Greta practically floated into the restaurant. It was absolutely amazing what a little banging could do to improve one’s outlook on life. It turned out that everyone had been right for the past few years. She did need to get laid.
Amy and Summer were already at the table, so she bypassed the hostess stand and headed over. They’d had the foresight to order her a glass of wine already, which was waiting at her spot. She started, for a moment, to feel the now-familiar twinge of guilt in her tummy at the thought of deceiving such lovely ladies, but then she remembered—
She was now officially sleeping with the guy they’d picked out for her. So the whole “fake boyfriend” thing was really just a technicality, one they didn’t need to concern themselves with.
Greta was certain her justification wasn’t indicative of a failing moral compass.
But really, friends with benefits was an ideal situation. Because Jon was amazing and fantastic and sexy and accented, and this way she got to take advantage of every part of him, without any expectations of anything else.
She wasn’t even going to bother hinting at trouble on the horizon to the girls today, because there was none. It was smooth sailing as far as she could see.
“You’re glowing,” Amy remarked before she’d even gotten settled in her chair.
“She is. What’s that about? She hasn’t glowed in years.” Summer assessed her and added her two cents.
“She can hear you,” Greta reminded them. Years? Really? Sheesh, she was going to have to make sex a regular part of her routine. So many conclusions she had come to after a nice bath and a nap, and quick trip to the clinic. Oh, Mondays.
“And as it so happens, it turns out there was a reason I hadn’t glowed in so long,” Greta said primly.
“Wait a minute—what? You guys just now had sex?” Summer had a combination of confusion and surprise on her face that was mirrored by Amy.
“How is that even possible? You guys have been dating for weeks.”
“It just … didn’t seem right before now.” Greta drained her glass and flagged a server to bring another. Years? She decided not to believe that. She paid good money for makeup designed especially to give her a glow.
“I know what it is,” Amy said.
“No you don’t,” Greta promptly replied. Wait—she shouldn’t have said that. Now she’d have to make something up.
“Yes I do. Summer, she’s in love. She made him wait so it would be extra special. Oh my God, I ship it so hard!” Now Amy was the one glowing. Bitch. But that was actually a better answer than whatever she was going to have to lie and say, so.
“I did make him wait.” She blushed a little.
“Do I even want to know what was on that sex tape, then?” Summer always cut right to the chase.
“Technicalities?” This was embarrassing.
“What kind of technicalities?” Amy, of course.
“I go to Catholic church, so I know this. It was butt stuff,” said Summer.
“Oh my God!” Greta needed to shut this down. Though in hindsight, this also probably explained a few things about Summer. “It was not butt stuff!”
“It was butt stuff,” Amy whispered knowingly. She and Summer fist bumped.
“It was not butt stuff! He just went down on me in an alley, was all!” Naturally, this was the moment she raised her voice, and naturally, this was when the server had suddenly materialized with a second glass of wine. “No judgies,” she told the blushing guy.
“None here. I enjoy some butt stuff myself on occasion,” he said, and beat a hasty retreat.
“I’m leaving that guy my number,” Summer announced.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Greta said.
“You can go, but I’m staying. I really like this conversation. Did you butt stuff Ian Davis? Because you guys dated forever, but you were still a virgin, or so you claimed.” Amy was apparently prepared to make an afternoon of it. Well, that was fine, but Greta wasn’t leaving without a burger. Sex made you hungry, it turned out. Luckily, it also burned calories. Sex was really awesome, it turned out. Sex, sex, sex. She sighed happily.
“I was in eighth grade, Amy. I did not butt stuff Ian Davis. I didn’t love him like Greta loves Jon.”
“That’s disappointing,” Amy said. “Can we talk about me now?” Apparently a lack of butt had killed her interest in the conversation.
“Can we please?” Greta was not even remotely upset the focus had shifted away from her and Jon and the love they supposedly shared. Sex, though, she definitely loved that. Sex with Jon. Sex, sex, sex. Good times.
“I am soon to join the world of unemployment!” Amy announced grandly.
“I would not have announced that so grandly,” Summer said. Greta fist-bumped her. Maybe that was a little insensitive, but whatever. She was glowing, she could do what she wanted.
“I mean, what’s happening? Didn’t you save enough puppies?” Greta asked.
“Maybe the tree she sat in got cut down.”
“She wore lipstick tested on animals.”
“She forgot to order the vegan beans at Chipotle.”
“She can hear you.” Amy was significantly less pleased when it was her that was the subject of conjecture.
“So what’s up?” Summer smothered her giggles long enough to ask.
“Since that last fundraiser was such a shitshow, we aren’t meeting our budget requirements. So my hours are getting cut. Specifically, all of them. My position is going to be volunteer starting next month.” Amy was slightly less grand in relating the details, which obviously hurt her. It wasn’t just the paycheck for her, she really thought she was making an important difference in the world.
“What are you going to do?” asked Greta.
“She could go back to law school,” suggested the ever practical Summer.
“She is not going back to law school,” Amy said. “Also, I see why that bit was annoying to you now, Greta.”
“Do you have any, like—sister organizations or anything?” Greta was feeling a little guilty.
“Not really. We fell out with Green Planet after a difference of opinion on snail-based moisturizers. My boss said I can move into the office, though, since I won’t be able to pay rent on a volunteer’s nonexistent salary. So that’s pretty cool. It’ll be like tree-sitting without any issues of balance or plumbing.” Amy was shockingly optimistic.
“Can she stay with you?” Greta asked Summer, horrified. “That sounds miserable.”
“I live in a studio apartment as is. That wouldn’t be as big of a deal except that I still have a two-bedroom’s worth of crap jammed in there from Jean-Luc.” Summer’s roommate had accepted an internship at a New Nordic place in the Arctic Circle. Since he’d be gone for an entire year, she’d downsized while he was overseas, and he paid her a little bit of money to store his furniture.
“I wish I could help,” Greta said sincerely.
“I’d rather live in a cardboard box than deal with Bob’s smarminess,” Amy announced. Greta did not feel slighted; she’d had the same thought often enough herself. If she hadn’t formed such a bond with Mina, she’d have left a hundred times.
Probably. There was that note. She felt no need to mention it right now.
It was a super convenient arrangement, after all. Being a starving artist was far more palatable when you lived in someone else’s mansion.
“Speaking of Jean-Luc, though, I have some news too,” Summer said, a little grin starting to spread across her face.
“You’re banging Jean-Luc?” Amy immediately began to clap.
“He’s in the North Pole, Amy.” Greta thought for a second about some of the graphic texts she’d received from Jon. “You’re phone-sexting Jean-Luc?”
“You get laid one time and immediately forget there’s anything else in the world that can be considered news,” complained Summer.
Not true. Totally not fair and not true. It was just the only kind of news Greta really cared about in her newfound orgasmic haze.
“I applied for a new job, and they called me back for an interview today.” Summer brought her back from her yet again drifting thoughts.
“Oh, yay,” said Amy in a dull voice, clearly disappointed about the Jean-Luc letdown.
“Tell us about it! Is it one of the places we’ve eaten at recently?” Greta kicked Amy under the table for her insolence. Although she secretly agreed—Jean-Luc was a beautiful specimen of a man, with his Roman nose and French accent. But then, who needed a French guy in her bed when she had a perfectly good British DJ? She wished last night was the one that got taped. Her panties went wet all over again at the memory that flashed across her mind of his face when he came.
“No, it’s more of a private chef-type thing. Cheftastic would let me write my own menus and work alone, but they’d handle all the marketing and accounting. It’s all the things I love about the idea of opening my own place, with none of the things I dread.” Summer was practically glowing herself.
“That actually sounds really perfect for you.” Amy was far more sincere now.
“The best part is how much control I get while still getting a steady paycheck. You have to have so much money saved to open a restaurant. No one turns a profit for at least a year, sometimes closer to two or three.”
“Paychecks. I remember those,” Amy said wistfully.
“Me too,” Greta agreed.
“Is Bob late again? How many times in a row is this now?” Summer made a fist and pounded it into her opposite hand. “I swear if I ever see him alone at night…”
“It’s a lot of times. But hey, I don’t pay rent or a car payment, so it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, because that’s not how you treat your employees. Do you think he ‘forgets’ to pay his employees at the tech place? Guaranteed not. Are you looking for different jobs? Someone told me the chef-owner at Thai Me Up was still looking for someone to nanny for the baby she’s having in a few weeks.” Summer had mentioned that one a few times, actually, but babies were exhausting, Greta thought, so no.
Plus there was the issue of abandoning Mina.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. We’ve got enough to deal with here. Plus, I’m meeting Jon in a little while, and I don’t want to be all verklempt.” Amy immediately began to make kissy faces at the table. It was shades of Mina all over again.
Next thing she knew, there’d be handshake talk. Although honestly, she wouldn’t necessarily mind discussing the details of her special shake. It was just such a good handshake. Probably the best one ever. Yeah, she was definitely angling for another one tonight.
“We can’t take her anywhere,” said Summer.
“You can take me anywhere you want. Home, for example. I would not mind watching Jetta do it. I bet they have really intense, dramatic sex, with like—lots of staring into each other’s eyes.” Greta wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed that someone else had applied the celebrity name, or that Amy was entirely correct about their sex life.
“Oh, you can always come here,” their server muttered as he delivered the burgers just in time to overhear again.
“Jetta?” asked Summer.
* * *
Greta read the address again. This was definitely the place, it just looked pretty shady. She walked further down the alley, while wishing fervently that she’d tossed some pepper spray in her purse just in case. A couple was most definitely in naked compromising positions in the shadows of the building next door, and she was torn between wanting to stare and wanting to flee.
This was exactly what must have run through the kid’s head behind the bowling alley. She totally understood him now. With a smile for the couple, she skipped along to the entrance, which was no small feat in heels. A giant metal door set deep into an alcove and spray-painted purple loomed before her.
“ID and twenty bucks, darlin’,” said the six-foot something woman in leopard print waiting just outside the door. “Is that MAC’s Rocky Horror lipstick? I tried to get that and it sold out.”
That was not actually a woman.
“You can usually find some on Amazon, I’ve found,” Greta confided. “Here’s my ID but I think I am on a list? Of some sort? My not-boyfriend’s playing here tonight.”
“Honey. You should have said you were Greta! We’ve all been dying to meet you. I’m Nevaeh, by the way. Lordy be, she’s managed to see our Jonny-boy naked and she wears MAC,” the drag queen exclaimed to the sky. “We love her. We really do. Wait, what do you mean, not-boyfriend?”
“It’s complicated, I suppose,” Greta said, stepping forward as Nevaeh opened the door for her, bicep flexing in a way that reminded Greta she should totally work out more because she didn’t look that good in a cocktail dress. And usually she thought cocktail dresses were her thing. You learn something new every day, she supposed, and today it was that she’d been outwomanned by a man.
“You think you can tell a woman like me anything about complicated? Pedro!” She suddenly roared. “Cover me, I need to buy a lady a drink! Follow me, honey, and watch your step on the stairs.” What had she just walked into? There was a faint pulsing beat, and a narrow hall. It felt like more of a mistake than an entrance. Then they rounded a corner, and suddenly the whole club opened up. There was the kind of flirtatious courtyard covered by what looked like a glass dance floor. And if she wasn’t mistaken, that’s what she was being led to.
They walked up multiple flights of steel industrial stairs, passing doors to rooms with what looked like extremely interesting entertainments inside. At the top, a small bar beckoned from the left of the balcony that had a view of the dance floor below. It was covered in roiling bodies, glow sticks and glitter reflecting off the sheen of skin everywhere she looked.
So it wasn’t the floor—it was the heavenly view of it she got. Well, played, Neveah.
“It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it? Have you seen him perform before?” Nevaeh had walked up to her leaning over the rail and marveling at the circus beneath. She handed Greta a glass of something blue and potent. That was why the song sounded familiar—sure enough, there was Jon in the DJ booth, headphones on and the crowd in the palm of his Force-ful hand.
“No,” Greta said. And goodness but it was amazing to watch. A flick of his wrist in the booth changed a beat that sent a ripple through the crowd as though they were on strings. “And … wow.”
“Wow is right. You are one lucky bitch. Now drink up and explain to me how the man who does all this isn’t your boyfriend? I’d be angling for a ring, myself. Have you not seen him? Delicious.” She touched plastic cups and they both drank up. Greta’s mouth filled with saliva as the drink burned its way down her esophagus. Blue was just a pretty disguise for grain alcohol, evidently.
“I don’t believe in boyfriends. Jon’s my lover.” Oh, that was just as much fun to say as it was to think. And she did sound totally cosmopolitan. Hell yes.
“That sounds slutty,” said Neveah.
“Are you sure it isn’t cosmopolitan?” She had another tentative sip. A pleasant side effect of the drink’s high ABV was that it sort of numbed everything it touched, and the second swallow was significantly less painful than the first.
“Maybe,” Neveah said doubtfully. “But if you were my person, I’d just assume that meant you wanted an open relationship. Which is fine, of course, we love our polys around here, but that doesn’t really sound like what’s happening here.”
“Oh! No. It’s more like how my friends want me to settle down and I’m like I have settled down, except that it’s with the BBC and my bathtub, but they insist so I pretend Jon’s my boyfriend, which he totally isn’t but he is my lover, so we’ve got that. No big deal.”
There was dead silence for a long time. Nevaeh turned back to the dancers, now enjoying a club remix of something Madonna.
“Straight people are fucking weird,” she finally muttered. They stared off into space for a while, not seeing each other or the dance floor.
Greta smelled Jon before she saw him, the mix of ocean brine and leather enveloping her a moment before his arms did.
“Hey, you. Oh hell, are you drinking the Jungle Juice?” He turned accusingly to Nevaeh, who suddenly had very important things to look at everywhere but at Jon.
“It’s not bad, once you get used to it. Want a si—oh, never mind, I drank it all.” Greta was ready to dance. So ready. “I’m dancing, you do what you need to,” she told him.
“I’ll help you down. I’ve buggered up my ankle on these damn steps more than once after a few cups of Nevaeh’s Jungle Juice.” He grabbed her arm and gave her ass a little smack.
“Not so fast, Jonny-boy. You owe me fifty bucks over the Giants game.” Neveah towered over Jon in her chunky heels and held out her hand.
“Does literally everyone have a gambling problem?” Greta wondered.
“Yes.” Neveah passed out another round of blue lighter fluid and gently tucked Jon’s money into her ample cleavage.
“So how do you guys know each other?”
“We work out at the same gym,” Jon said.
“And you know the gay clubs are the best dance clubs around, so it just made sense to start booking him.” She smiled fondly at Jon as she adjusted her bra around what Greta now saw was a sizeable roll of bills.
“You didn’t know I was a DJ when you tried to hire me the first time.”
“Well how was I to know go-go dancing wasn’t something you were interested in? We figured out an arrangement regardless, now didn’t we.”
Greta’s eyes were pinging back in forth between them. This was better than television. Well, American television anyway.
“Speaking of go-go dancers, I believe there’s someone here to meet you, DJ Force.” Neveah smiled at someone over Jon’s shoulder. A slinky young blond guy in a jockstrap and athletic shoes sashayed around Greta. “This is Jack. He works a box on the floor.”
“Jack,” he extended his hand and visibly caressed the palm of Jon’s hand with his middle finger as he shook it. Greta grinned. Would she ever grow tired of seeing Jon through other people’s eyes? Tonight had been so surreal, so magical, that she’d almost forgotten to keep her guard up. As Jack looked over at her, she saw herself through his eyes, too—a girl this talented, gorgeous man had picked out of a crowd. As someone worthy of his time. A fairy tale. She tried holding her own hand out. He took it.
“Jack,” he said, trailing his finger in the exact same way. It was pretty sexy. If Jon had been the one to do it to her, she’d probably have let him move right into the other special handshake. As it was, she planned to try it on him pretty soon. Because it had already been almost an entire day since they’d had sex and she was ready for more.
Ready to keep pretending the fairy tale was true. Ready to give up, just for a little while, the sheer exhaustion it took to keep Jon at arm’s length.
From the looks Jon kept sending her way, it was clear he was ready too.
“Who’s ready for lap dances?” asked Jack.
“We should probably get out of here,” Greta said, at the same time Jon said, “We can negotiate.” Her eyes widened until he grabbed her butt again and pulled her in.
“I want to give you a personal lap dance, that is.”
Earlier in the day, she’d thought they had moved too fast. But as she skipped the goodbyes and hustled Jon down the metal stairwell, she thought that they couldn’t possibly move fast enough.
* * *
The cab back to his apartment was nearly as frenzied as the dance floor had been earlier. Twice, the driver had to remind them that clothes were to remain on in the vehicle. If they’d gotten kicked out, Jon would happily have carried Greta the rest of the way.
Matt had once sworn to Jon and Rust over beers for the conversation to come up, that the sex he was having with Angie now was even better than the sex they’d had five years ago when they’d met. If that was the case, then soon enough Jon and Greta were going to be lighting up the Bay with dynamite every time they so much as kissed.
It took real effort on his part to stop kissing her as he unlocked the front door, but finally they made it in. She started heading back to his bedroom automatically, but Jon stopped her.
“I believe I promised you something.” She looked shocked and delighted at the prospect. She’d be even more delighted in a minute, he thought as he pushed her into an armchair. Being a DJ meant he lived for music, for the beat. He knew how to hypnotize entire crowds with pulse pounding melodies, and he knew how to move his body to them. Dancing was part of the territory and he was a freaking fantastic dancer. Plus all the time he spent at Nevaeh’s club meant he’d picked up a trick or two. “Sit on your hands.”
She obeyed, and he put the needle down on a Mark Ronson record. When the beat started, he began to move his hips. Slowly at first then as the beat picked up more forcefully. He caught her gaze and dared her to look away, but she was transfixed. Moving closer, he nudged her legs apart as he danced between them moving closer and closer to her.
She started to pull a hand out to grab him and he froze until she put it back in place. He gave her a smirk and waved a finger at her. “Don’t touch.”
Jon went lower, his head was now between her thighs. He slowly moved his arms round her waist and under her arse, and then in one swift movement stood, so he was holding her as she wrapped her legs around him. He kept moving, channeling his best Magic Mike, until she was squirming against him and he was so hard he thought he’d pass out.
She slid down his body like he was a fireman’s pole and she was on her way to a fire. It only took seconds for them both to divest themselves of their clothes and then it was Greta’s turn to push Jon down onto the chair.
“I feel like I should tell you that I spent today taking precautions so neither of us gets … the cooties.”
Jon burst out laughing. “I’ve a copy of my last test if you want to see it, too. I am certified cootie-free.” She looked placated, and just in time. As pro-responsibility as he was, he didn’t think he could possibly wait any longer to feel her skin on his.
He settled back into the chair and Greta rewarded him with a flick of her tongue over the tip of his cock. Oh God, it was even better than his fantasies. Jon watched through lidded eyes as her tongue swirled over him. It flattened out and swiped up his length, and back down until he was begging for her to take him in her pretty mouth.
She did, ever so slowly. It was an agonizing sort of pleasure, and he had to restrain himself from pushing back, to let her lead. This was her show.
When her lips reached the base of his shaft, Jon thought he actually could die happily.
After that, she sped up. It was a blessing and a curse, because with every perfectly executed forward motion, Jon had to think about the Giants to stop from coming too soon. It only took a moment or two before he had to grab her hair and pull her back.
Her hair, he had lately decided, was one of the wonders of the world. Thick, dark, slightly curly—it was like a mermaid’s long locks. Or a sea siren’s. She raised off her knees and kissed him deeply as she climbed up to straddle him.
Jon broke the kiss to watch her face as she lowered herself, ever so gently, onto his waiting cock. The growl rose from the back of his throat as he felt again how tight she was, how wet and ready for him. He fit so perfectly, she was everything he never knew he was missing.
They were made for each other.
Her hands came up to cup his face. She kissed him again, in perfect rhythm with her hips. They lifted until he was almost completely out, then slammed back down to join their bodies completely. Jon softly wound her hair around his hand once, twice, then pulled hard. She moaned so loudly he remembered for the first time that he had neighbors. Oh well, they could enjoy the free performance.
With one fist still tangled in her hair, he pulled Greta’s head back to expose her breasts for his mouth. He feasted on each of them in turn as she ground against his dick, held in place by his other hand heavy on her waist.
He could feel her inner muscles fluttering around him, her climax imminent. As much as he wanted to give her a hundred before allowing his own, it wasn’t going to happen. Right now he wanted to come with her, for her, in her. He wanted her to know how his body responded to hers. He wanted to tell her he loved her.
So he did.
His words pushed him over, thickening inside her and filling her with the most intimate part of himself. He felt her follow a moment later, as he still pulsed inside her. She collapsed on his shoulder and bit it gently.
“Wow,” she murmured, half giggling. “That was amazing.”
He knew she’d heard him, and he knew it was too soon for her to respond. But as for Jon Hargrave, he was definitely in love with Greta Steinburg and he didn’t care who knew it. So he carried her into his bed, cleaned her up, and held her as she fell asleep, writing a new song in his head the whole while.