Page 33 of Swept Away

He and Mason talk from time to time, and as it happened in the car, their conversations are about things that don’t involve me or the woman next to me.

I can’t make out much of their words as it’s crazy loud in here, but I know they’re not talking about me or Monique.

After the second round of drinks, things begin to shift.

Monique becomes more obnoxious, if that was even possible, and I become more quiet, staying focused on my cocktail.

But things don’t go well.

She suddenly wants to dance and stubbornly tries to compel me to follow her to the dance floor.

Dancing is the last thing on my mind right now, but I’m doing it anyway to get away from the idea that I’m here only for Mason and the orgasms that he owes me.

Forget about them.

They. Will. Never. Happen.

Not tonight anyway,

The music is loud enough to finally drown out her voice.

We move our bodies and work up a sweat before returning to the bar.

Carter is in a conversation with the barista, a sassy brunette, who openly flirts with him.

Monique takes it personally and pouts next to me, which is weird since she and Carter haven't been particularly close this evening.

I need another drink, so I join in Monique’s efforts to steer the barista away from Carter, and more jokes ensue about us, women, being jealous.

We don’t mind them as the brunette goes away and someone else takes our order.

“Good riddance,” Monique says, bringing her drink to her lips.

Once she gulps half of her beer, she wants to go to the bathroom, and who better to join her than me?

That’s hardly what I want to do, but she’s hard to say no to when she sets her hand on my arm and asks me to follow her.

She sounds a little pissed at me, too, for no good reason that I can think of, yet I slide my ass off my seat and walk with her across the bar and through a side door where the noise stays behind as we inch closer to the bathroom.

“I’ll wait outside,” I say, not intending to use it.

“It’s clean inside,” she says unexpectedly. “You can check your makeup.”

She gestures at my face.

Two things rub me the wrong way.

Her comment about my makeup.Do I have mascara on my cheek?

And the thing about the bathroom.Has she been here before?

Silently, I follow her inside.

It’s a spacious restroom, clean indeed, with only one stall occupied. The woman pushes the door open, walks out, and then washes her hands before exiting the room.

Monique uses the toilet herself while I check my makeup.

Everything is in place.