PRESENT DAY
Seven months, three days.
That’s how long it had been since she’d gotten laid. Longest. Dry spell. Ever.
Of course, sex is what had gotten Tori into this mess to begin with.
“Just think of it like popping your cherry all over again.” Keith’s laugh cackled through the speaker of her phone. “Not many women get that opportunity, especially girls like you, Vic.”
“I’ve warned you time and time again about slut shaming.” She did her best to give him a huge eye roll over FaceTime, but a smirk tugged at her lips in spite of her irritation. “Just tell me… How do I look?”
“Hot. Just enough cleavage that you’re only mildly slutty.” The dress was grey, but Keith promised it wasn’t drab. “The color brings out the blue in your eyes.”
She huffed. “Let’s just hope he keeps his focus on my tits.”
Keith giggled.
“How’s my makeup?” For a girl who’d spent years painting breathtaking art on canvas, she’d always been terrible with eyeshadow—smoky eyes being her total nemesis.
“It’s fine, Vic.”
Fine. Ugh. What had she been expecting him to say? That it was a masterpiece?
“Now are you gonna go get laid or sit here on FaceTime with me all night? You’re seriously putting a damper on my plans for this evening. I’m scaring off all the men in this restroom by talking to you. Unlike you, I don’t have a scheduled fuck tonight. I have to go shake my tail feather for it.”
She breathed heavily through her nose. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Have fun, gorgeous. You deserve it.”
Three beeps later, the line went dead.
She walked over to the desk, grabbed her purse, and dropped the phone into it. She looped it over her shoulder, crossing her chest securely. Her fingertips searched the smooth wooden dresser for the room keycard. Zipper pocket left side, she reminded herself as she tucked in the card. Her hands trembled as they reached for her sunglasses. She paused, thinking of all the time she’d spent on her eyeshadow. The thought of going out in public without them, the world seeing her vacant gaze, made her skin crawl.
“You can do this,” she whispered and let them lay. She’d seen his biggest flaw; he could see hers. Fuck everyone else.
Her hands continued across the dresser, meeting the cold graphite poles. She grabbed them, pulled off the elastic loop and with a quick flick of her wrist, her cane came together with a snap. She clutched it to her chest, gripping the handle so tightly she was certain her knuckles turned white. Such irony that the one thing that secured her safety made her feel so vulnerable. With a heavy breath, she moved forward.
Tori walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her. She headed the short distance to the elevator. Her palm slid along the wall, searching for the buttons, then pressing the bottom one.
The metal doors creaked open. She listened for anyone exiting. Silence. She swiped her cane and stepped in. Her fingers trailed the floor selections. She recalled “LOBBY” had been on the bottom-right when she’d checked in. The raised braille dots confirmed it. She punched the button. The doors squeaked shut, and she counted the floors beeping by. The last thing she wanted to do was repeat the embarrassment of getting off on the wrong floor again. The elevator came to a halt and chimed as it opened. She felt the left side of the jamb for the raised dots. “LOBBY” it read. Good job.
Her cane scraped across the marble tile until her ears took in the faint swishing of the revolving door. She opted for the regular door next to it. Stepping outside, she pushed her dress down, making sure her ass wasn’t showing. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her cheeks grew hot. The lack of fabric made her feel on display. She used to relish in the attention from strangers, but now she wished she could blend.
The bar she was going to was close—less than a quarter a mile—not far by DC standards. DuPont Circle was one of their normal meeting spots, so she knew the area well. Familiarity was key in her life now. She walked ahead, her cane leading the way, scraping across the brick tile underfoot. Her ears took in the cacophony of everything around her: the blaring of horns, people bustling by her, and bits of conversations as she passed.
The sidewalk was uneven and full of ridges. Heels were a ridiculous idea. She slowed her pace, praying she didn’t trip. Her cane dipped off the curb and ran over the raised, textured walkway. She swiped to the left, and the clank of metal indicated she’d found the pole. She ran her hand down to the crosswalk button, flinching as a speeding bus whooshed past her.
The signal beeped, starting a countdown. Walk, walk, it began. She waited and listened, moving forward only when she was certain the surge of traffic was going the opposite direction. If she’d learned one thing, it was to trust her ears more than the signal. Tori’s heart pounded. No matter how many times she’d done this, it was still nerve-wracking.
Her cane hit the curb and she stepped up. She let out the shaky breath she’d been holding in. Music spilled out from the doorway to the bar on her right. She followed the sound up the stairs.
"Good evening, miss. May I assist you?" boomed a deep male voice as she approached. The man didn’t startle her. She knew a bouncer or two would be at the door, and of course, the cane drew attention.
“Yes, I’ll be meeting someone here shortly. If you could show me to the bar, I’d appreciate it.” She flashed her most confident fake grin.
“Of course.” He sounded like James Earl Jones. “Luke, I am your father,” echoed in her head.
He didn’t ask for a cover. In her old life, the waiving of the cover would have been because she was a scantily dressed, hot girl. Now she was uncertain if it was that reason or her blindness. Hell, maybe it was both.
He placed her hand under his thick bicep and led her into the bar. She folded her cane, felt for the seat, and sat, placing her belongings on the counter. She thanked the bouncer as he left.
“What can I get you, ma’am?” the bartender asked.
“Red wine, a blend, preferably,” Tori replied.
“Coming right up.”
She touched the dots on her watch. Eight fifty. Ten minutes till he’d arrive, and God knew he’d be on schedule. She’d allowed herself extra time in case she got disoriented. He’d be shocked she arrived before him. Her heart pounded in anticipation of being with Scott again, and she regretted not ordering something stronger to ease the pressure building in her temples.
“Here you go, miss.” The bartender set the glass in front of her.
She slid her fingertips along the marble counter.
“A little to your right,” the bartender said kindly.
“Thank you.” Her fingers finally met the stem. Her shaky hand lifted the glass to her glossy lips. Stop being so nervous. This is Scott.