Hmmm.
But then she looks over at us and smiles.
The dress is light blue. Her dark hair has been pulled up into some kind of elaborate twist. And her skin is glowing from the sex, or the massage, or maybe both.
She looks a thousand times better now than she did when she came upstairs tonight.
Jordan and I stand up as Nadia ascends the steps, and then Jordan walks over to her and takes her hand, leading her over to the table. He pulls out her chair and she sits as he pushes it in.
I study him as he pours her wine from the bottle. She studies him back.
He wants to treat her like a lady in public. Like me. Is he copying me? I mean, that’s how I usually play as well. Smith is the dick, Quin is the fun one, and I’m the gentleman.
So why am I so hell-bent on breaking her?
Her name pops into my head without warning.
Rochelle.
“Nadia,” I say, just to get the image of Rochelle and Adley out of my head. “You look very relaxed and satisfied.”
She smiles as her eyes dart in my direction, then look away. Her attention is on Jordan. “Thank you,” she says, still looking at him. “I wasn’t expecting that. But”—she sighs—“I have to reluctantly admit… I needed it.”
“Well,” Jordan says, lifting his glass. “Here’s to the start of something special.”
Nadia lifts her glass and then takes a sip. When I look over at Jordan he’s looking at her the way I looked at Rochelle two weeks ago.
He says he’s not in love with Nadia. I wasn’t in love with Rochelle, either. But there’s a pull here between these two. Just as there was a pull there between Rochelle and me.
Maybe I should just bow out now? Why should I help him get what he wants? Why should I always be the one left over?
“Hey, Bric?” Jordan says, snapping his fingers.
“What?” I say, becoming annoyed.
“I asked you a question.”
“I was thinking about something else,” I admit. “Repeat it, please.”
“Do we really want to play the game here?” Jordan asks. “We could get our own place.”
“I don’t—”
“Quiet, Nadia,” Jordan says. Not mean, but definitely authoritative enough to shut her up. “Let’s look for one together.”
I glance over at Nadia. She’s frowning. She likes her apartment, I guess. The way Chella liked her house. But Chella settled in.
Yeah, and look what happened after that.
But I already tried the new apartment with Rochelle and Quin. That didn’t work out well, either.
“Think about it,” Jordan says. “We’ll go looking together. Make it ours, you know.”
Ours. Maybe that was the problem with the loft? It was mine. I guess, looking at this whole thing from Quin’s point of view, he probably thought I was trying to steal Rochelle and Adley away from him.
Was I?
It’s a hard question I don’t want to answer.
“Sounds fun,” I tell Jordan, then raise my glass of brandy in a delayed response to their toast. “To the start of something special.”
“Great,” Jordan says, smiling at Nadia. The table is set for three. It’s round, not the one we use to spy on people down below, and we are spaced evenly around the perimeter. So Jordan can look at her, he’d said earlier.
Didn’t Rochelle tell me Quin sat across from her for the same reason?
God, I need to get these people out of my head.
“This weekend?” I ask them, breaking their moment. “We should go look this weekend. I have a guy. I’ll have him set up some viewings.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway,” Nadia says. “I like where I live. I don’t want to move. Why can’t we just… stay there?”
“No,” Jordan and I say together. At least we are on the same page as far as this goes.
“Why?” she persists. “Because living at my place would take away your illusion of control?”
“Illusion,” I say, laughing. “Don’t fool yourself, darling. We are in control.”
She smiles at me. But it’s not the sweet kind she seems to be throwing at Jordan tonight. “I’m not submissive, Bric. Making me feel good for one night? That’s not enough to change that, you know.”
I shrug. “It’s a start.”
Jordan’s phone rings in his suit coat. He pulls it out, frowns at the screen, and then tabs accept and says, “Jordan Wells,” as he stands up and leaves the table, holding up one finger to us in a, Just a second, gesture.
We watch him walk away. Down the short flight of stairs where he stops in front of the elevator. Not talking. Just listening.
“It was a brilliant twist though,” Nadia says, pulling me back to the conversation. “And it felt amazing. So touché. You won this battle.”
I give her my full attention. This might be the first real in-person moment we’ve had together. “It’s supposed to be fun, Nadia. It’s a game, not a war.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?” she asks.
“No,” I say. And even though it’s been my job to calm the girls down and make them understand what it is we do, and why we do it when we share, I just don’t have the desire to be that man this time. I don’t care enough to explain. I don’t want to make her feel better.
“You know,” she says, pausing to take a sip of her wine. “I’m going to figure out what your problem is. And when I do, I’m going to use it against you. Just like you did to me tonight.”
I want to laugh. “First,” I say. “I don’t have a problem. And second, I set up the massage to make you feel better, that’s all.”
“You set it up to make me submit. Willingly,” she adds. “I’m OK with that. But I know what you’re doing, Bricman. I’m an astute player. I read people. I look at their bodies, their faces, their whole demeanor… and I know what’s inside them.”
“You don’t know what’s inside me.”
“But I will.” And then she does shoot me the sweet smile. “You’re not such a big secret. Everyone knows you. Everyone at the ballet knows you. They talk about you, ya know.”
“What do they say?” I try to come off as unaffected, but… I’m affected. I don’t like being talked about.
“They say you’re kinky, mostly. That’s the rumor floating around. They know you play these games. So if you come by the company and they see me with you, they’ll know we’re playing.”
“So?”
“So they’ll all start telling me little bits of this and little bits of that. All the rumors will come pouring out and I won’t even have to ask for them.”
“Am I supposed to care?”
She shrugs. “Care or not, it’s gonna happen.”
Jordan returns, tucking away his phone. “I gotta go,” he says with a heavy sigh. “One of my fucking clients just got arrested.” He leans down to kiss Nadia. They linger, their lips soft and pliant, their mouths open. I can see their tongues twisting together.
And suddenly the whole scenario reminds me of that first night Quin, Rochelle, Adley, and I had dinner at the loft. When I was the one leaving early. When I was the one kissing Rochelle goodbye. When I was the one lingering in the kiss.
I didn’t love her.
“Bric will take you home, Nadia,” he says, pulling away. “Sorry about this. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”
There’s a flurry of commotion as Jordan excuses himself and the food arrives at the same time. Our plates are set in front of us, steam wafting up off the sea bass and asparagus. When all that settles down, Nadia looks at me. “I didn’t know I ordered yet.”
“We ordered for you,” I say, my response dry and dull. But then I add, “Jordan ordered it.”
She looks down and smiles, her fingers playing with the napkin in her lap. And then she picks up her fork and begins to eat.
She likes him, I realize. The way he likes her.
Why the fuck am I here?