Читать книгу The V-Spot - Wendy S. Marcus - Страница 7

Chapter One

If Emma Masters had a pen and paper handy, or the inclination to jot down the top four reasons she’d willingly let her best friend, Sadie, set her up on a blind date, the list would look something like:

1 Oxygen deprivation secondary to high-waisted shapewear that’d apparently shrunk in the dryer.

2 Impaired judgment secondary to ingesting a few too many glasses of Skinnygirl Moscato.

3 Sexual deprivation secondary to a crazy-busy schedule that didn’t allow her time to search out a man interested in some naked fun with a woman at least a dozen pounds past pleasingly plump.

4 Severe exhaustion secondary to Sadie’s persuasive persistence which she’d ended with, “Every woman deserves a good fuck on her birthday. If she’s not in a relationship, it’s the best friend’s responsibility to see that she gets it.”

Hard to argue with that logic, but Emma had tried, countering with, “I don’t need a man.” Even though, over time, her need had grown distractingly intense in the presence of certain men.

Intuitive Sadie had seen right through the lie, and once she got an idea in her head... Seeing no other alternative, Emma had ordered another round of drinks determined to set such stringent criteria for her blind date, Sadie would never be able to meet them.

Unfortunately, in her then soused state, she’d failed to adequately assess Sadie’s enthusiasm for the project or her determination. Over the next six weeks Sadie had diligently met every single one, including the full physical exam and STD screening.

That’s how she, Emma Masters, wound up at The V-Spot, a voyeur motel. Who knew such a thing existed? Apparently her best friend did. Note to self: Never trust Sadie when she emails you an address for your GPS—at the last possible minute—accompanied by the words: The location is a surprise. You’re going to love it!

Even though, upon arrival, Emma had been assured the enterprise was completely legit, every time the door to the VIP reception room opened she half expected to be rounded up in a police raid, shoved into the back of a windowless van and taken off to jail. But curiosity regarding who had agreed to Sadie’s scheme kept her rooted in place.

A size-fourteen woman—well, a size sixteen Spanxed-down to a fourteen—in a sea of pert, scantily clad sixes.

A single surrounded by at least twenty couples, not one friend among them.

The clichéd fat chick, standing alone at the snack table.

On her twenty-fifth birthday.

Emma adjusted the nondescript black eye mask she’d been given to ensure anonymity of all V-Spot visitors and did a quick scan of the reception room, noting all the men who’d managed to show up on time for their dates. Concern that Sadie’s mystery man had changed his mind started to build.

She did her best to ignore it, focusing in on her surroundings instead. The place had a summer camp feel, clean and well-kept but rustic and no-frills. Large, tastefully done, black-and-white prints of naked men and women engaged in a wide variety of sex acts lined the natural wood walls. The frames hung at eye level equidistant apart. She resisted the urge to fan herself at the vivid memories of a few of those detailed drawings. Mesmerizing and arousing, a few discomfiting, each was a beautifully done work of art suitable for display in an upscale gallery.

Seeing everyone around her occupied, Emma snuck a handful of potato chips, stuffed them in her mouth and, turning away from the crowd, closed her eyes to block out any distractions as she savored the yummy goodness. A greasy, salty, crunchy consolation she hadn’t allowed herself in years. A vice she may have to reconsider because they were just as delicious as she remembered.

Luckily she’d cracked open an eyelid in time to catch Angie, The V-Spot VIP room hostess, walking in her direction. Emma still couldn’t believe she’d managed to keep her jaw from hanging open when Angie had explained how the evening would work. Exhibitionists. Voyeurs. Oversize windows. Dark pathways.

It had taken a few minutes, and a few hearty gulps of wine, but once her initial shock had worn off, every time she thought about watching others having sex, her heart broke into a gallop of excitement. And, well, other parts of her were experiencing a little tingly anticipation, too.

Except, with each passing minute, it seemed more and more likely she’d be leaving without ever getting to sample the erotic decadence hidden behind the high walls of a faded wooden privacy fence a few short yards away.

She swallowed down her mouthful of chips, and her growing disappointment, with some cabernet, placing the half-full glass on a tray. No more of that if she’d be driving herself home in the next few minutes.

“Maybe your date had car trouble,” Angie offered. “Cell service is horrible out here.”

Out here being rural upstate New York, a good three hours from her home, an hour and a half of narrow, windy roads from the highway, and at least forty-five minutes from any signs of civilized life.

Emma forced a small smile and a polite nod acknowledging the statements. After all, it wasn’t Angie’s fault Emma had been stood up. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ll give him another couple of minutes.” She’d about reached her limit of pitying glances and had only stayed as long as she had because Sadie insisted ‘B’ was crazy attracted to Emma and eager for their date. And because he’d been so sweet and thoughtful by having a dozen red roses delivered to her at work yesterday—her actual birthday—with a card: Looking forward to tomorrow night. Happy Birthday, B.

“You don’t need a date to walk the viewing paths,” Angie offered. “Plenty of people do it alone. Once the sun goes down and more guests arrive no one will even notice you.”

As if that didn’t scream Total Loser Incapable of Getting a Date.

“And your upstairs, private room has already been paid for.”

Her upstairs, private room. She had an upstairs, private room! For birthday sex. With her blind date.

Who was he? Would she find him attractive? Would he find her attractive? Would the sex be as fantastic as she hoped? That is, of course, if Sadie’s birthday present actually showed up.

A couple who’d been looking at her oddly for the past fifteen or so minutes came over to join her conversation with Angie. “We couldn’t help but overhear,” the tall, red-haired, disgustingly slender, perfectly proportioned, probable underwear model said.

“Yes.” The man, a tall, thin, wannabe ‘50s crooner in a retro black suit and wingtip shoes, looked Emma over as if she was a vintage guitar and he was a collector. “It’s a damn shame to drive so far and not get to experience all The V-Spot has to offer.”

Angie introduced them. “Nick. Sugar. Meet Emma.”

Emma got the feeling Nick and Sugar were V-Spot regulars.

She shook each of their offered hands, Nick holding on long enough to make Emma feel uncomfortable. “Two’s fun,” he said. Then tugging her closer while leaning in as if to share a secret, he added, “Three’s an adventure,” loud enough for Sugar, Angie and everyone in a ten-foot radius to hear.

Emma had to be reading this situation all wrong.

But Sugar nodded, looking hopeful.

Angie shook her head, looking apologetic.

Emma could just imagine what her face must look like. Stunned, probably. Although once again she’d managed to keep her jaw from dropping open. And the firsts of the night kept on coming. First blind date. First visit to a voyeur motel. And her first, if she wasn’t mistaken, invitation to join up with a couple for a threesome.

As much as Emma enjoyed reading about them, actually participating in one? Um, no, thank you. Watching others having sex was about as far outside of her comfort zone as she planned to stray on this fine June evening. So what if it was her birthday and she’d mentally prepped herself for a night of adventure doing things she’d never done before? A girl had to draw the line somewhere. Emma chose to draw it with her on one side and Nick and Sugar on the other.

Time to get going.

“Thank you,” Emma said, adjusting the strap to her pocketbook on her shoulder. “But I don’t think so. Visiting The V-Spot is something my boyfriend and I wanted to share together.” That’s how it always started, with a little lie to avoid looking pathetic. What did it matter since she’d be heading home in a few minutes anyway? “My fiancé, actually.” Having a fiancé was better than a boyfriend, right? “It’s all so new.” She smiled. “I have to get used to calling him that.”

Nick lifted her left hand and pointed out, “No ring.”

Emma snatched it back and answered, “Tonight’s a role-play night,” thankful for her ability to think fast. “Anyway, he’s a doctor.” She smiled proudly, even knowing her date would most definitely not be a doctor, since she’d strictly forbidden Sadie from choosing one of their colleagues at the hospital. “He probably got tied up with one of his patients and couldn’t reach me because of the poor cell service.” Or more likely because Emma had insisted Sadie not share her address or phone number with anyone. A woman living on her own had to be careful.

A commotion at the far end of the room caught Angie’s attention and she excused herself to go investigate. Thank goodness Nick and Sugar followed.

No sooner had they disappeared from view, the front door banged open.

As if a bad-luck bomb had exploded at her feet, Emma’s night went from bad to worse, because not ten feet away stood Brody “The Bull” Bullock, the overconfident, full-of-himself professional wrestler who routinely visited her pediatric floor to entertain the kids.

Please, God, no. Not him. Not tonight.

She froze, instantly regretting the bright, bold print of the low-cut, cleavage-displaying sundress she’d worn. A colorful dress that made her stand out in a crowd, when right now she desperately wanted to blend in.

He stood in the doorway, filling it with his large frame, while he surveyed the room. His signature tight black T-shirt hugged his over-muscled chest, and worn-out, faded blue jeans clung to his hips and thick thighs. He was too big, too handsome, too everything. At the thought of him witnessing her humiliation, of him telling his loud-mouthed friends how he’d found her alone at a voyeur motel, of the endless teasing and tormenting she would no doubt be forced to endure as a result, her heart started to pound and her armpits grew disturbingly wet.

I’ll go to church every Sunday, she bargained with the Almighty. Just don’t let him notice me. Maybe she should have offered up a more realistic and achievable bargaining chip, because in that moment he spotted her and smiled his cocky I’m-so-handsome-you-gotta-love-me smile. And Emma got the distinct impression he wasn’t at all surprised to see her there, that he expected to see her. Which could only mean...

Oh no, no, no, she shook her head and took a step back, trying to put more distance between them. One of her very specific criteria had been no one from the hospital. Okay, so technically she and Brody didn’t actually work together, but close enough.

Emma glanced around the room looking for another exit, not finding one. Damn it.

He’s totally into you, Sadie had said.

Why would she lie? Why would she get Emma’s hopes up only to send them crashing down into a disappointed heap at the big blind date reveal?

Guys like Brody, aka way too good-looking, popular athletes, didn’t pay attention to women like Emma. Unless their interest was forced as part of a bet, or they chose a dare over the truth, or they wanted something from her. In high school and college it’d been for help getting in good with one of her friends or for a tutor to help them maintain academic eligibility to play sports. Always in private, so no one would see them together, so worried about their precious reputations. Egocentric assholes.

Which is why Emma made it a point to avoid guys like Brody. And when she couldn’t, like at work when she’d first been assigned to screening the wrestlers before they could circulate among the patients, it was why she remained aloof, all business, a total professional unsusceptible to their insincere charms.

He stepped toward her and Emma’s heart started to race. Why was he here? Cruel prank came to mind. And Emma got mad. How dare he ruin her night? And ruin it he had. Because there was absolutely no way in hell she’d be shedding one stitch of clothing in front of The Bull. No way in hell she’d give him the opportunity to criticize her or poke fun at her or discuss her many physical imperfections with his wrestling buddies, like they discussed so many other women, as if Emma wasn’t even in the room.

Best birthday ever? Over before it’d even begun.

When he came to a stop in front of her, looking as if he had every right to be there, Emma wanted to hit him. If she could have done it without creating a scene she would have. Instead she pursed her lips to keep from screaming out and narrowed her eyes in warning.

He held up his hands, seeming ready to fend off an attack—apparently he was smarter than he looked—and opened his mouth to say something. But his words got drowned out when Angie yelled, “Thank God. A doctor.”

What?

Emma jerked her head around to see the parted crowd and a clear path to Angie, who was kneeling next to a man who’d apparently collapsed to the floor. “Come.” She motioned with her hand to Brody. “We need you.”

With a collective swivel of heads, everyone in the room turned in their direction.

Brody glanced over his shoulder as if expecting a doctor to be standing there.

If the situation hadn’t appeared so serious, Emma may have laughed at Brody’s horrified expression as he turned back to face Angie and pointed to his chest. “You mean me?” He shook his head. “No way. I’m not a doctor.”

“Isn’t he your fiancé?” Angie asked Emma loudly, her voice approaching panic.

Apparently Angie was not a fan of wrestling. All eyes shifted to Emma.

“You have a fiancé?” Brody bellowed.

Good Lord.

He stood to his full height of a couple of inches over way too tall, crossed his beefy arms over his wide chest and stared down at her with angry brown eyes.

As if he could bully an explanation out of her.

The jerk.

Emma looked away to find no escape in the dozens of questioning, some disapproving, eyes still locked on her. So she did the only thing she could and tried to divert their attention. “Man down, people.” She stormed toward the man sitting on the floor. “Let’s focus on what’s important.”

Someone yelled, “That’s The Bull.”

Another person, this one female, followed with, “What’s he doing here?”

A third added, “He’s her date?”

The third speaker just happened to be standing within elbow range when she’d uttered that unflattering remark. So Emma maybe nudged her aside a little harder than necessary while saying, “I’m a nurse. Back up and give me room,” so the woman wouldn’t feel in any way assaulted.

Emma knelt beside the twenty-something blond-haired businessman who appeared to be experiencing moderate respiratory distress with impaired air exchange. “My name is Emma and I’m a nurse. Can you tell me what happened?”

He mumbled.

Emma called out, “I can’t hear.”

No one seemed to care because The Bull had arrived.

A booming male voice she recognized as Brody’s professional wrestler voice yelled, “Quiet.”

The room went silent.

She bent and put her ear close to the man’s mouth.

“Allergic.” He wheezed. “Nuts. Shellfish.”

She looked at Angie. “Call an ambulance.” Angie jumped to her feet and ran off.

Emma turned her attention back to her patient. “Do you have an EpiPen with you?” She sent up a prayer that he did because they were in the middle of nowhere and he’d likely die from anaphylaxis before an ambulance could reach him.

Thank goodness he nodded. “My...car. Center...console.”

“Keys,” Emma said.

He fumbled ineffectively to reach into his pocket.

Emma moved his hands out of the way and dug into the front pocket of his dress pants. They didn’t have time to waste. “Who’s his date?” she asked, looking up at the people surrounding her.

A young brunette who looked in shock raised a hand.

“Do you know where his car is parked?” Or had she insisted on separate cars like Emma had?

Eyes wide and tear-filled, the woman nodded.

“Come on.” Brody grabbed the keys, took the woman by the arm and pulled her out toward the parking lot.

The seconds passed like hours while Emma waited. The man’s breathing grew more labored, his wheezing more pronounced. His pulse increased, each beat pounding beneath her fingertips. Emma did all she could, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt to reduce any exterior restrictions to his airway and in preparation to administer CPR if his condition worsened. She reassured him, did her best to keep him calm and watched helplessly as his lips turned an alarming shade of blue.

Finally Brody crashed back into the room—did the man do anything quietly?—and thrust two EpiPens at her.

Then he set to work herding the gawkers outside.

Out of habit, Emma checked the packaging for signs of tampering and an expiration date. Not that it mattered because she would inject at least one regardless. Then she popped off the safety cap, flattened the material at the man’s outer thigh and administered the premeasured dose of medication right through his pants. Afterward she checked to make sure the needle had dropped and the full dosage had injected before massaging the insertion site.

The epinephrine went to work immediately. As his breathing eased and his color improved the man introduced himself as Neil. Emma stayed with him, which suited her just fine since she had no desire to have any interaction with Brody the Birthday Ruiner.

Fortunately for Neil, unfortunately for Emma, the ambulance arrived much faster than she’d anticipated. She gave her report to the EMTs, found her purse and hoped to slip away unnoticed.

But it seemed remnants of bad-luck bomb particulate lingered on her person.

Just outside the door, Nick snuck up beside her, linking his arm through hers and falling into step as she walked. “Soooo. Not a real physician or a real fiancé, after all.”

“I told you tonight’s a role-play date,” Emma lied, deciding to continue the charade rather than own up to her misinformation. “Tonight he’s the doctor and I’m his nurse.” She extricated herself from Nick’s grip and, as politely as she could, pushed him away.

She noticed Brody over by the privacy fence at the center of a swarm of his adoring fans. Of which she was not one—even if he was nauseatingly attractive and great with the kids on her floor.

“But you really are a nurse,” Nick pointed out.

“Well, yes.” She headed for the parking lot. “My role wasn’t much of a stretch.”

Nick followed her. “You know you’re still welcome to hang with me and Sugar. Brody, too.” He may have looked the part of laid-back man issuing a casual invitation, but his voice came out way too eager.

Would this night never end? “Thank you so much for the very tempting offer. But I really have to be going. Emergency at home,” she lied. “I’m not sure how Brody plans to spend the rest of his night. Maybe he’d be interested.” Based on all she’d read about him in online news articles, probably he’d be interested, especially once he got a look at Sugar.

“Hot diggity!” Nick said and veered off, probably to hunt down Sugar and give her the news.

The darn gravel hindered Emma’s hasty departure. Sadie had suggested she wear comfortable shoes. But chubby girls needed to elongate for optimum presentation, so she’d chosen a nice pair of three-inch wedge-heeled sandals for the evening. They were comfortable, usually, but, as it turned out, not ideal for travel over gravel.

“It was nice meeting you,” she yelled after Nick. Then she maneuvered the rest of the way to her SUV without looking back.