Pum Pum Rock

7. Trois

Still pissed at how their romantic rendezvous had blown up in her face, Tru sat nursing a drink at Trois—the same bar she'd met Nate at a year ago. As a confused look slowly began to make itself apparent on her face, Tru debated whether she should answer Nate's phone call. Since their argument, she'd sent Nate to voicemail a dozen times, and for now, Tru was content letting her sweat it out. Tru let out an audible sigh as she bounced, yet another call from Nate, before shoving the phone into her purse.

Although Tru and Nate had been hooking up since the first night they'd met, the last couple of months had thrown Tru almost entirely off course. Between tonight's argument and the immense PDA, something was awry. Recently, the women had all but abandoned their unspoken rules of casual dating and were now at an absolute standstill.

Sleeping over, however, was one tenet Tru had managed not to break. Tru knew that it would give Nate the wrong idea and was wary of establishing false expectations about their relationship. Still, now and then, Nate would fall asleep in Tru's arms. Although she'd never admitted it, these were the quiet moments Tru most savored. Glancing down at Nate, cradled gently in a sex-induced coma, Tru couldn't believe that she'd found someone so special. Someone capable of dating without looking down on her career and understanding that for Tru, being a Dominatrix was merely a means to an end.

As Tru sat sipping Whiskey on the rocks, she recalled the first time she had laid eyes on Nate at the obscure dive bar. Technically she wasn't spying, but Tru was ear hustling like a pro and had quickly surmised that Nate and the woman sitting beside her were on a first date and their conversation was just getting good:

"I'm not saying I'll never get married, just that it'll be a long, long time from now," Nate declared.

"Aww, someone's been hurt," the woman sounded condescending, but she was serving up a serious if your girl only knew vibe and caressing the hell out of Nate's inner thighs.

"For now, I have to keep it casual. Between my podcast, making music and my day job," Nate sighed, "I barely have time for friends."

"You sound like my boyfriend," the woman smirked.

"Boyfriend?" Nate repeated as Tru, and the bartender had a good laugh at the ill-prepared dater's expense.

"I'm in an open relationship," the woman admitted. "But you knew that."

"No. I didn't," Nate replied, then took another sip of her cocktail.

"It's clear as day on my profile," the woman's laugh was like a hyena.

"I need to run to the bathroom. I'll tell you all about Quincy in a sec. You'll love him," the woman said, leaning in and planting a full kiss on Nate's mouth. She then used a cocktail napkin to wipe away the dark lipstick she'd smudged across Nate's mouth.

A few seconds later Tru watched a bearded, medium built man walk off in the same direction as the women's restroom. Quincy, she presumed. If Nate couldn't see it, Tru sure as hell could. Nate was being played. Tru could tell that the woman's tight frame and tomboy swag had caused Nate to forgive any gaffes, so she collected her thoughts and slid over to the seat directly beside Nate.

"Listen, friend," Tru cleared her throat and began to deliver what she considered to be a public service announcement.

"What's good?" Still craning her neck toward the restroom, Nate had yet to lock eyes with Tru.

"She's bad. I'll give you that," Tru conceded, "but come on, man! Have you not seen her eyeballing that dude?"

Nate turned away from the bathroom, finally connecting with Tru. "Hold up! Do I know you?" Nate raised her voice, and Tru lowered hers trying to get a handle on the conversation.