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T he black Cadillac stops outside a tall, brick building. Painted in all white, the neon marque shines golden light above the single door entrance. It proudly illuminates the club’s name into the surrounding darkness. A soft glow casts shadows over the sidewalk where a few patrons mingle while sharing a joint, if the earthy smell wafting towards us is any indication.

I stare at the building ahead, worrying my bottom lip. My mind races around what would happen if Miles found out I was here tonight.

The Black Rabbit.

The irony is not lost on me having an establishment with black in the title, but painting the entirety of it white. Whoever the creators are must have a penchant for humor, creating a metaphor for innocence on the surface while sinful nature lurks within. It’s not my place to judge, because it’s also not lost on me on how similar this club and I are. Slipping through life, pretending to be the good girl everyone wants me to be. When in reality, there’s a darker need beneath the surface, begging to be released.

I hop out of the vehicle, careful to not stumble in my heeled boots. Deciding to be more modest tonight and let Brooke shine like a literal goddess, I opted for my go-to outfit. Ripped jeans that hug my ass in all the right ways, a luscious, silk top with a sweetheart neckline trimmed with lace, and my signature heeled boots. It’s understated while still maintaining an air of smoldering sex appeal. Which, if we’re being honest, I prefer over exaggerated fashion.

Brooke, on the other hand, hit it out of the park with her outfit. Always the fashion diva, she fit herself with high waisted black pants, flawlessly creased down the front. A lacey bralette top is paired with a black, feathered, cropped jacket. All pulled together with her snake skin boot and purse combo. She couldn’t be more of a model icon if she tried.

Brooke’s still hanging halfway out of the vehicle, sweet talking the driver. I swear, she could make friends with a wall if she wanted to. Always making connections and finding new people to bring into her life to fill it with good intentions.

It’s not that I don’t like making friends, per se. I just prefer to keep my circle small and only give my energy to the people I trust most. Which is its own kind of hypocrisy as I stand here, waiting to enter a sex club when I didn’t inform my husband of this outing. But Brooke assured me this was strictly for business. No sexcapades tonight. We get in, mingle, grab a few drinks, and get home before midnight.

I check the time on my phone before securely placing it in my studded clutch. A little over four hours before Miles is due home. I can do this. I deserve this. Brooke is right. I’ve been locked up for the past few weeks and need some time to relax.

“Bye! See you at 11:30,” Brooke yells as the car pulls away.

Sounds like Brooke might have found her own way to relax, too.

She joins me on the sidewalk, linking arms before we begin crossing the street.

“You find yourself a new date?” I giggle.

Brooke grins. “No. They’re not my type, but I did secure us a reliable ride home. It’s easier than waiting for whatever sleazy cab driver might be around at midnight. Even offered to pay double.”

“That was generous of you.”

Brooke shrugs as she digs in her purse to find her ID.

“Safety is always worth— damn it . Where is my license?” Brooke rifles through her bag, pulling out random items to hold in her mouth, keeping it out of the way.

After a few chaotic seconds, she holds her hand up high, eyes alight with triumph.

“Found it!” she mumbles, handing the card to the security guard at the club’s entrance. “Anyways, safety is always worth it.”

I shake my head as I pull my own ID to be checked.

The guard scans both of our cards under a black light before handing them back to us. She ushers us in with a nod.

Brooke squeals, shoving everything back into her purse without a care. She grabs my hand and drags me through the threshold. Brooke yells back at me as the thud of the sound system becomes increasingly louder and we descend the dark, velvet-lined hallway.

“Come on! I need to take a few photos for content, but then the night is ours.”

The end of the hallway opens to an expansive room. Pink and blue lights flash across the dance floor with the DJ booth located at the head of the space. The walls are lined with upper and lower lounges, outfitted with retractable privacy screens and lush, velvet curtains lined with gold fringe. A waitress, not much taller than myself, passes us wearing a glittery babydoll set and matching heels. Her sculpted legs accentuate a plump ass and full midsection decorated with dark ink. She pauses to give us each a flute of champagne. I’m mesmerized by her round face that’s set with siren eyes and beautiful, full lips. She winks before she saunters off to find another guest to woo.

“Woah,” I mutter. “She’s breath-taking.”

Brooke nudges me with her hip.

“Maybe you could find a hot date tonight.”

I scoff at the insinuation, taking a sip of bubbles. The champagne is tangy yet sweet, with hints of strawberries and cream. I close my eyes, savoring the flavor as it melts over my tongue. If ecstasy could be bottled, hell, it may be this.

Brooke takes a tentative sip, waiting for me to answer her. Her eyes are laser focused in that way I know she won’t let it go until I say something.

“I’m married.”

She quirks an eyebrow at me, still not speaking.

“Marriage means you don’t cheat on each other. That was the vow I made,” I explain.

Brooke sighs, her shoulder sagging for extra dramatic effect.

“It’s not cheating. It’s exploring! You said it yourself that you wouldn’t be opposed to being with a woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I take another longer sip of alcohol. This night may need a few more of these if this is the route we’re going. Brooke means well, but she’s always been more of a love everyone , not love a single one. I don’t think she’s polyamorous, but she’s definitely allergic to long-term relationships. That’s one of the things we’ve always disagreed with. I don’t think less of her for it; I just wish she wouldn’t push it so often. It’s not the first time she’s brought up the fact I didn’t have the chance to explore my sexuality before meeting Miles. Being heavily involved in the church at a young age really put a damper on being a rebellious teen who could find themselves. Now, the only way that could happen is with Miles’ permission. Which is zero permission, because Miles doesn’t share.

I push Brooke forward through the throng of people crowding around an ice sculpture towards a flower wall with a neon sign reading, talk dirty to me . She mentioned taking photos and that space would make the perfect background. I can’t be a good wing woman, but I can be a good photo assistant.

“Yeah, and I also said that would only happen if Miles was involved. And I assume most people don’t want to be a unicorn, so I’m respecting that by admiring from a distance,” I say, sitting on the plush couch in front of the flower wall. The deep mauve fabric is velvety smooth. It’s a couch I could get lost and take a nap in if I wasn’t careful. Taking the final sip of my glass, I try a different approach to quell Brooke’s persistence.

“Besides, Miles doesn’t like to share. He said so himself that he doesn’t want to share me with another woman.”

Brooke drapes herself over the couch. Her champagne slouches over the rim of her glass, splotching the couch cushion.

“Prude.”

“Not everyone is as free spirited as you are, Brooke,” I tease.

Brooke makes a mouth with her hand and flaps it at me, mocking my comment. I laugh, shoving her hand away with a playful push. She sits upright, taking a sip of champagne before reaching out to cheers me.

We clink the glasses and finish what’s left.

“I just want to see you happy,” Brooke says, melancholy lacing each word.

It’s clear that my absence has been bothering her more than she’s let on.

I scoot closer, our legs touching as I lean in to hug her. She squeezes me back, burying her face into my neck. We sit like that for a few seconds, enjoying the comfort we provide each other.

“I’m plenty happy,” I gently say, pulling away from the embrace. I grab her hands and give a strong squeeze for good measure. “Now, let’s take some killer photos.”

I motion to the wall behind her that she has yet to notice. Anything to distract from where this conversation could be heading. This is supposed to be a fun girls’ night, not a therapy session.

I pull my phone from my clutch and shake it in my hand. “You still have a job to do, Miss Influencer.”