A Taste of Utopia Page 2

  “Does it ever occur to you that soon, we’ll be able to afford to pay for all of those and much more with the money from our company? Dude, His Secret is taking off. We’re about to dominate the international market. No small feat, my friend.”

  “When we get there, I’ll consider leaving Tailored.”

  “Why don’t I believe you? Oh, yes, because you don’t sound convincing.”

  “I enjoy what I do. I enjoy fucking women. What can I say? Sue me!” I shrug.

  “Yeah, yeah. You do. And it’s easy to hide behind sex.”

  “Here we go again.” I raise my hands up. When I drop them, they hit the counter with more force than I anticipated.

  “I’m not sugar coating, S. You seriously need to reassess your life. And while you’re at it, you should consider reevaluating your values.”

  “I have plenty of uncomplicated sex with gorgeous women. Tell me what’s to evaluate about that.”

  “Sex. What about satisfaction?”

  “Get as much as I give, bro.”

  “Intimacy. Spooning. Arguments. I just read an article claiming that arguing with your partner decreases the chance of Alzheimer’s. It stimulates the brain, challenges you.”

  “I get all I want from my arrangements.”

  “I’m talking relationships, Seth. Real dates. Fights. Romance.”

  “Did I tell you about the stamina of my last client?” I rub the overnight growth on my cheeks. “I got to fuck a gorgeous woman senseless. Did I also mention she was starving for attention and requested multiple orgasms? She woke me up with a blow job most mornings. Need I continue?”

  “She paid you for the attention and the orgasms. I’m talking about intimacy, bonding, and companionship.”

  “You’re redundantly pleading your case.”

  “You need friends. A social life.”

  “Hey, I thought you and I were friends, Dr. Phil.” I cock my head.

  “My point exactly. I’m your sole friend, yes? That’s not much to write home about.”

  “Good thing I don’t have anyone to write home to.” I wanted to sound playful, but it came out bitter.

  “Fatigue makes you grumpy. Why don’t you drink your wheatgrass and go ahead and take a nap?”

  Right, I haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours. My body is in a dire need of rest. “Nah, I have to work out.”

  “C’mon. Your temple,”—he waves a hand over my body—“can wait for worship. You need the rest. Adriana said the new client is young, wealthy, and inexperienced. You’ll need your strength and endurance.” He wiggles his brows.

  “Fucking hell, some spoiled patrician. Hate those.”

  “Well, hazards of the job.” He lets out a mirthful laughter. “Can’t always have the older women.”

  “Yeah, damn shame.” I put the empty mug in the sink and head for my room.

  TWO HOURS LATER, I dial Adriana’s number.

  “Hey, Querido, how’s the best city in the world?” Adriana asks, her Brazilian accent dragging more than usual.

  “Diverse and noisy as ever.” I lounge on my bed. “Are you okay? You sound stuffy.”

  “I’m just getting over a cold.” She sniffs and coughs.

  “So, what do you have for me?”

  “Did you get your beauty sleep, yet?”

  “Nah, just finished my workout, grabbed something to eat, and thought I’d call you.”

  “So you’re in for tonight?”

  “When have I ever let you down?

  “Well, after a week with the nymphomaniac I feared you’d need a break.”

  “Nah, I’m good. But tell me about tonight. Zach said she’s a new client and a young chick?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I tried my best to push Mario or James, but after seeing your picture she was adamant that you’d be perfect for her friend.”

  I settle in a chair to hear the details for tonight. Well, I guess life could be worse than being paid to fuck some spoiled brat.

  Lottie

  “BE STILL!” CHLOE reprimands me for the umpteenth time.

  “Why did you blow-dry my hair straight if you were going to curl it?” I rub my burning ear.

  “My goodness, if you don’t sit still, I’m turning into Maleficent.” Chloe fancies that line of thinking tonight. Apparently, I’m Cinderella and she’s my Fairy Godmother.

  “You’re hurting me,” I protest to no avail. Chloe continues to curl my hair into submission. “And Maleficent is from Sleeping Beauty, not Cinderella.”

  “Technicality. They’re all fairy tales.” She continues to tame my hair with the curling iron. “Beauty has a price, Lottie. And tonight we’re both paying up.”

  I huff out and blow a strand of hair falling over my eyes. To celebrate my twenty-first birthday, Chloe brought me to her home in Vegas. We’re going clubbing. God help me.

  With a smile in her voice, she continues. “Tonight, you’re going to have your very first orgasm. It will be the dawn of a new era in our lives.”

  I open my mouth to confess the truth to Lottie. “Yes, that’s the plan,” I say instead.

  Coward, you’re the worst friend in the history of friends. Guilt gnaws at my chest.

  Chloe and I met in the dorms at Yale during our freshman year. We were two geeks who hit it off within the first five minutes together. And I knew immediately that I had found a friend to the end of time.

  When we first met, for a reason beyond my understanding, we talked about sex. I wanted to impress her—we would be roommates for a year! So I told her I had had sex with my high school boyfriend. I also said I hadn’t had an orgasm, and we broke up right after.

  In reality, we never consummated the act. At the last minute, I couldn’t go through with it. As a result, I became the laughing stock of the school. Things like “Frigid,” “Celibate Belt,” and “Holy Virgin Mary,” were often written outside my locker.

  Now here we are, years later, and I haven’t had the courage to ‘fess up and tell Lottie I had lied to her on that first day we met, that I am still a virgin.

  Every year since we met, we’ve roomed together. During summer vacations and holidays, we spend time at each other’s houses. In her case, the penthouse of the Constellation.

  How can I come clean after all these years of being the bestest of best friends?

  “Ouch, my ear.” I place a protective hand over my singed earlobe.

  “Shut up and put your big-girl panties on,” she says sternly, but I hear a smile in her voice.

  “You just burned me. Again!”

  “Shush or I swear to God, your twenty-first birthday will be memorable for the wrong reasons.”

  I slip back into the role of Bella from Twilight or Anastasia from Fifty Shades of Gray. Chloe and I are both bookworms. Hence, her silly attempts to play Alice or Kate and doll me up. I accept the part knowing it makes her happy. However, in reality this spectacle is the dramatization of a different book. Beauty and the Beast. And I play the part of Beast when they tried to beautify him for Belle.

  For the next two hours, Chloe pulls, curls, infuses a bottle of hair spray on my hair, and uses hundreds of bobby pins. Relentlessly, she applies layers upon layers of makeup on my face.

  Finally, with her face beaming with satisfaction, Chloe runs her fingers through the tight curls falling over my shoulders.

  “Why go to all of the trouble of curling my hair if you’re going to just smooth it out?” I ask irritated.

  She doesn’t make any sense. Pull straight, curl, pull straight again. Argh.

  “Just shut up,” she says with a proud smile spreading on her face. She applies another layer of lipstick on my painted lips.

  “Oh God, Lottie.” She sighs. “Close your eyes.”

  I obey.

  She grabs my hand and guides me. “Right here.” We both come to a halt. Anxiety snakes its way through my chest, making me inhale a much-needed breath of air.

  “Open your eyes,” Chloe says softly.

&n
bsp; I hesitate. Mostly because I’m schooling my face into my best fake smile. I don’t want to disappoint her. Despite Chloe’s efforts, she isn’t a miracle maker. I wasn’t blessed in the beauty department.

  Reluctantly, I succumb. When my eyes find the image reflected in the mirror, they widen and my red lips part as I gasp. My trembling fingers touch the flawless skin. The image reflected in the mirror is not me. She is, I dare say. . . . beautiful.

  “I told you, the makeup course I took would be worth it,” Chloe says, clasping her hands and sighing dreamily.

  “You are a miracle worker.”

  “Nope.” She waves her hand in mocking modesty. “Tonight I’m just your Fairy Godmother, Cinderella.”

  In disbelief, I sigh deeply. “I just hope midnight doesn’t strike soon. Thank you,” I whisper.

  “You deserve it, Lottie. We both deserve to be happy. And it’s time we seek it. Write our own destiny and all that jazz.”

  “I look so different.”

  “You look like the gorgeous woman I know you to be.”

  Tears burn the back of my eyes.

  “No. Don’t cry,” she says softly. “Your eyes are going to be all puffy. Besides, you’ll ruin my masterpiece.” She dabs the tears off my face. “You’re beautiful. After tonight, our lives will never be the same.” She gives me a brief hug and walks to the closet.

  “Let me get your second birthday present.” Since it’s our summer vacation, Chloe’s gift to me was the airplane ticket to come and spend a week in Vegas. Apparently, she got me something else.

  “Come on, paying for my ticket was already too generous. You shouldn’t have bought me anything else.”

  “Trust me, Lottie, I’ve only just begun. Wait until you see your main gift. It’ll be unforgettable.” She squeals in excitement.

  Chloe collects a hanger from the closet. “Present number two.”

  The hanger’s cover announces in bold letters that its contents are from Prada. Her fingers swiftly unzip it, revealing a strap of fabric sewed together.

  I gasp again. This time in horror. I can’t wear something so tiny. It would barely cover my behind. Besides, with my curvy figure I would look hideous. To make matters worse, the micro dress is red. Bright, bold, blinding red.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. I won’t be caught dead in that.”

  “You swore on your life you would live wild tonight.”

  “Showcasing my derriere has nothing to do with it.”

  “You promised to do as told. Besides, only your back will be on display.”

  I did promise. We made a pact that we would live a night of debauchery. Not for one minute did I think it would include a tiny red dress.

  Resigned, I push the robe off my shoulders. “Where’s the bra?”

  “Silly, you don’t wear a bra under this dress.”

  A frustrated groan finds its way from the back of my throat. And as a lamb walking to the slaughter, I step into the dress she holds out in front of me.

  I examine my reflection again. The dress has a halter top with a floaty skirt that covers only midway to my thigh. I turn only to see that the bare back dips low and dangerously close to my buttocks.

  Chloe kneels in front of me and slides a pair of silver Louboutin heels on my feet.

  I’ll be lucky to survive my twenty-first birthday without cracking my neck. The stilettos feel several feet high.

  “Now, just like we practiced, confident and elegant.” She stands up and claps her hands. Her Alice complex is growing to unhealthy levels.

  “Not one male in that club will go home without dreaming about getting you in the sack.” She pulls me by the hand toward her bed. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  “Payback is a bitch, Chloe. Wait until you turn twenty-one.”

  Laughter trails her as she goes to get ready.

  For almost an hour, I wait for Chloe. I don’t move a muscle, fearing death if I ruin any of her work.

  Again, I consider the possibilities of tonight. Perhaps it’s time I hook up with a random guy and lose my virginity and all the romantic notions I grew up nursing from reading too many romance novels.

  Or maybe I can just confess the truth. It’s mortifying keeping this from Chloe. Most people have a slew of secrets. Not me. I have two. In my entire life, I managed to collect two secrets. They both haunt me daily. One is the lame lie of having had sex. The other . . . Well, the other’s too dark. It has the power to cloak my family in darkness. So I avoid thinking about it.

  Lottie reappears in the room and snatches me from my musings. She’s wearing a charcoal dress that displays all her curves.

  “You look gorgeous,” I say.

  “Thank you.” She spins. “Ready?” she asks.

  “Yep,” I say. We link arms and leave the penthouse of the Constellation Hotel. In the lobby, we stroll to the front desk. All the while I’m terrified to fall off my high heels and land on my behind.

  Melissa, the hotel manager, flashes a warm smile at us. “Hey girls, are you heading out?”

  I wave a hand. “Hi, Melissa.” According to Chloe, the manager used to be her nanny.

  “Yeah, tell Daddy not to wait up,” Chloe says.

  “You have your cell phone on you?” Melissa asks with a slight frown.

  “Of course.” Chloe rolls her eyes.

  “Have fun. But watch out for creepers. Vegas is infested with them.”

  “I know, I know.” Chloe rolls her eyes again. “Don’t accept drinks from strangers, don’t leave our drinks unsupervised, follow the buddy system. Check mark on all of those. And just to remind you, we’re going to Neptune.”

  Neptune, one of the hottest nightclubs in Las Vegas, is on the 50th floor of Constellation. Chloe’s father happens to own the chain of hotels. The Las Vegas hotel is the headquarters of the chain.

  “I trained you well,” Melissa says with a smug smile.

  “Hot guy at three o’clock is checking you out.” Chloe leans in and whispers in my ear.

  I glance back, and I see an Adonis standing in the center of the lobby. “No way,” I say breathily. “He’s just looking in this direction.”

  “He’s totally checking you out,” Chloe restates.

  “No, he is not!” Yes, he is. He’s totally checking me out, making me so nervous I want to throw up. I’m not used to being on the spot. I’m not going to hyperventilate. I chant to myself.

  I glance in his direction. He smiles and winks. My legs get wobbly. Mr. Adonis winked at me!

  We’re locked in a stare. I want to look away. I do. But I can’t. His gaze is too intense, ensnaring me. I’m captivated.

  Although we’re several feet away, I feel his eyes roaming over my body like a warm caress. My cheeks feel hot. My heart goes haywire.

  For a moment, the babbling of the water fountain, the classic music resonating from hidden speakers, the voices surrounding me, all fade away. There’s just him and me.

  Electricity hums between the space separating us. It sparkles and crackles in every direction.

  He takes a few steps in my direction but stops abruptly. His brows furrow and he shakes his head slightly.

  In the beat of a second, I see a war waging on his face. Then his expression goes dark. No, it goes blank. Gone is the flirtatious Mr. Adonis.

  He rakes his hand through his perfectly styled hair, making it spike in all directions. If he was sexy before, now he’s smoking hot. Totally. Combustible.

  Suddenly he turns away and strolls toward the elevator without a second glance.

  Upon closer inspection, he must have realized I was just an ugly duckling playing Cinderella for the night.

  I want to go back to my room and curl up in bed.

  I swallow the heavy lump lodged in my throat and forge a smile. “He must have forgotten his contact lenses in his room,” I say matter-of-factly.

  However, my stomach is in a tight knot. I don’t usually get my hopes up. Guys don’t take a second glance at me. And most certain
ly, not Adonis’ hot incarnation. When he looked at me, the hunger I saw in his eyes liquefied me down to the bone.

  I’m not talking about a sexual, predatory stare. Well, it was that too. I felt desired. But it was more. His eyes peeked into the recess of my soul. I never had anyone looking at me like that before. And the horrifying thing is: I liked it. No, I loved the tingling sensation surging through my bloodstream, making me giddy.

  “Did you look at yourself in the mirror? You look stunning. Edible!” Chloe gloats. She leans in and adds, “And tonight, you’re going to get laid and have your first orgasm, so help me God.”

  I glance at Melissa, but apparently oblivious to what Chloe just said, she punches the computer’s keyboard.

  We bid Melissa adieu and head to the same elevator Mr. Adonis used. As it ascends to the nightclub, I make the decision to forget the handsome face of the stranger. Tonight is about having fun. The doors part and I step out.

  Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I welcome the excitement. Tonight will be unforgettable. I can feel it.

  Seth

  I TOSS THE KEYS to my BMW to the valet, and adjust my button-down shirt. As I enter the luxurious lobby of the Constellation, the eyes of an overweight and middle-aged woman makes its way to my package—yep, I’m referring to my boy part. My penis.

  Her eyes scan my body, and when her gaze meets mine, I flash a broad smile and wink. A warm glow of pleasure tints her face. With eyes filled of embarrassment, she looks away. Most likely she’s not used to being the recipient of admiration. If she only knew how beautiful she truly is.

  I cannot fault her or most women for feeling inadequate. The standards set by society dictates that unless you have the same figure as a Barbie doll, you aren’t pretty enough. Vexing the situation, most men are blind assholes who fail to see and celebrate the diversity of beauty.