After leaving the convenience store, I still had some time before work.
John and Emily should've finished their make-out session by now since I'd been gone for a while.
After a couple of seconds of hesitation, I decided to head back to the rental house. I needed to drop off this big bag of condoms anyway.
No way I was bringing this to work.
So, I hopped on the subway back to the rental house, and it was another four-minute walk from the station.
To avoid interrupting their private moment, I quietly unlocked the door. Before stepping in, I peeked inside and saw the living room was pitch black, which made me breathe a sigh of relief.
I glanced around, checking the bottom of John's and Emily's doors.
The lights were on, but it was silent.
It seemed that they had gone back to their rooms right after kissing, and it surprised me.
Did they just kiss without doing anything else? Or had they already finished while I was out?
That couldn't be right. John was my age. Even if he wasn't as skilled in bed as I was, it shouldn't have been over in just a few minutes.
That was not even enough time for my foreplay.
But I didn't dwell on their progress. It didn't matter if they had sex or not. My own sex life mattered more.
I went back to my room and checked my phone. No messages from Catherine, but I missed her.
I couldn't help but text her: [Darling, are you done with work? Message me when you're free.]
Just after sending it, there was a knock on my door.
"Come in," I said.
"David, let's go, it's time for work." John didn't open the door, just spoke from outside.
I stretched lazily on the bed and responded, "Got it."
I got up and put on my shoes. As soon as I stepped out, I saw John holding Emily's hand.
"When did you two get together?" I pretended to be shocked.
I couldn't tell them I saw them kissing. That would be awkward.
"This morning, thanks to you not being home much, we had a lot of alone time, and I got the chance to pursue her." John looked proud and grateful.
"As long as you two are happy, that's what matters." I smiled, glancing between John and Emily.
Finally, my gaze settled on Emily's face for a couple of seconds. She seemed to sense it and met my eyes.
She pursed her lips, her eyes showing emotions I couldn't quite read. It was like she was asking, 'Since I followed your advice and found a guy, does that mean I can't have sex with you now?'
But maybe I was just imagining things, so I didn't dwell on it.
"Let's go to work together." I walked over to John, bent my arm, and rested it on his shoulder.
It was a ten-minute walk from the rental house to the bar.
When we got there, the three of us instinctively clocked in first.
Fiona gathered all of us waiters for a quick meeting, going over what we needed to watch out for today before letting us go.
Just as we were about to head to our stations, she called me back.
"David, come with me," Fiona said.
Everyone around us stopped and stared, their eyes darting between Fiona and me.
After hanging out last night, I had grown quite familiar with the other waitstaff, and we'd formed a little group, chatting about which women in the bar were the hottest, the different types of beauties, and who the most popular women were.
Fiona was the main topic of conversation. Some of the guys even talked about how to win her over and what kind of guy she'd go for.
Back then, they all thought I had the best shot and were egging me on to get with Fiona and maybe even record her in her wildest moments.
Now, seeing Fiona call me out in front of everyone, they were all wondering if I'd made a move on her when she took my measurements last night.
I started to panic, not sure how to clear up any misunderstandings about my relationship with Fiona.
"Okay, coming," I said, gritting my teeth.
I followed Fiona, and we took the elevator to the third floor of the bar.
As soon as we stepped out, the party atmosphere hit us—colorful lights and loud music blasting through the speakers.
This was clearly not a place for regular folks.
Fiona led me down a long, dimly lit corridor with rooms on both sides. The doors were heavy and soundproof, making it hard to see inside.
The glass only reflected our own figures.
As we walked, I became increasingly confused and couldn't help but wonder, 'Why does she bring me here? What's her plan?'
Fiona led me to the door of the innermost private room and tapped on it rhythmically with two fingers.
"Come in," a deep, resonant voice called from inside, like an old cello.
Fiona pushed open the door, making way for me to enter. At this point, there was no turning back.
So I walked in. Inside was a black office desk and a black leather sofa. A man sat at the desk with a large model ship on a shelf behind him.
This was clearly an office, and despite being on a lower floor, the location was well-chosen with good lighting. Even though it was late, the neon lights from the tall buildings outside still lit up the room.
Fiona closed the door and stood beside me at the desk.
"Mr. Nelson, I've brought him," she said respectfully.
"I see. You can go now," the man said, dressed in a sharp suit and holding a cigarette with smoke rings swirling around his fingers.
He waved his hand, dispersing the smoke rings, which blended into the air and hit my nostrils.
Even though I could tell it was an expensive cigarette from the smell, as a non-smoker, it was still pretty pungent to me.
"May I ask why you wanted to see me?" I asked, furrowing my brow.
"Do you smoke?" the man inquired.