The Divorce Club (28 page)

The phone rings again. I glance at the
familiar number, deciding to ignore it.

"Switching off usually does the trick."

Startled, I look up into brown eyes, for a
moment unable to comprehend what he's talking about. And then I
realize it's
him
. Maybe I'm not that old after all.

He holds out a hand. "I'm Patrick."

"I—" Luckily, I stop myself in time because
telling the guy I know his name wouldn't help my mission. "I'm
Sarah."

Patrick orders another drink for me as he
inches closer. His gaze scans my cleavage before it settles on my
face. I expect the cheap pick-up lines to start flowing, but he
keeps staring at me, which is starting to make me nervous, so I try
to engage him in conversation.

"You come here often?"

He nods and takes a sip of his drink. "Every
week. I don't remember seeing you before."

"I was supposed to meet a friend. She bailed
out on me, so I thought I'd have a drink before I head back to
work." The excuse sounded believable when Mindy and I rehearsed it.
I hope Patrick believes my shaking voice to be the result of
feeling insecure due to his raw masculinity, or whatever men
suppose nowadays.

Patrick winks. "Is it naughty of me if I say
I'm glad she didn't turn up?"

"Not at all." I fake a giggle. "Now that
you're mentioning it, I'll send her a box of chocolates."

"Let me buy you another drink," Patrick says,
even though I haven't even touched the first one yet.

"Okay, though I have to warn you I get tipsy
very easily." I giggle some more and take a sip through the straw
umbrella, the vodka burning the back of my throat.

"We wouldn't want that now, would we?" His
eyes sparkle. I dare a peek toward Jamie, barely able to suppress a
grin. Jamie's hand is clasped around his beer glass, his knuckles
white. His lips are pressed in a tight line and his eyes throw
daggers. Is someone jealous or just overprotective? I hope option
one applies even though I know it's wrong of me to fish for any
minuscule indicator that he might be into me.

Patrick resumes the conversation. "You're not
like other women. There's something different about you. Have you
modeled?"

This must be one of the worst and most cliché
pickup lines ever. I groan inwardly as I curl my lips into a smile
and wink. "Only for private collections." Like those of a cheated
woman who wants to frame her husband.

"What? I can't hear you," Patrick shouts.
"What do you say we retreat to the privacy of my booth?"

I stare at him because I expected it'd be a
tougher challenge to drag him away from here, but apparently Mindy
was right about this as well. The guy can't wait to pull. He's not
even wasting time in case he needs to move on to the next
skirt.

"Only if you get us a bottle of champagne." I
batter my lashes, hoping it looks sexy.

"Nothing less for a gorgeous girl like you."
Patrick orders a bottle of bubbly and two flutes before he helps me
off my stool. We squeeze through the gathering crowd to the back of
the establishment.

Several times, I peer over my shoulder to
make sure Jamie's following. Patrick pulls a curtain and leads me
into the miniature of a room with dimmed lights, including the
usual stripper pole, red sofa and glittery floor. With my Vegas
underwear, I'll blend right in.

I drop on the sofa, minding my short skirt,
as Patrick pours us champagne and hands me a glass. I've barely
taken a sip when he inches closer and drapes his arm over my
shoulder whispering in my ear, "You're gorgeous."

I try to laugh. The sound remains trapped in
my throat because his overpowering aftershave is choking me. Mindy
said he wouldn't need much of an invitation to take off his
clothes, and yet I can't bring myself to make even the slightest
insinuation. Let's face it, the guy's probably as old as my father,
hairy, with saggy skin I don't want to see.

"Come here." He starts nibbling on my neck,
his hand wandering to my thigh. From the corner of my eye I notice
Jamie peering through the curtain, a thin digital camera snapping
the first photos so I throw back my head and contort my face into
what I think people will mistake for ecstasy. The truth is though,
I've never been more embarrassed. Whatever Jamie thought of me
before, now he'll probably be mortified to be with me in the same
room. Why did I let Mindy drag me into this?

"Was that a flash?" Patrick asks.

"No, just the light catching in my bra. Close
your eyes and enjoy." I push his head toward my cleavage and moan
loudly in the hope to divert his attention from everything else
happening around him.

"You like that, huh?" Patrick's hand draws
circles on my inner thigh as he neighs like a horse between my
breasts. How could he possibly think pretending to be an animal
might turn a woman on? His fingers move higher. I stiffen. Time to
get this over and done with before someone sees Jamie outside and
raises alarm.

In a bold moment, I jump to my feet and head
for the stripper pole, pressing my back against the metal like they
do on TV. "Why don't you take off your pants?" I whisper. Patrick
laughs and starts unbuttoning parts of his body I don't want to
see.

"Show me what you got, sexy," Patrick
says.

At home, loading the washing machine clad in
my fleece tracksuit with no makeup, I feel sexier and less dirty
than here, slithering up and down the pole. I've no idea how women
can do this for a living. Maybe it's not so bad when you try to
turn on a hot guy, but Patrick's leering, groaning and panting only
makes me long for a nice hot tub with a good brush and lots of
scrubbing.

Mindy advised to take off parts of my clothes
to make it seem convincing so I start to peel off my skirt,
dropping it to my feet. Even though it's warm in here, my skin
turns into goose bumps, which I hope won't be visible under the
many layers of body makeup. Patrick's hand moves to the south, so I
inch closer and turn my back on him as I lower myself on his lap.
His hands circle my hips, drawing me closer. I shoot an imploring
look toward the curtain. Five more minutes of hip shaking and butt
rubbing, and then I'm out of here, otherwise I might just throw
up.

Patrick moans in my ear, so I move my head to
the side and whisper, "Pull off your shorts."

"You're a naughty one," he says, his hands
already busying themselves down below. My insides turn cold as ice.
I close my eyes and part my lips like actresses do in movies,
feeling strangely detached as though I'm far away from here.

"Sorry, sir, we only allow our own girls to
enter the private rooms."

I jerk my head toward the curtain. Jamie's
standing there, the expression on his face seems composed, but I
can see the lines around his mouth and the frostiness in his blue
gaze. I jump up and slip into my skirt, eager to get out of here as
fast as I can. Bile rises in my throat. If I don't get out soon
I'll drop dead, mortified.

"We were about to leave," Patrick says even
though he doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry as he whispers,
"Let's get a room and finish what we've started."

What am I supposed to do? I don't have an
exit plan out of this situation. "I—"

I struggle to come up with an excuse, but my
mind's remains blank when Jamie grabs Patrick by the collar and
pushes him out hissing, "She's not going anywhere with you, old
geezer, so buzz off."

"Don't." I grab his arm, my gaze
imploring.

For a moment, I fear Jamie didn't hear me
because he doesn't let go of Patrick. Then, he nods slightly. With
a last glance back, we take off through the crowd. He doesn't say a
word until we're outside. The cool air brushes my hot skin, easing
the nausea in my stomach. I wrap my arms around my middle.

"Are you okay?" Jamie's furious. I can tell
from the way all color’s drained from his face.

"I've never done that before, and I'll never
do it again." Peering at him, I shake my head. Hopefully, he
doesn't think I'm cheap.

A vein throbs on his forehead. "Damn straight
you won't. You're too good to be having creeps touching you like
that guy. How did Mindy make you stoop to that level? When I get my
hands on her, she'll wish I hadn't."

"Don't do that. She isn't entirely to blame."
I run the tip of my tongue over my chapped lips. "I'm so sorry. I
was just supposed to take pictures of cheating husbands, not take
off my clothes to catch them. The stuff I'm doing for this club's
spinning out of control."

Jamie inches closer, his warm breath
caressing my lips. "You know, I wanted to punch Patrick so badly.
It took everything I had not to hit him. Seeing you drop that skirt
and then his drooling over you like some dog in heat was more than
I could bear. I hope it was worth a thousand bucks."

I shake my head. "It wasn't, but I had to do
it for the club."

"You aren't bait," he whispers, rubbing my
back.

"You're right. I'm going to rewrite the
brochure."

He nods when I notice a car parked on the
other side of the road. It's the same one I've seen in front of the
club and across the street. My vision blurs and my hands start to
shake as Greg's getting out.

"Sarah? Why didn't you answer your phone?" he
asks. "What are you doing at a strip club? And why are you dressed
like a hooker?" He looks Jamie up and down. "Is that your pimp?
You're doing tricks, aren't you?"

"What?" I shout. "Are you mad? No!"

"Okay, then give me one good reason why
you're flashing your underwear with heels about a foot tall,
standing outside an establishment like this."

"Shut up if you don't want me to take off my
heels to show you what else I can do with them," I say. "They're
deadly weapons, particularly to a man's private parts."

"She's not a hooker," Jamie says. "Say that
again and we're going to have serious troubles."

"This is between me and my wife," Greg says.
He looks at me and shakes his head. "Is this the so-called
boyfriend? What kind of trash are you dating that brings you here
looking like a cheap tart?"

Jamie's face contorts with fury. I grab his
arm to hold him back before he snaps. Greg's never been one to know
when to keep quiet, but lately he seems to have lost all sense of
self-preservation.

"You married the idiot?" Jamie asks through
clenched teeth.

I nod. "Fortunately, I came to my
senses."

Greg shoves Jamie's shoulder. "We were
separated because my wife had a lapse in judgment, but we're still
a family with a wonderful daughter. Whatever kind of life you
dragged her into, it's over. It ends now, mate. Got it?"

He's playing the family card again. What's
with people trying to manipulate me? Maybe I'm gullible like Jamie
implied. I cross my arms over my chest, standing my ground. "We're
not a family, and I'm not going anywhere with you."

"What did you just say?" Greg inches closer.
"That's not Sarah speaking. You got my wife hooked on drugs, you
piece of slime, so she'll do your dirty work?"

"Did he just call me a pimp?" Jamie
hisses.

"That's it. Let's go," Greg says, grabbing my
arm. "I've had enough of watching over you. Dragging Sam along to
your little dates, and now this—obviously, the pain from our
separation was too much for you."

"Date?" I raise my brow. "You mean
dinner?"

Greg shrugs. "I'd rather call that cheap
pizza place a fast food joint."

A cold shudder runs down my back. Why didn't
I see the connection? "How did you even find me?" I whisper. "How
do you always know where I am?"

He drops his hand. I expect him to avert his
gaze, say he's sorry, feel guilty, but he doesn't. Instead, he
shrugs as though stalking me since Jamie entered my life is the
most natural thing in the world. "I had your phone tracked. Someone
had to take care of you."

I start hitting him with my purse until my
arms hurt yelling, "You sonofabitch. Do you have any idea what you
did to me?"

"Sarah, stop. What's going on?" If it weren't
for Jamie to pull me away, I'd punch Greg into next week.

I huff, clutching my sides. "He's—"

"I'm her husband," Greg says. "Now, let go of
her."

"
Ex
-husband and a stalker as well." I
lunge forward, ready to punch him again when Jamie tightens his
grip around my waist. "No, I need to do this," I hiss.

"Is he the reason why you've been acting so
weird lately?" Jamie asks.

I nod, my gaze still focused on Greg.

"I'll drive you home," Jamie says, adding in
my ear, "and I'm staying the night in case the psycho turns
up."

"You've done enough when we're just trying to
reconcile. Stealing my wife with your sob story." Greg shakes his
head, poking a finger in Jamie's chest. "Bad move."

Jamie stares at me. "You're getting back
together?"

"No," I whisper.

"She's just shy." Greg raises his brows,
meaningfully. "We live together. So, back off."

My blood's boiling again. How can he say
that? I never even pretended to want him back. I lean toward Jamie
and whisper, "It's not true. He's sick."

For a moment, Jamie seems to consider my
words, faltering as though he's fighting with himself whether to
believe me or not.

"Whatever you got going with my wife, it's
over," Greg says. "Do you hear me? This isn't like her at all. I
don't know what kind of drugs you have her on, but she's going off
them cold turkey, starting tonight."

"I'm not on drugs, you moron," I say.

"You're in denial, babe. It's what all drug
addicts say."

I roll my eyes.

Greg grabs my hands, turning me to face him
as he touches my cheek. "You weren't really in a car accident, were
you? This is worse than I ever thought."