Remember Ivy from End Game? Well, she's back with her own story. But don't worry if you haven't read End Game, this can be read as a standalone.
We follow Ivy as she returns to London having been offered a job at Risk, the Kink Club owned by Za...
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~ ~ Josh ~ ~
My mouth fell open in shock as I nudged Alex, leaning in to whisper. "Look, is that—"
"J-J-Jack Hayes—the presenter of that reality show, yeah." he finished for me.
I didn't know which one of us was more impressed. A freakin' celebrity was sitting twenty feet away in a booth to the left of us. Swapping spit with one woman whilst another slobbered all over his neck and palmed his crotch.
"Didn't you say you thought he was gay?" asked Alex.
Like I knew anything. Plus my gaydar was pretty shit. "Bi, maybe?"
Looking around at other booths, some glanced our way with their noses turned up. Pretty fucking obvious they were being judgemental just by looking at them—which yeah, that was a contradiction in itself.
Cracking my neck, rolling my shoulders, it was Saturday night and me and Alex were finally here at Risk waiting for Ivy to make an appearance. The day had dragged and at one point; I swore that time was actually going backwards.
Ivy had mentioned she was performing, but gave no hint as to what that actually meant. Said we would have to wait and see.
"Anything else, Mr Taylor?" Our drinks were placed in front of us.
I looked up at the pretty blonde server who'd brought them over. Apparently, she was here to look after us all night... Kelly, she'd said. And it sounded weird as fuck for a stranger to be using my name—like I was someone important.
Smiling. "We're good thanks." I didn't have a clue if I should tip her or not.
She flashed her pearly whites right back at me. "I'll be right over there if you need anything else." Pointing to where others servers waited.
Off she trotted, practically skipping.
"W-what the fuck?" Alex muttered beside me, lifting his glass to study it like it was a science experiment rather than a glass of beer.
But I understood where he was coming from. This place was a complete mindfuck. I picked up my glass. "Fancy, huh?" And weird. They had served our drinks in a chalice or goblet of some sort. What the hell was wrong with a normal pint glass?
"Say that again," replied Alex, taking a sip. "At least it tastes d-d-decent."
Neither of us had been in a nightclub that had table service. But then again, I'd never been a VIP. Me and Alex were used to fighting our way to the front of the bar, only then having to fight to get the attention of the overworked and underpaid bar-staff who were usually more interested in serving girls caked in makeup with their boobs spilling out of their tightly fitting tops.
This place was flash and all about the money. And looking around, it took all of five seconds to figure out a Rolex and designer clothing (and I wasn't talking Marks and Spencers labels) were the norm.
