Time to celebrate, I think to myself, my arms wrapped around Aidan’s torso as he zigzags through the evening New York traffic. The engine of his bike growls under me, louder and louder with each passing second, and I grab him tightly as we pick up speed.
Aidan’s taking me to Python, the renowned ‘pleasure club’, and I won’t lie: I’m a bit nervous. Still, after everything we’ve been through, that nervousness is barely noticeable; more than nervous, I’m excited to go there. The place where dreams come true, everyone says about Python, and I’m curious to find out how much of that is true. After what happened during the photo shoot with Mistress Strokes, I doubt anything can top that.
I mean, since I’ve met Aidan, I think I’ve probably done more growing up than I’ve ever done in my life.
This is like the damn sex talk that your parents have with you, only as an adult.
Why did no one ever tell me about these things?
Did you know? Did you know sex could feel so amazing?
Sorry, I’m not going off on you – it’s just that my life is so different now than it was just a few short months ago. And my writing has changed too.
It was Aidan’s idea to visit Python; it’s time we fuckin’ celebrate, he said after Big Dick climbed through the Rainforest’s rankings and earned its place amongst the Top 100. That helped us sell more and more, giving us a much needed boost, and we’re still climbing through the rankings. It’s a good thing Aidan decided to get me out of the house today, or else I’d just spend the night with my laptop propped up on my knees, refreshing the rankings every fifteen seconds.
I mean, don’t roll your eyes at me, okay? Hitting F5 to refresh my screen is something I absolutely do.
But there’s only so far the books going to go. I told Aidan this too.
“Without the budget to do publicity that the big traditional publishers have, we’ll never make keep it in the Top 100 for long,” I tell Aidan. “It needs more publicity that we just don’t have the dollars for.”
This was never a problem before. Bad Boy Publishing used to handle it. But now, its me and my limited budget.
“Here we are,” I hear Aidan say as we grind to a halt in front of what looks like the entrance to a large building from some wicked fairy tale. I swing my legs off of the bike and, taking the helmet off, run one hand through my hair.
“This place is huge,” I tell Aidan, looking up at the neon lights above the tall double doors. They blink in a crimson glow, spelling Python one letter at a time. Robust men in dark suits lace the entry to the building, waving people in slowly, and I feel my heart sinking as I realize the line is simply too big; there are hundreds of women waiting for a chance to get inside, all of them wearing heels and dresses probably a few inches shorter than they would wear for a family gathering.
“We’re never going to get --” I start, but one of the security guys waves at Aidan. He laces his arm in mine and we cut the line. I can feel hundreds of jealous eyes burning on the back of my head as we move toward the entrance, but I try my best to shrug it off.
“It’s been a while, Aidan,” one of the bald guys in a dark suits says with a smile, and Aidan just claps him on the back.
“Yeah, feels good to be back. Is Austin in?”
“Yeah, he just got here. He should be in the main room, just look for him.”
“Thanks,” Aidan says, handing both of our helmets to the security guy.
I just nod and smile through the whole conversation, and then the realization dawns on me. “You never told me you used to work here!” I whisper at Aidan as we walk up the stairs to the main room.
“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs, walking inside the building’s cavernous hall as two security guys push the double doors open. Loud music and dim lights flood us at once, and I have to blink my eyes a few times before I realize how big Python really is. The room we’re in has enough space for a few hundred people, and the elevated stage right in the middle seems like something out of rock concert.
“Wait here, I’ll go get us a booth,” Aidan says, but I’m barely listening to him. My attention has been snagged by the two men on the stage, both of them wearing firemen uniforms. Their heavy bright jackets are open, though, and they're not wearing anything underneath. Their abs and toned muscles gleam under the spotlight, and I feel my jaw dropping a little as they throw their jackets over the crowd of shouting women, the sight of their naked (and extremely ripped) chests sending the crowd into a frenzy. No wonder Aidan used to work here; he fits right in with these guys.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you used to work here,” I say, but when I turn to the side I realize Aidan’s not there. I look around and I see him leaning by the counter, talking happily with a gorgeous man in a dark tailored suit, his jacket thrown over the counter and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. They shake hands, exchange a few words, and then Aidan makes a beeline toward me.
“Who’s that?” I ask him, following the tall man with my eyes as he steps through a Personnel Only door.
“That’s Austin Price, the owner,” he says, and then takes my arm again. “Lets go, he hooked us up with the best seats.”
Arm-in-arm with Aidan, I let him lead me to the upper level of the room. We walk up a set of stairs, and then he takes me to a booth that overlooks the stage. The walls are lined with couches, and there’s even a pole in the middle of the room. This booth probably services large groups, but we have it just to ourselves. I’m betting that this Austin guy must have liked Aidan a lot when he worked here.
We choose the seats closer to the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, the ones with the best view toward the stage, and I notice there’s a bucket with a bottle of champagne on a small table to the side, two glasses close to it.
“Oh, nice,” Aidan says, grabbing the bottle by the neck and popping the cork out with a quick flick of his thumb. Champagne gushes out in a torrent, and I hurry to get the glasses under the bottle.
“To Abby, the greatest writer ever,” he says, taking one of the glasses and raising it up with a grin.
“To Aidan, the second greatest writer ever,” I tease him with a chuckle, and we touch glasses. I down all of my champagne at once, and then search for my phone, rummaging inside my purse with one hand. Fishing it out, I head straight to the Rainforest website.
“Jesus, give it a rest, Abby. You checked the rankings a thousand times today and --”
“Oh, God. Oh, God,” I start, my eyes widening as I notice what’s on the screen. No way, this can’t be real.
“What is it?” Aidan asks, peering over my shoulder. “Holy fuck!” he exclaims as he sees what’s on the screen. “We’re at the fucking top!”
“We are,” I say, barely blinking as I try to process the fact that Big Dick is sitting at the Rainforest’s Top 10. “And we’re going up,” I continue, breathing fast as I notice the small Big Dick thumbnail overtaking the other books in the ranking, climbing steadily into the Top 5.
“Fuck,” Aidan breaths out, grabbing the bottle of champagne and refilling our glasses. It feels like we’ve barely finished drinking them when Big Dick finally tops the ranking, an orange ribbon with a bold #1 falling over the thumbnail. “Well, fuck me. We’re the best-selling book in the US.”
“We are,” I squeal, jumping up from my seat and hugging Aidan tightly. I press my mouth against his, kissing him heartily, and then just laugh. This is better than everything I could’ve dreamed of. Number one? Are you kidding me?
“Look,” Aidan grabs the cellphone out of my hands and hovers his index finger over the screen. “There are a lot of books going up too,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Bad Boy Publishing,” he whispers, and I look down at the bright screen. All the books climbing in the ranking—and there are a lot of them—belong to Bad Boy Publishing.
“They’re unseating us,” Aidan whispers, watching as Big Dick falls from #1 into #7, and then crashes all the way down into #47. “Fuck, we can’t compete without a marketing budget.”
“Screw that,” I surprise myself, taking the cellphone out of his hands and throwing it back inside my purse. “We’ve made the top spot without a marketing budget! Do you know what that means? This is just the start!”
“Yeah, I guess,” he says, but I can tell he isn’t completely comfortable with the idea of having Bad Boy Publishing coming after us. I don’t like it, of course, but right now I’m so ecstatic over the fact that Big Dick made #1 that I can barely think of anything else.
“We need to celebrate,” I tell him, turning toward him and biting on my lower lip.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“No, I want to really celebrate. I want to do something crazy, I want -- Christ, I don’t even know what I want, but I want it.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, looking into my eyes with a serious expression, but I notice that hunger welling up in his eyes.
“I trust you,” I whisper with a nod. “Besides, isn’t this what Python is all about? Having no limits? That’s what I want right now—no limits.”
Without saying a word, Aidan just grins and goes up to his feet. Taking my hand, he leads me out of the room and down the stairs, back into the lower floor. “Wait here,” he whispers, and then walks to the counter once more. Austin Price is there again, and I feel anxiety spreading its wings inside my chest as I watch Aidan whisper something into his ear. Austin nods with a smile, and Aidan comes back to me.
“What was that all about?” I ask, but Aidan just grins.
“Wait and see,” he tells me, and that’s when the lights go out. The rumbling sound of drums echo through the room, the sound coming from the overhead speakers, and then a lonely spotlight lights up the stage. A few seconds after that, another spotlight lights up the place where Aidan and I are standing.
“Let’s go.”
I walk after Aidan with a knot in stomach, realizing that he’s leading me straight onto the stage. There’s no going back now; I asked for this (whatever this is), and now I’m going to get it.
We walk up the narrow stairs that lead to the stage, and that’s when I notice two long ropes dangling from the ceiling, handcuffs hanging on their ends. Aidan walks me across the stage until I’m under the two ropes, and then makes me lift my arms, closing the handcuffs around my wrists.
“Time to celebrate,” he whispers.
Abby