesia… oh, who the fuck cares, really?   Then he had a specialist come in to lacquer it to death.  Fifteen coats later, it looks as though it is topped with glass.  Like I said, beautiful.

In the corner is
an unassuming staircase that leads to the fourth floor, where all of the regular rooms are. One more flight up, you are in the VIP wing. There are only four VIP rooms, and Calvin is very particular with who gets them each night.  The rooms need to be reserved at the same time as registration, and Calvin charges a nominal fee. Okay, maybe not nominal.  Let’s just say it’s enough that those rooms are rarely full.   I’ve tried numerous times to pay my way, but Calvin will have nothing of it. I told him I owe him one, and I am sure he will collect one day.

I decide to do a once around to check out the women who are hanging a
bout. Most of them are congregated around the dance floor mingling with each other.  I don’t mind approaching a chick if she is with one of her friends, but when they are in groups I am turned off. It’s almost like they are just here to party, or be able to go home and talk around the water coolers at work on Monday, not here for bumpin’ uglies.

I pull up a barstool, feeling comple
tely downtrodden. I order my go-to drink at this place – a Bombay Sapphire and tonic on the rocks – and try not to be disappointed as shit.  I sit at the bar for close to an hour trying to pick out a woman to take up to my VIP room, but I can’t.  There is not one goddamned woman in here piquing my interest, or my cock’s for that matter. Oh, don’t get me wrong, no less than five broads have messaged me, but there is absolutely nothing stirring in my pants. This is not good!  I finish my third gin and tonic, resigned that it is just not going to happen tonight, when I feel a warm body sidle up against me. Just as I am about to tell her something, I look up and it is Calvin. Of course, it is.

C-dog
#413: Hey, Nico, my man.

Nico
#812: Hey, C-dog. How’s it hangin’?

C-dog
#413: A little to the left!

Nico
#812: Very mature, dude!  I was just about to take off.

C-dog
#413: No hunnies striking your fancy?

Nico
#812: Nah, man. I gotta get this shit in my head straightened out. It’s affecting my batting average.

C-dog
#413: I hear ya, brah!  Save a room for u tomorrow?

Nico
#812: I don’t know, man.  I am pretty fucked up.

C-dog
#413: Give tomorrow a shot. Monica said a few new foxes registered.

Nico
#812: Alright.  I’ll give it a shot, but if I don’t get some, my dick may fall off!

C-dog
#413:  Trust me, man.  I got you.

I hop
off the barstool, bump fists with Calvin, and head for the door. Another night in pure agony. My balls ache like a motherfucker, and I just don’t think rosy palm and her five sisters are going to do the trick any longer. I’ll give tomorrow one more shot. I hope that Monica was right, and my dick can pick out some fresh pussy he’d like to party with.