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“Zoe?” I said. “Zoe, your best friend Zoe? The Zoe who does my taxes?”
“She’s a freelance accountant, she doesn’t do your taxes. She did look at your receipts once.” Elena showed me the screen. A string of messages, a lot of exclamation marks, and the final one: On my way. Bringing prosecco. Tell him to be good.
“She knows about the bet?”
“She knows everything. She’s twenty-eight, she’s very discreet, and she’s been curious about you since the barbecue.” Elena put the phone down. “Don’t look so scared. You’ve got a safeword, and so does she, and so do I. Nobody does anything you haven’t said yes to. But you asked what’s on the list, so here it is. I want you tied up. I want you teased. I want you on your knees. And I’d quite like to watch somebody else enjoy it too.”
My brain, and several other organs, went entirely blank.
“She’s ten minutes away,” Elena said. “This is the part where you decide. If you say yes, I’ll tell her to come up, and she’ll be as gentle or as filthy as you like. If you say no, I’ll text her now, and she’ll go home with her prosecco, and I won’t think any less of you. Not one bit.”
She said it so simply that I knew it was true. The doorbell was ten minutes away, and so was a very different version of my night.