Paris

Ch 2 - Prostitutes and Disappointments

 "Come on man, don't be such a softie!" my best friend teased.

"I've fucked up man, big time," I told him.

"I think the whole world knows that by now, so you may as well come with me. You're not going to solve your problems by staying home," he argued.

"But I am safer home," I countered.

"Bullshit man! Sofia's just going to find you that much easier," he pointed out.

And that's all he really had to say.

"Let's go," I said, grabbing my phone and wallet.

"You hate her that much?" he asked. There was something to his tone that I couldn't decipher.

"You have no idea," I replied.

"Well, let's get out of here before she finds you then," he said, leading the way.

We headed out in our respective sports cars. I knew where we were headed without even having to ask. Emile's father owns a line of clubs that he will soon inherit, and I knew we were headed to one of them. His father's just waiting for him to prove himself worthy of such a big responsibility.

We arrived and as I suspected, there was a long line outside. We parked in our reserved parking spots before leaving our cars. The paparazzi that were around immediately turned our way, flashing their cameras as women tried to get our attention.

As is tradition for us, we headed over to the line and each picked a selection of four women before heading into the club, being led straight in and straight through to the VIP section. The club was already full, despite it only being eight.

But everyone knows that the real fun begins from twelve.

"So, what does a man like you look for in a woman?" the blonde who was sitting next to me asked.

"A vagina," I said. I know it was crude, but it was also true.

It's the only thing I look for in a woman.

She sent me a scowl and I could immediately tell that she wasn't that kind of girl. She's probably one of those independent types that only go out because they don't want to seem like prudes, even though they know deep down that they are.

She moved away a little, and I knew I'd lost her interest. It didn't bother me in the slightest bit though. There are plenty of women who don't mind being used just for sex by a rich playboy, and one prude wasn't going to ruin my night.

Even if I was technically not even supposed to be here.

"Wanna dance?" one of the brunettes asked me. I don't make it a habit of remembering their names.

I shrugged. "Why not."

We headed down to the dance floor and you could see the knowing looks on the faces of the regulars. They knew that I was about to make this woman's fantasies come true and she didn't even know it was coming.

You see, dancing is in my blood, and women know about my moves. Paired with my Spanish looks and wealth, it's not very hard to have them putty in my hands- that's if I even give them the time of day.

The song was coming to an end, and this girl and I were just grinding. I caught the eye of the DJ and he gave me a knowing look before turning to his system and changing the song to a salsa tune. It was then that people started to step away from my partner and I.

"What's going on?" she asked, seemingly panicked.

"Relax," I told her.

She seemed unsure, but she relaxed anyway. I eased her into the dancing, and soon enough, we were setting the floor alight. What surprised me though was how she was keeping up with me. It wasn't all that hard to tell that she had dance training.