She seems so sure of what she wants, and I want it too, and as I roll on a condom and press myself inside of her, our eyes meet and her dark eyes brighten, telling me that, yes, she wants this. Now.

I fill her up with all of me, stretching her as I do, her pussy is so tight and new and my cock is so fucking huge, but somehow inch by inch, I’m inside of her. Her hands grip my back, her perfect tits tight against my chest, as I rock into her.

As I move deeper and deeper inside of her. Her moans are reckless and uninhibited. She isn’t faking a goddamn thing—no.

Jules is everything good about the world. Honest and open, and I know she is so much more than that. Her body presses against mine and I thrust gently into her, and I feel her heart expand in ways that make me crave more of her. All of her.

“Cal,” she whimpers, as I fuck her the way she asked. “This is everything.” She holds onto my neck, so tightly it’s as if she’s holding on for dear life—as if she’s scared of drowning or getting lost. As if she doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.

“I got you, Jules,” I tell her, cradling her in my arms, coming in her nice and hard, and she comes too. Together, we are sweaty and hot and alive. Her body unravels against me, the orgasm washing through her more than she anticipated.

I can’t help but smile like a cocky fool, loving the fact I got her off so well, so hard.

In the early morning, Jules stands, a white sheet wrapped around her, last night’s smudged mascara around her eyes, her dark hair a tousled mess. When she doesn’t attempt to wipe away mascara or run her fingers through her hair, I know I found a woman I’m not letting go of anytime soon.

“Thanks, Cal, for everything,” she says, reaching for her mini-dress and panties. I start to say something, but she’s already walked into the bathroom, the door closed.

I get out of bed and pull on my boxers. My loft is an open space, and the sunrise streaming through the windows more than hints at a beautiful June morning in Cali. In the kitchen, I turn on the espresso maker, and look for some sort of breakfast to offer the girl I can’t bear to let leave so soon. Maybe I can tempt her to stay for the morning—looking down at my morning wood I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time.

Just as I pull open the refrigerator door, Jules walks in the room wearing her high heels which does nothing to take care of my raging hard-on.

“So,” she says, shrugging, “I guess this is gonna be my first walk of shame?”

“You can always stay for a while, I can drive you home.”

She smiles. “That would be great, but I have a 7 a.m. call and it’s already 6:10. I’m pushing it as it is.”

I shake my head. “You’re killing me, you know that?” I look down at my cock and grin sheepishly.

“Sorry about that—but I can’t be late.”

I nod, grabbing my cell and calling her an Uber. “What’s your address?”

She offers it to me and I enter it into the app. “A driver will be here in five.”

“Thanks.”

“So, when can I see you again?” I walk to where she is standing at the kitchen island. “Because I need to see you again.”

She bites her bottom lip and pulls her phone from her clutch. “I can give you my number?”

“That’s a start.” We exchange digits and I hear a ping on my phone, letting me know it’s gone through. “How about you come to the club again tonight?”

She shakes her head. “Uh, no thanks. It’s not my scene.”

I try to keep my shoulders relaxed, but they’re tense as fuck suddenly and I can’t help but feel disappointed that this amazing girl before me doesn’t like the thing I am most proud in this world. I made that club, created an entire oasis there.

“What don’t you like about it?”

“Well for starters, I don’t like going places where men feel like they have the right to grope me. A place where people threaten one another and punches are thrown.” She shrugs. “Look, I’m not trying to be all intense... it’s just, I don’t know how you can work at a place like that. Everyone goes there to get something from someone else.”

I run my hand through my hair, not wanting to argue with Jules. But I wish she could see the other side of the A-List Club. See the freedom and liberation it offers its guests. But maybe Jules hasn’t been in LA long enough to understand what happens to the rich and famous here. How slipping out of a man’s house in the morning without a getaway car will get your walk-of-shame photograph in Exposé. How fame starts off as exciting but quickly spirals into something that steals every good thing from you until there’s nothing left.

Still, a fight in my club is inexcusable, and those men showing up are an issue I need to fucking address today.

“I wish that hadn’t happened to you, Jules.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s the owner of that place who needs to make it safer.”

My jaw tenses, but I know it’s true. I need to make sure shit like that never goes down again at A-List Club.

“Besides,” Jules continues, “I wouldn’t go to that club when you are working anyway. Watching you on the clock is not a date.”

I step toward her, pulling her waist to me. “So, you’re saying you wanna go on a date with me?” I rest my forehead against hers.

“Yes,” she says. “A genuine, make reservations, pick me up at eight, bring flowers date.”

I laugh. “And here I was thinking you weren’t high maintenance.”

“I prefer to think of it as old-fashioned.”

I nod, understanding the difference. “In that case, the club is closed on Monday. Can I take you out then?”

Jules nods, kissing me on the cheek before stepping away. “You know my address now, see you at 8.”

And then she’s out the door, going down the elevator, and gone.

But not for good.

We have plans, and damn, I can’t think of the last time I took a girl out properly. I throw a fist in the air, feeling like a college football player, making a game-winning pass. Cheesy as fuck, I know. But this farm- girl has brought out the inner-corn-ball and I’m not at all complaining.

Later in the day, I meet up with Sawyer for a drink at The Dive, a shitty low, key bar in Santa Monica.

“How’d the night go after I left?” Sawyer asks, flipping a cardboard coaster in his hand.

I take a drink of my Stella before answering. “Shit got crazy. Those guys showed, fucking demanding me to tell them who the owner is. Asking for my name.”

“How did they get through Jordan?”

“Hell if I know. I’ve been wondering the same thing, but I’m trying not to jump to conclusions.”

Sawyer cocks an eyebrow at me. “What kind of conclusions?”

“Like maybe Jordan has something to do with this?”

Sawyer pulls back. “No way. Besides, he knows who the owner is. You. Wouldn’t he just tell them?”

“Not if he’s trying to play both sides.”

“Fuck.” Sayer chugs his beer and clams the point down.

“What’s your deal? I never see you drink like this at two in the afternoon.”

Sawyer smirks, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks disheveled, more out of sorts than normal. “This movie shit is messing with my head.”

“Did you sign a contract for the sequel yet?”

“No, but the studio is pressuring me. I just can’t keep my head in the game.”

“I’m telling you, you need a piece of ass, no-strings-attached.”

Sawyer’s eyes narrow. “Did you... did someone say—?”

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. I just. Last night... after I took Sondra home things got... complicated.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I came back to the club,” he says, shaking his head. “You were busy working the bar, so I didn’t bother you. Anyway... I went upstairs with one of Danny’s new girls. Gretchen.”

I frown, trying to keep the story straight. “And?”

He spreads his palms on the bar, leaning back on the stool. “And we fucked.” He drops his head against the bar and groans.

I press my fist against my mouth, trying not to laugh at this sorry fucker.

“Dude, it’s so not funny,” Sawyer tells me.

“Yeah, it is, man. You don’t owe Sondra a damn thing, God knows she understands the deal between you too.”

“I know, it’s just risky as shit to do that. The studio would be pissed and I—”

“And you were at the A-List. Everything that goes on there is tight.”

Sawyer shakes his head. “Except you were saying some shit got nasty last night. Guys got in who shouldn’t have been there. I’m just saying... maybe we think things are safer than they really are.”

Fuck, I know he’s right. I texted Jordan last night after I took Jules to bed, making sure the club was under control and that the thugs were gone. He said everything was cool, but I need to have a conversation with him to find out what he knows exactly.

“Where did you go last night anyway?” Sawyer asks me.

I can’t help but grin at the memory of Jules, spread out on my bed like a perfect virgin.

“Shit,” Sawyer laughs. “Who the hell did you fuck?”

“Jules. One of Danny’s girls.”

“Really? The brunette? She was hot as fu—”

“Don’t,” I say, cutting him off. “Don’t talk like that about her.”

Sawyer whistles low. “Hell, one night and this girl has you wrapped around her finger?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me how it is?”

“She’s perfect. I swear to God, Sawyer. She’s funny and unpretentious. Sweet and hates the bullshit of this town as much as I do. She’s from this tiny town called Resting Hollow and sounds like her childhood was damn near perfect—nothing like ours.”

“And she’s a supermodel.” Sawyer chuckled. “Sure she isn’t a cyborg because she sounds way too good to be fucking true.”

We order another round, and Sawyer pulls out his phone. “Shit, my publicist keeps calling. Who even talks on the phone anymore? Can’t she just text like a regular person?” He sets his phone on the bar next to mine. But then mine starts buzzing too. Jordan’s name flashes on the screen.

“What does that ass-hat want?” Sawyer asks.

I shrug. “We need to discuss last night. I need to figure out how those guys got in under his watch.”

“You gonna answer that?” Sawyer asks after it rings for the third time. We glance at his phone. Now Sondra is texting too. My phone flashes with Jules’ name.

“Uh, maybe we should deal with this,” I say.

Sawyer laughs. “Oh, now that your woman’s calling, you’ll answer.” He shakes his head and we both pick up our phones.

“Oh, fuck,” Sawyer says, just as I click on the link Jules sent.

“Fuuuck,” I groan.

“This is bad, brother.” Sawyer drops the phone on the bar as it starts ringing again. “Shit.”

The link is to an article in Exposé.

Sawyer with Gretchen.

Fucking in red letter chair. Her bare ass gripped by his hands. Her head rolled back, her long neck drawing our eyes to her tits. Sawyer’s cocky grin emblazoned for the world to see.

“Who the hell did this?” Sawyer asks.

I don’t have an answer.

“There were a lot of new people there last night.”

“No one was taking pictures, there’s no way,” I say, feeling defensive.

“Except someone did, Cal. Fuck.”

He’s right of course. And the list of suspects is hella long.

The mob.

Jordan.

Sondra.

Fuck.

“Your girl, Jules had her phone out.”

My insides coil. “She was with me last night.”

“Not when I was fucking Gretchen.”

“It wasn’t her.”

“I’m not saying it was, I’m just saying she was on her phone before Jordan stopped her.”

My eyebrows furrow, I remember Jordan walking over to her and asking her to put the phone away. Then I remember my night with her. Her virginal requests.

I don’t want to think that I was double-crossed. That she was only playing the part of an innocent ingénue—that in fact, she was selling photos to the press.

No way. Not Jules.

“She’s not a suspect.”

Sawyer shakes his head slowly, and I know what he’s thinking.

The truth is, right now, everyone is a suspect.

Right now, no one at my club is safe.

I pound my fist against the bar, the same way I pounded it against that asshole’s jaw last night.

“So now what?” Sawyer asks.

“Now we find out who did this. And then we make them pay.”

* * *