One Night in A Bar (2 page)

“Amanda speaking.”

Karen cleared her throat. “Mandy?” she said pitifully. Her friend laughed.

“Feeling a bit delicate this morning, huh? Have a hot shower and some coffee, it’ll help.”

“Yeah…uh, that’s what I had planned. Um, I wanted to ask you something…” How could she ask if she’d acted like a total slut only a few weeks after splitting up with her boyfriend?

“Ask me what?” Mild curiosity sounded in Mandy’s voice, and Karen sensed she was partly distracted. Mandy liked to multitask.

“Last night—at the bar—uh—I was pretty drunk.”

“Damn right you were. I was so proud. You haven’t been that drunk since we were in college.”

“Yeah. Um, so there’s some stuff that I’m not sure if I did, or if I just imagined. Can you, uh, walk through the night for me?”

Mandy laughed again. “You don’t remember? All those men coming to worship at the altar of your beauty? Begging you to dance with them?”

“That—kind of sounds familiar.” Karen said cautiously.

“What about making friends with Toni the bartender and agreeing to get matching ‘Men suck but not in a good way’ tattoos? Yours was going to run up the inside of your leg.”

Karen groaned. “I’d forgotten that.” More memories came back. “I think I also agreed to pierce my nipple in tribute to Elvis…?”

“Yep, although that was a joke. Toni was just messing with you.”

Karen exhaled deeply. “Thank God,” she muttered, then louder, “Well, that’s not too bad. It’s kind of what I remembered.” She must have dreamt about dark Daniel, hot and sexy with those magic hands and mouth and his big, thick—

Suddenly she realised Mandy was talking again.

“I missed that,” she interrupted. “Say again?”

“I was saying,” Mandy repeated patiently, “that, after you agreed to the nipple thing, you let a few more lowly men worship you. Then you danced with this one guy. Toni told me his name but I don’t remember it. The two of you were making out on the dance floor. After that you disappeared somewhere, presumably for a grope, and I didn’t see you again until I found you in the bathroom.”

Karen stared blindly out of the window. She’d had sex with a stranger. In an alley.

“Karen?” Mandy’s concerned tone indicated that this was not the first time she’d said her name.

“Daniel.” Karen said softly.

She heard Mandy snap her fingers. “That’s his name.”

“I had sex with him.” There was dead silence. For the first time since she could remember, Mandy was speechless.

“Mandy? We had sex in the alley.”

“What?” Her best friend’s screech pounded in her sore head. “You did what!”

“When we disappeared. We weren’t just groping. We had sex.”

“Oh my God! Oh my God. You had sex with a stranger? You? Way to go, Karen! I’m so proud. You’ve finally let your true self free!”

“A raging nympho, you mean.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s not like you lined them up and gave them all a try. There’s nothing wrong with the occasional one-nighter—unless… You used a condom, right?”

Her chest tightened as she struggled to remember.

“Karen? You used a condom, didn’t you? Karen?”

“Yes,” she gasped finally. “Yeah, we did.”

“Are you sure?”

Her face flushed hot. “Yes, I’m positive. I remember because I was pissed off we had to stop that long.”

Mandy was silent for a moment. “That good, huh?”

Karen thought about it, remembered his rough hands, the silky soft feel of his goatee against her skin, his thick cock driving into her.

“That good.”

Chapter Two

Two weeks earlier…

“Oh, crap!” Karen scooted back from her desk and grabbed a handful of tissues from the box next to her monitor. At the next desk over, her assistant Jenny looked up.

“What’s wrong? Oh.” She grimaced at the coffee stain on the front of Karen’s pale pink shirt. “Did you burn yourself?”

“No.” Karen sighed. The stain clearly could not be blotted off. “It was cold. Damn, I wore my emergency blouse home when I changed for the theatre with Stuart last week.” She paused. “I don’t know what’s sadder, that I keep an emergency blouse at the office or that I forgot about my coffee for so long it got cold.”

Jenny laughed. “It’s not sad. It shows that you’re organised and devoted to work. Speaking of which, you have that meeting with the Henshaw people this afternoon, don’t you?”

“Yes. I guess I should run down the street and get a new blouse.” She made a face as she thought of what a shirt from the expensive boutique would do to her budget.

“Why don’t you just go home and change? It’s not like you live far away. It shouldn’t take you longer than a half hour.”

Karen considered for a moment. “You’re right.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “I’ll be back soon. If anything urgent comes up, I’ll be on my cell.”

* * * *

Ten minutes later she hurried up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Stuart, fumbling with her keys. She let herself in, dropped her keys and purse on the hall table, and closed the door. She started towards the bedroom, paused and turned back to the table.

There was an unfamiliar jacket draped over the top.

Her breath stuttered. Was someone in the apartment? What kind of burglar took off their jacket?

A sound from down the hall jerked her attention away from the jacket. Slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible, she crouched and reached into her purse for her Mace. She adjusted her grip so that the can fit snugly in her palm, finger on the button, and crept down the hall towards the bedroom. The door was ajar, and she held her breath as she pushed carefully. It opened slowly and her gaze tracked in its wake. The door to the en suite bathroom was ajar and the room was empty. The dresser was clear, as was the armchair near the window. Releasing her breath slowly, she eased the door open farther.

The strangled sound that came from her throat when the bed came into view immediately caught the attention of the people in it. Karen was transfixed. Stuart, her live-in boyfriend of two years, was naked and intimately entwined with her equally naked boss, Michael.

But the biggest shock was when the third man slid out from behind Michael and off the bed. She looked from the naked couple huddled on the mattress to the naked stranger standing next to it.

“Karen.” Stuart struggled to get the sheet up to cover himself and Michael. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my apartment.” Her gaze darted between the three men. She groped for the doorframe and leaned against it, grateful for the support. Stuart and Michael exchanged glances.

“Yes,” Michael said and put a small amount of distance between himself and Stuart. “But you’re supposed to be at work. Why aren’t you at work?”

“I—spilled coffee.” She’d only just changed the sheets yesterday. Now she’d have to change them again.

“This must be a shock to you,” the third man said sympathetically. He came forward and extended his hand. “I’m Tom Grossman.”

She blinked at him, looked at his hand then turned her head to look at Stuart.

“Who…?”

“Tom’s my tax accountant, Karen,” Michael said.

“Oh.” She looked back at Tom. “Uh…I’d rather not shake your hand just now, if you don’t mind.” A voice at the back of her mind screamed at her to spray Mace at this stranger, this naked stranger, standing in her bedroom with his dick hanging out, but it all seemed so far away.

“That’s fine,” Tom said, still in that sympathetic, soothing voice. “I have an idea. Why don’t you join us?”

She took a step back. “What?” Maybe she hadn’t heard him right with the blood rushing through her ears.

“Tom, for God’s sake!” Stuart snapped.

Tom shrugged, turned away and climbed back into the bed. Had he really just…?

“Karen.”

She blinked and looked at Michael, standing in front of her with a pillow—one of her pillows—clutched to his groin.

“Karen, I know this must be unexpected, but I need you to understand that it’s not general knowledge.” She stared at him blankly. “Karen,” he began again, gentling his tone and slowing his words, “I know you handle confidential information all the time. Just treat this like that. I promise you’ll never have to see this again. Just keep it to yourself.”

As his words sank in, she felt her brain click back online. She’d never have to see them, naked in her bedroom, again, if she kept her mouth shut? She looked at Stuart, who was nodding encouragingly. Then she looked back at Michael, at the confident smile on the face of a man she’d trusted and admired.

“Screw you.” She lifted her hand and sprayed Mace square in his face.

As he screamed, Stuart and Tom scrambled out of the bed, getting tangled in the sheets. She calmly walked over to the closet, selected a clean shirt and left the apartment, stopping only to scoop up her keys and purse.

Luckily, a woman was just stepping out of a cab as Karen emerged from the building. She slid in and gave the driver her office address. Ignoring his interested glances in the rear-view mirror, she stripped off the soiled shirt and donned the clean one, then pulled out her cell and called Stuart.

“Karen!” he yelled into the phone. “What the hell have you done? Michael’s going to have you arrested for this!”

“Not unless he wants me to explain why I did it.” She was calm. Back in control. Into his silence she added, “Your stuff better be gone by the time I get home tonight.”

“But I live here!” he exclaimed, aghast.

“Not anymore. It’s my apartment. Pack your things and get out. This is the only warning I’m giving you, Stuart. If you’re there when I get home, I’ll call the police. Anything you leave behind will go to Goodwill. Don’t ever try to contact me again.” She disconnected the phone with a sense of satisfaction that lasted only until the cab pulled up in front of her office.

Late that afternoon she sat in another cab, this time with a box of her belongings on the seat beside her.

Chapter Three

Two weeks later, she’d begun to wonder if maybe she should have just hopped into bed with them. It seemed that Michael, denied the satisfaction of pressing charges, had instead decided to blackball her to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, his success and influence within the industry—qualities she’d previously respected—meant that a lot of people were listening. Even getting interviews was like pulling hens’ teeth.

Finally, by calling in a ridiculous number of favours, she managed to convince the HR manager at one of the prestigious smaller agencies to at least see her.

She arrived right on time, ready to talk about her past clients and experience, but from the moment she sat down she knew she was just being humoured. The woman hadn’t even glanced at her résumé, and had spent the entire five minutes looking at the clock on the wall. When she began making wind-up noises, Karen finally lost her cool.

“Don’t you want to know why I left my last job?” she asked sweetly. She’d avoided that question in the few previous interviews she’d managed to wrangle.

“Yes, of course,” the HR cow said. She looked past Karen’s shoulder at the opening door. “I’ll be just one moment, sir.”

Karen turned to look at ‘sir’, a man in his late thirties or early forties with an unmistakable aura of authority. Clearly a higher-up of some sort.

“Oh, good. It’s probably best if you hear this too, sir. I left my last role because I Maced my boss when I found him fucking my boyfriend and his tax accountant in my bed.”

The HR manager dropped her pen, while ‘sir’ looked faintly surprised. Karen stood and picked up her purse.

“Please call me if there’s anything else you’d like to know.” She sailed out of the room on a wave of righteous indignation.

She headed straight for the nearest supermarket to invest in a pint of ice cream and a spoon, then called her best friend on her way home.

“Amanda speaking.”

“It’s me,” Karen mumbled around the spoon in her mouth, ignoring the cab driver’s evil look.

“Oh, hey!” Mandy’s voice went from professional to friendly in a single beat. “How’d the interview go?”

“Crappy. They didn’t even listen.”

Mandy made a sympathetic noise. “Okay, it’s been two weeks and you’re getting disheartened. The solution to this is simple.”

“Find a job?” Karen asked. “Sell my apartment, since I still can’t sleep in my own bed? Put a hit out on the three sexketeers?”

“No, none of those, although selling your apartment might be worth thinking about. You know, new beginning and all that. But I’ve got a more immediate fix in mind. I’ll pick you up at eight. We’ll find a bar and get trashed.”

Karen hesitated, spoon halfway to her mouth. “I really don’t feel like going out…”

“Sure you do,” Mandy interrupted. “But not to one of those crappy yuppie places you usually go. I’ll ask around here and find a good bar, and then we’ll go there and you can drink a shitload of alcohol and gain a new perspective.”

* * * *

In the end, she’d let Mandy talk her into the night out, only to regret her capitulation later that evening when they walked into what was, in her opinion, a few very small steps away from being a biker bar.

“Mandy, are you sure this is the place?”

Mandy rolled her eyes and hustled her across the room to the bar. Karen looked longingly over her shoulder at a table by the wall.

“Let’s sit there,” she suggested, but Mandy was shaking her head almost before she’d finished.

“It’s a known fact that men are more likely to approach a woman if she’s sitting at the bar.”

“But I don’t want to be approached,” Karen explained patiently. Mandy huffed.

“Yes, you do. It will make you feel better. Empowered.”

She sighed as Mandy pushed her towards a bar stool, and climbed up. The bartender, a woman in her early twenties wearing a tank top that displayed her tattooed torso, wandered over.

“What can I getcha?”

“A daiquiri?” Karen was hopeful.

The girl looked at her as if she were an idiot.