Chapter Nine - Bric
I set the food down on the table and start pulling out dishes. “Here, Rochelle. I got her a high chair today too. Just scoot that up to the table.”
Rochelle hands the baby off to Quin, who takes her awkwardly, and walks over to the high chair looking confused.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask Quin. “You don’t like the idea of them staying here?”
“You could’ve told me you were going baby shopping.” He’s shifting Adley in his arms, like he has no idea what to do with her. I want to intervene and help him out, but somehow, I think that might make things worse.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t think about it. Just had to get shit done, you know?”
“Whatever.”
Well, Mr. Foster has a jealousy gene. I never got this vibe off him before, so this is something to note. I know how to work the high chair, so I press the lever, flip the tray down, and then point to the seat. Quin sets Adley inside and I put the tray back up. “I had to look up how to use it too,” I tell Quin, so he won’t be annoyed at not being able to work the high chair. “But it’s easy.”
When I met Rochelle, Smith, Quin, and I were between games. We had just gotten rid of a girl who really sucked. She was my idea, so I was looking to make it up to Quin and Smith for the fuck-up. Rochelle kinda reminded me of a girl Quin brought into the game a couple years back. Someone he got along with. Someone he had fun with. Can’t even remember her name now. Lacey? Lisa? Lindsey? I’m not sure. She was a stripper down at Old Joe’s on Colfax. But she insisted she was only doing that to pay for her first year of college out in Utah. She informed me she had big plans. Was going to be a lawyer one day.
I didn’t believe her for a second but it turns out she was telling the truth. She spent the summer with us and then she was out.
Quin didn’t get sad over Lacey/Lisa/Lindsey. But he did remark that he’d miss her.
And Rochelle looked a lot like her—if you didn’t count the dress. I figured that dress was from a thrift store and it was her only option. But I learned later she’s into that kind of stuff. That’s her style. If I had known she was one of those throwback flower girls I wouldn’t have ever invited her into the game. Smith hates those girls.
I really don’t give a fuck about a game girl’s style. Or her personality. Or her hopes and dreams, for that matter. It’s a fucking game. It’s short-term. Temporary. Sex. That’s all it is for me. As long as I find a woman attractive and she likes to please, I’m happy.
Hippy style aside, Rochelle is beautiful and she’s submissive enough to keep me satisfied. Not a fighter. Not a complainer. Not even close to high-maintenance. I think Chella is probably more high-maintenance than Rochelle.
Most of the time she’s easy-going. She’s laid back. She’s cool.
So I liked her when we were playing these past few years. She never once asked for more. She never once got mad at me for like—anything. And she was always there when she was supposed to be. She did what she was told.
She was… someone there… but never on my mind. Right?
That’s about all I ask for in a player.
Be there, but not there, if that makes sense.
So I’m sure Quin picked up on that. I liked her but I never cared if she left. I fucked her on my days then went on with my life.
I was no threat to him and all his feelings back then.
But this baby changes everything.
I want her here. Things are different now. We’re trying something new. We’ve never shared a girl outside the game, but if it can be done, it will be done with Rochelle.
I’ve never wanted kids, but this little pumpkin fascinates me to no end. And maybe it’s just because I know I’m not ever going to be her father. Even if I was her real father, I’m not the father type.
But I am the uncle type. The semi-absent father figure who shows up with presents and then disappears for days, or weeks, or months. The one you call when you’re sixteen and get arrested for smoking pot under a bridge somewhere when you should be in school. The one who would show up in court, pretending to be your father, and never tells your parents. The one who hands over money, no reason necessary. The fun one.
I feel the need to be the fun one with Adley. I don’t want a kid. That kind of responsibility is not my thing at all. No, I’m not here to take that away from him. But I gotta keep Quin happy in this little arrangement or my surrogate kid might disappear.
“It’s good,” Rochelle says, shoveling a heaping forkful of pasta into her mouth. She follows that up with a shrimp and then goes for the meatballs.
Quin is oddly silent.
“So hey,” I say, pointing my fork at Quin. “I guess we should get the rules out of the way, right?”
When we had our first meeting with Chella about the rules, it was pretty out of the ordinary. She was in control the whole time. What’s my dream? I don’t need a dream, I’m just here for the sex.
Rochelle’s rule meeting was more like… OK. OK. OK.
Whatever we said, she was OK with it. You’re gonna pay me thirty grand a month to fuck me on alternating days of the week? Sure thing. You want to give me a free place to live, buy my food, and give me gifts? I’m in. You want to dress me up like a socialite and take me to parties? No problem.
When we dished out our rules to Rochelle, she took it like a champ. No touching from Quin unless Bric is there? Kinky fun. Smith can do whatever he wants with me? I can deal. And when I told her no feelings—like none—or we’d kick her to the curb, well, she didn’t even blink an eye at me.
She was on board.
Rochelle is as easy-going as they come.
This rule meeting is not going to be like that at all. I’ve been thinking it over ever since I left her place down in Pagosa Springs.
I need her to balk. I need her to resist. I need her to be uncomfortable. That is the only way Quin will think this is real. He wants to punish her. He might not admit that to us, or even himself. But that’s what he wants. I know him. I got this, Quin.
“What rules?” Rochelle asks. “I thought this was—”
“Yeah, what rules?” Quin eyes me suspiciously.
I already know what Rochelle thinks about my rules. We discussed them earlier and I told her what to think. We’re back together so she can snag Quin. Get him back. Make him commit to her. And I’m only here as the buffer.
And I know what Quin thinks too. I told him as well. Planted all the little ideas in his head. We’re good together. We have fun. Rochelle is the perfect player. Things can go back to the way they were.
We will be happy again. My manipulative personality will make sure this game goes to plan. But there’s a very fine line with these two. My happiness depends on both of them thinking they need me.
Here’s the problem with that. I don’t think Quin really needs much convincing to fall hopelessly back in love with Rochelle all by himself. And I don’t think Rochelle needs me to keep Quin interested.
I need them way more than they need me.
Usually, I’m happy no matter what. Last year I was happy with Rochelle just as much as I was without her. But I like fucking girls with Quin, OK? I like it. He’s the best player ever. Smith sucks at it. And he’s out for good now, anyway. And Jordan, Jesus. If Smith sucks, then Jordan is absolutely awful. It will take me years to turn Jordan into Quin. Years.
I don’t want to wait years for happiness. Why should I when I have these two right here, right now?
So I only have two choices. Keep Quin and Rochelle for myself and have a good time by manipulating them into thinking they need me. Or let them go be happy together and be left with an endless string of stupid games that never last and end badly.
This is a no-brainer.
Quin is too afraid to have a one-on-one relationship with Rochelle because he doesn’t trust her, plus he only thinks in plural relationships right now. And Rochelle is too afraid to cut me loose because she thinks Quin won’t stay if I go.
So why not use them both at the same time?
And I get to spoil that baby and never have any real responsibilities.
I almost laugh at my genius.
“I was thinking every other day,” I say, answering them both at the same time. “You know. Mondays with Quin. Tuesdays with me. Etc. Etc. Etc.”
“What about Sunday?” Rochelle asks, slurping up a noodle so loudly, Adley looks over at her mother and squeals.
“Do whatever you want on Sunday, just like always.”
“Not quite like always,” Quin says. “I wasn’t technically allowed to see her on Sundays.”
“You want to see her on Sundays?” I ask him. “Go ahead. I’ve got plans. So I won’t be around.”
Quin thinks about this. It’s just my opening bid. I know exactly what he’ll say next.
“I don’t think we need rules,” Quin replies.
“Me either,” Rochelle says, placing a noodle on the tray in front of Adley.
I watch to see what she does. God, I can’t stand the anticipation as her little fingers fumble for it. She fists it, breaks it in half, then makes another grab. A few jerky movements later she’s got it up to her mouth.
“Ha!” I say. “I knew she’d like noodles.”
“No rules,” Quin says. “I can come here any time I want.”
I shrug. “What do you think about that, Rochelle? No rules? Not much of a game, is it?”
She shrugs, unsure how to play this out. If she says she’s into the game, Quin might take that to mean he’s allowed to play along forever. Happily refusing to admit he’s got a fear of commitment. Or… whatever the fuck his problem is. Honestly, Quin is a catch. He’s a good boyfriend. He’s always been a good Number Two. And he was Number Three a few times, and he was good at that too. It’s being Number One that freaks him out.
He’s absolutely Number One in this game. He just doesn’t realize it yet.
But if Rochelle says she’s not into the game, then why am I here?
Hmmm. What a dilemma. Poor Rochelle.
“How about we all just live here?” Rochelle finally offers.
“Here?” I say, trying to hide my amusement. “Like… just live together like a family? OK,” I say. “I’m fine with that. If you guys don’t mind that I’m at the Club every night doing Club things.”
Rochelle squints her eyes at me. “Fucking other girls? Down in the basement?”
“See, this is why we might need rules, Rochelle. I own a sex club. I have to be down there most weekends. And if I’m down there, I’m gonna be down there, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t care if you go down there,” Quin says.
“Are you going down there?” Rochelle asks him.
Quin shrugs. “I might. I’m not really a member anymore, though.”
“Ah, shut the fuck up, Quin,” I say. “You’re still a member.”
Rochelle is well on her way to pissed off right now, but I don’t care.
“Well, maybe I’ll have a few extracurricular activities going on too,” she says. “How about this for rules? Quin gets Monday and Tuesday, like always. You get Wednesday and Thursday, like always. And I get Friday through Sunday to myself.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say.
Quin isn’t so sure. “What will you do on the weekends?”
She shrugs. “Whatever I want.”
“Do you want to get paid?” I ask her.
“No.” She scowls at me. “I don’t need your money.”
“Then why are you here?” Quin asks.
Ah ha! I almost don’t stop the laugh.
“I was invited to play a game,” she says.
“Then you have to get paid,” Quin counters. “That’s rule number one. We pay you to do what we want.”
“Fine,” Rochelle says, twirling pasta onto her fork. “Pay me then. Ten thousand a month, each.”
“OK,” I say. “I guess we’ve got all that settled. It’s Wednesday, so it’s my night. But look, Rochelle, I wasn’t expecting this to be the rule. I really thought you’d go for the every other day thing. So I made plans for tonight.”
“What plans?” she asks.
“Club things. You know I gotta be there most of the time. When people come in they expect to see me at the bar. Plus, Jordan already texted me like six times today asking about the next girl.”
“The next—”
“I told him no, Rochelle,” I say, cutting her off. Is she pretending right now? Or is this real jealousy? I’m not sure. She’s a good fucking actress. “But I should go take care of it anyway.”
“Oh,” she says, putting her fork down. “Are you leaving?” she asks Quin.
“I guess I have to,” he says. “Not my night.”
I throw my napkin down and stand up. “Fuck it. We always get a free night, right?”
“Do we?” Quin asks, confused.
“Yeah, you know. The break-in-the-new-rules night. So how about you just stay with Rochelle and the baby tonight. Help her out and shit. Come by the Club tomorrow,” I say to Rochelle, leaning in to kiss her.
It was just gonna be a small kiss. A peck, really. But she opens her mouth for me and we linger. I get a little hard, actually.
When I pull back, she’s staring up into my eyes. “Come by?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice softer than it should be. “Both of you.” I nod to Quin. “We’ll have dinner and stuff. Together.”
“I think that should be a rule,” Quin says. “Meals together. At least once a day. So this doesn’t get weird. We need to stay in touch. Be together. Alternating days can lead to… isolation.”
Rochelle’s face softens at his rule. Like he just said he loves her. “Yeah, OK. I’d like that.”
I’m trying to figure out if this is a good idea or not, but before I can, Rochelle says, “Let’s have breakfast tomorrow. Like we used to.”
And damn… if that doesn’t sound like a good idea after all. We’ve had some pretty kinky breakfasts in the back of the White Room in our day. “Breakfast,” I say. “Sounds perfect.”
And then I do something I probably shouldn’t. I lean down and kiss her again. And this time my hand is on her leg. Sliding up to her pussy. She moans into my mouth a little, forcing me to make a decision.
Stay and fuck her?
Or get out quick.
I pull away. “See you tomorrow then.”
The whole way back to the Club I have doubts. Is this really a good idea? I do like Rochelle. I certainly love fucking her.
The threesome was fun this afternoon, for sure. I love it. I can’t wait to do it again. But Rochelle and I used to have a lot of fun on our nights out alone. I liked dressing her up, fucking her in the car, and going to parties. And I have a few parties coming up that will require a date.
I’m going to need her at those parties. And then we will go home together. Be alone together. End our night with dirty sex and it will all be very, very familiar again.
I’d forgotten about that. And that goodbye kiss back there… it just reminded me.
How the hell did I forget how much I enjoyed her?
Hmmm. I really need to make sure Quin is around most of the time. Or come up with excuses why I can’t go over there on my nights.
I can’t fall in love with Rochelle. That’s ridiculous. That can’t ever happen. She belongs with Quin.
Doesn’t she?
I pull up to the valet at Turning Point and hand my car over. When I get inside Jordan is already at the Black Room bar, so I make my way over there and hold up a finger to the bartender to ask for a drink.
“Where have you been?” Jordan asks.
“Busy with Quin and Rochelle.”
“So she’s really back, huh? I heard.”
“From who?” I ask. I never told him anything.
“Bumped into Smith at that little European cafe down the road. He was scoping it out for Chella. You guys are opening a tea room next door?” He nods his head in the direction of the new tea room.
“Yeah. What did he say?” I cannot even begin to imagine Smith chatting with Jordan about Rochelle.
“I told him our game was over. Started talking about a new girl I had in mind. And he said you weren’t gonna play. You and Quin were back with Rochelle.”
“Hmm,” I say, taking my snifter of brandy from the bartender. Smith is on to me. That sneaky motherfucker might even be planning something I don’t know about.
“Is that such a good idea?” Jordan asks.
“Why do you say that?”
“You know. Quin, man. He’s all in love with her and shit. You just complicate things, right?”
I shrug. “Maybe we like things complicated?”
“Yeah?” Jordan laughs. “Well, if that’s true, then why are you out? Why not kick the complications up a little? We could still have a game on the side.”
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, knowing I should put a stop to this right now. But that kiss back there with Rochelle. Damn, it felt fucking… good. I’m kinda horny.
“Her?” Jordan says, nodding his head to a woman sitting in a booth. She’s staring at us, looking very fucking uncomfortable.
“You brought her here for a night? Or?”
“Or?” Jordan says. “Your call.”
The young woman is pretty. Oval face. Long dark hair flowing over her breasts. Slim body. Very slim, in fact. Kind of willowy.
“She’s a ballerina,” Jordan says. “New. Just got hired on over at Mountain Ballet for the spring season.”
“Really?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off her now.
“She’s got a very intriguing view of what rough sex means.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah,” Jordan says, almost sighing. “She likes to be dom, but I said, no thanks.”
“She a top?” I ask. “Fuck that. How old is she? Like twenty-three? She has no clue what it means to be a dom.”
“I know, right?” Jordan laughs. “But I’m thinking we can put her back in her place.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “If we try hard enough.”
“Sounds like a helluva fight.”
“Right?” Jordan is smiling so big, I have to chuckle.
“Well, if you can get her to submit for you, let me know. I like them highly trained.”
“Your call,” Jordan says, walking away. “But if I do get her to submit, then I won’t need you, will I?”
I watch him as he slides into the booth next to her, his hands all over her body. She stiffens and slaps his face, making everyone in the bar look over at them for a moment.
Goddamn.
I wonder what her name is?
Rochelle who? I laugh, taking a sip of my brandy.
“Mr. Bricman?” Margaret says in an apologetic tone. “I’m sorry to bother you tonight. But you’ve been gone all afternoon and the Christmas tree people say they need to set things up early this year. They’re overbooked.”
“Early?” I ask. “Fuck that.”
“I know you hate Christmas, but they say they have no choice. The Club takes two days to decorate and—”
“Wait,” I say, remembering the little pumpkin back at the loft. “Yeah, OK. Tell them OK.”
“Really?” Margaret asks, stunned at my reversal.
“Yeah. Rochelle came back. She’s got a kid now, did you know that?”
“No,” Margaret says, her face all scrunched up. “Is it—”
“We don’t know who the father is,” I say, reading her mind. “Either me or Quin. But she’s damn cute, Margaret. So let’s get this Christmas shit started. I can’t wait to see her on Smith’s lap at the party. I’m gonna need a million pictures of that.”
Jordan can have that wannabe-dom girl who thinks she knows what kinky sex is.
I’m in a new game now.