Chapter 12

Darlene and Brent lay on the couch together after both got home from work—Darlene from the club, her pockets full of dollar bills, and Brent from the warehouse, where he had started taking a harder look at their processes. Both were tired, both ready to be alone together.

The WE wouldn’t let Brent follow Rule 8 while at work—too dangerous. Darlene, having spent the day naked, had put on comfy pants and a thick hoodie when she got home. Brent, on the other hand, had stripped down completely. The contrast was amusing to the WE, but they were pleased to see the two together, still so much in love.

As the TV murmured in the background, Brent absentmindedly traced lazy circles on Darlene’s bare skin beneath her hoodie. He wasn’t trying to entice her into making love—just staying connected in a physical way. Touch had always been his favorite way of expressing love, and Darlene never minded the attention.

“How are we doing on money, honey?” Darlene asked.

“We’re doing just fine.” Brent reassured her. “We’ve got a solid savings built up. My pension is still rolling in, I’m making good money at the warehouse, and you’re bringing in extra at the club. Financially, we’re more than stable.”

Darlene put her phone down and cupped his face, caressing him gently. “I was wondering about our agreement on sex at the club. Is it still in effect?”

Brent immediately muted the TV and focused all of his attention on her. He reached out through their mental link.

Why?

Her thumb brushed along his jaw, a gesture of affection.

“Frank is looking at expanding. He’s wondering if opening a brothel is a good idea. Angel is all for it. Some of the girls like the idea, but others think it’s degrading.”

“And where do you fall?”

She bit her lip before answering. “I fall on the side of degrading.”

Brent sat up, pulling away slightly to get a better look at her. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So why are you asking about adding another service to your work?”

She hesitated. “Money.”

Brent shifted, turning fully toward her. “Darlene, we have plenty of money. You don’t have to debase yourself to support us. That’s my job, not yours.” His tone was firm, passionate, his love for her evident in every word.

He reached for her hands, holding them in his own. “If you wanted to walk away from the club today, I’d support you. If you want to stay because you love it, because it makes you feel alive, then stay. But whatever you do, do it because you want to, not because you think you have to. I am your biggest supporter, and I’ll sit in the front row every night, cheering you on—but only if it makes you happy.”

His impassioned plea hit its mark. Tears welled in Darlene’s eyes, trickling down her cheeks. Brent gently wiped them away with his fingertips before pulling her into his arms.

“Thank you, honey.” Darlene whispered, wrapping her arms around him, soaking in his warmth, his reassurance.

Brent kissed the top of her head. “Now. What are you going to do because you want to—not because you have to?”

Darlene took a breath, gathering her thoughts. “Tomorrow, I’m going to add sex to my menu and see how it goes. Just one or two guys. I want to see how my brain reacts—how my heart reacts.”

Brent chuckled, rubbing her back. “Good for you. I’ll be here to help you shower when you get home. We’ll wash away work, and then we can get reacquainted.”

Darlene laughed through her tears. “You really are the best.”

Brent just held her close as they relaxed together until bedtime.

Stephanie—Angel to the club, but always Stephanie to herself—was in bed, exhausted. After entertaining dozens of men that night, she had expected to feel her usual post-work high. But tonight was different. Tonight, she was just ... tired.

Most nights, the sex, the attention, the desire from men energized her. But tonight, she had no urge to masturbate, no urge to chase another thrill. Instead, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body sore, her mind ... quiet.

What’s my cycle at right now? she asked her WE. She had lost track.

Stephanie, you are about to start your period. The WE responded. Your estrogen and progesterone levels are dropping sharply, which would explain your desire to rest and eat instead of seeking arousal.

Stephanie sighed, rolling onto her stomach and checking her calendar. Yup—tomorrow or the next day. Damn.

“I’m supposed to work tomorrow.” She muttered to herself. “I really don’t want to make a mess all over the place.”

Would you like me to message Frank and inform him that you’re starting your off-week?

“Yeah. Tell him I’ll be out for the next few days.”

Done.

Stephanie plugged in her phone and pulled the blankets around her. Sleep took her quickly.

The next morning, as her WE predicted, her period arrived. The familiar cramps, sluggishness, and cravings settled in, and she spent most of the morning curled up in bed with a heating pad on her stomach.

At some point, her eyes drifted around her apartment. TV on. Dishes in the sink. Unfinished takeout boxes on the counter.

It was the same as always.

But today, for the first time, it felt empty.

Her thoughts turned to Lola.

Lola had a husband. A real, stable relationship. And yet she still danced at the club. But she didn’t sleep around. She didn’t need random men to feel whole.

She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts.

She didn’t find what she was looking for.

“I forgot—I never got her number.”

Stephanie hesitated, then reached out through the WE.

“Hey, Angel. What’s up?” Darlene’s voice echoed in her mind, warm and inviting.

“I was just sitting here, suffering through a doozy of a period, and ... I was wondering if I could come over and talk.”

Darlene smiled through the link. “I’ve got chocolate chip cookies. I’ll send you my address.” The address appeared in her mind, and Stephanie, feeling strangely nervous, got dressed in sweatpants, a hoodie, and a pair of thick socks. She climbed into her car and drove.

When she arrived, Darlene answered the door wearing almost the same outfit. They both laughed, sharing a knowing look. Both women were feeling the same way today.

“Kitchen’s back here.”

Stephanie followed her through the house, settling at the kitchen table where a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk waited for them.

They each took a cookie, dunking it in their glasses before taking a bite. The chocolate hit perfectly.

Darlene broke the silence first. “First off—call me Darlene. Darlene Jackson. No stage names here, okay?”

Stephanie smiled. “Then you should call me Stephanie Sutton.”

They shook hands. For the first time, they were meeting as their real selves.

Darlene leaned back. “So, tell me, Stephanie. Why are you here?”

Stephanie hesitated—then took a breath.

“I’m jealous of you and what you have.”

Darlene blinked. “Jealous? Of me and Brent? Why?”

Stephanie’s throat tightened. Tears welled unexpectedly.

“I’ve never been married. I’ve never had anyone in my life for more than a few weeks. And ... I don’t understand why that suddenly bothers me.”