Into You Series: The Complete Collection

27. Nia

CHAPTER 27

NIA

G race, Corinne, and I sit on the edge of the bed as Ramona lays out the next few hours of our life. She insists on starting early, which is unexpected for all of us. Grace is still yawning from her afternoon nap, and Corinne is blinking in her bathing suit, smelling like sand, undoubtedly taken from the beach. I’m trying not to huff like a child as I balance both listening and pushing down my heightened sexual frustration.

I’m still picturing how Ian looked at me, how he groaned in my ear, the rough hands wrapped around my wrists as I relinquished control. It’s weird to feel so vulnerable, but the combination of Ian’s reassurance in treating me with care and pleasuring me until I was numb between my thighs makes it a bit easier to succumb.

Does he actually want me now, or is he riding on the high of control—of knowing he’s finally captured me despite my best efforts to resist? Do I care? I’m just not sure I can handle him.

“I think I want waffles,” Grace says, squinting at Ramona, who was in the middle of stating how insanely drunk we will be by the end of the night.

“The bride wants waffles, the bride gets some frigging waffles,” Corinne says, shaking Grace’s shoulder.

Ramona waves her pencil at Corinne. She’s only holding it like a baton in order to direct us because there is no paper in sight. “You’re absolutely right, tall blonde.”

“I like tall blonde,” Grace declares. “I approve.”

“Am I short blonde?” I ask.

“Cute blonde,” Corinne corrects.

“I like cute blonde as well,” Grace says again with an air of royalty in her tone. “It is so.”

“There are worse ways to start a night.” I fold my arms across my chest and sigh. Although, I could have started my afternoon with Ian, so there are also better ways this night could be kicked off as well.

“I have to pee,” Grace says, patting her knees and then locking herself in the bathroom.

“Good time to break,” Corinne agrees. “Let me at least put on shorts.” They leave and I’m left alone with Ramona. Why does it feel like the Chambers family is always cornering me into conversations?

There’s an awkward silence followed by Ramona popping her lips and grinning.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispers.

“No,” I shoot back.

“Do you like him?”

“Are we in middle school?” I chuckle.

“Fine.” She raises her hands. “None of my business then.” Ramona and Ian have too many similarities, one of which being the fact that, even though they say they do not want to know something, their face says otherwise.

“Just because you try to seem uninterested doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you anything.”

“Damn.” She snaps with a grin. “That works on everyone else.”

“Doesn’t work on me,” I whisper.

“Apparently it did for my brother.”

At that moment, the room door opens, and Corinne, now dressed in loose-fitting shorts but still in her bathing suit top, halts mid-step.

“What are we talking about?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Ramona says, twisting her pencil nonchalantly. I avoid eye contact.

“Secrets,” Corrine hisses, her eyes narrowed as she points between us.

The toilet flushes, water runs, and Grace comes out of the bathroom. “I heard whispering.”

“They’re sharing secrets.” Corinne crosses her arms.

“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” Ramona calls out, tossing her head from side to side.

“ You’re the one keeping secrets.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The conversation has circled enough that most of us are confused, which satisfies Ramona enough for her to start talking about the evening yet again.

I stop listening, and for once I don’t care about schedules or itineraries or the whens and wheres of the day. I’m not mentally begging for my planner. I’m only thinking one thing: I want Ian Chambers.

Four hours later, I wish I would have listened to Ramona’s plans more intently. Our heels clip-clop loudly as we teeter toward a large, lime green building surrounded by palm trees. It’s the size of a warehouse with the edges adorned by neon purple lights flashing off and on in spurts and never at the same time. It creates a ring around the place that would be inviting if I didn’t know what was inside.

It’s very obvious that we are a bachelorette party. We’re walking in a line, arm in arm, with pink penises pinned to our outfits. Ramona forced a crown onto Grace, who has already taken it off twice, only to have it shoved back on by her maid of honor.

We walk forward on the brightly painted sidewalk made to look like a yellow brick road. The double doors ahead of us are blacked out, and I’m struck by the memory of the sex shop. I’ll give this place credit—at least it gives off the vibe of Yay fun! instead of We won’t tell your friends you were here.

“Do you think they have a short man in green at the door?” Corinne asks.

“With a sliding speakeasy peephole?” Grace says.

“If I would have known this was where we were going, I would have worn sparkly red heels,” I say.

The other ladies are dressed in tight-fitting bodycon dresses that hug their curves as if tailored just for them, while I’m re-wearing the same red dress from the other night. Admittedly, it does look good on me, and I am sporting heels that are much higher than any I would wear on a normal basis. In fact, I was so surprised by how well the outfit came together, I almost snuck to Ian’s room beforehand, but Ramona has been playing the role of helicopter mother hen so well I couldn’t spare time to even use the restroom without a swift knock on the door asking if I was finished already.

She skids to a halt, causing the rest of us to stop like dominos.

“Girls, this is our mecca.”

“Mecca?” Grace says. “Come on, let’s just head back to the hotel. We don’t have anything to prove to the guys, right?”

“Who doesn’t want to go to a strip club for their pre-wedding celebration?” Ramona gawks.

“Ramona, if your mecca is a male strip club then we need to discuss your sex life,” Corinne says, looking down the line at her. Corinne and I are on the opposite end with Grace being our connection to the curly-haired wonder leading this raid into sexy-man-land.

“Mine is very active, thank you. In fact, I think all of us have pretty active sex lives.” Maybe I imagine it, but I swear she throws a wink my way.

“Speak for yourself,” Corinne mumbles.

“Okay, then three out of four,” Ramona scoffs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a discreet glance from Ramona, but I ignore it. This is turning into a mess already.

With that, we all lift our feet and walk down the yellow brick sidewalk like the motley crew we are: Grace, the girl ready to be home; Ramona, the scarecrow, not in need of a brain but the sense to read her audience; Corinne, the tin woman clearly needing a heart in her sex life; and me, the cowardly lion, not ready to take on the naked men who await me.

I could probably take on one naked man—but he’s still back at the hotel.

The inside isn’t that bad. There’s only one massive problem, and it isn’t the giant dicks being shoved in my face—it’s the lack of them.

Ramona didn’t do enough research. Imagine our shock when we pay our forty-dollar entry fee and skip through the foyer only to see the green-lit stage occupied by a fully nude woman.

“Oops,” Ramona says slowly, looking at the rest of us. Corinne shrugs, and Grace is already laughing.

I always imagined strip clubs as they appear in movies, with naked women in G-strings and winning smiles. I was right for the most part, but I didn’t anticipate the fact that, although clubs in movies don’t have pussy on display, real life absolutely might.

How charming.

We grab a table away from the stage where men are gathered, some leaning forward on their elbows. I feel like I’ve walked into a different world where I don’t belong, a male fantasy in which I’m intruding. Any minute now, someone will surely ask if we’re in the wrong place, right?

What would Ian think?

I pull out my phone, giving in to my temptation.

Nia: I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore.

Ian: Where are you?

Nia: In a state of immediate regret.

I throw my phone back into my clutch and clear my throat.

We order waters that are much too expensive, and Ramona circles her finger to signal for shots. She mouths something to the server that I interpret to be “lemon.”

“Oh, I don’t think I need a drink,” Grace says. Her laughter is stilted, and I think that’s what gives her away.

“Holy shit,” Ramona says breathlessly.

It’s weird how women just know . If a woman looks naturally happy, if she cups the ridge of her stomach, and if she refuses a drink at an event like this, there’s only one explanation. Poor Grace checks all three boxes.

“Grace, are you…?” Corinne starts.

“Cameron doesn’t know yet,” Grace quickly responds, gulping down a large swallow of her water and slamming it back down on the table. “I mean, I think he’ll react just fine, but…the wedding, you know. I don’t think he needs to worry.”

Ramona screams, and I cover my ears. I think even the current performer halts on her pole before squeaking down.

“HOLY SHIT!” Corinne yells. They’re both smothering Grace with their long arms wrapped around her, and I’m grinning back at her.

“You’re gonna be a killer pregnant woman,” Ramona says, her speech slightly muffled as she speaks into Grace’s shoulder.

“Are you saying I already have hormones resembling those of an angry pregnant lady?” Grace says, her eyebrow quirked up. A smirk spreads on her face and there’s no denying that she’s far from offended.

“You craved pickles and peanut butter just last month,” I say, sipping my water through a smile as Grace smiles back.

“Wait—why aren’t you surprised?” Ramona asks with a suspicious side-eye.

“I can be the DD,” I offer in an attempt to change the subject.

“Secrets!” Corinne hisses with a wink.

I am saved when the shots arrive, tiny tumblers filled to the brim with neon yellow liquid. I pick mine up and sip just to try it. The sugared edge is off-putting, but the drink itself is dangerously delicious. I only taste the hint of alcohol after the lemon-flavored treat has settled on my tongue.

“Hang on, hang on, we have to toast!” Ramona says, releasing Grace and clutching her drink, raising it in the air. Corinne, Grace, and I follow suit.

“To Grace, the best mom.”

“The best mom,” we all chant together, clinking our glasses. Grace blushes and sets her glass down while Ramona and Corinne tip theirs back, inhaling the contents in one go.

“Nia, are you seriously not going to drink?” Ramona asks. It’s less of a question and more of a demand.

“We need a driver,” I say.

“Nah, that’s why we have the boys,” she says, “but if you really want to pretend you’re responsible, we can sit you in the driver’s seat later to make you feel like you’ve contributed to the night. Now drink up.”

I hesitate, looking down at the drink. I’ve never been one for shots, but this one does taste particularly good.

Why not?

I tilt my head back, bring the glass to my lips, and flip the bottom up. It slides down smoother than I expected, but the aftertaste of alcohol is much more prevalent than it was a moment ago. I guess that’s what happens when you take in the entire glass in one fell swoop.

I shake my head and join in the laughter once I see everyone else looking at me.

“What about Grace’s?” I ask, pointing at the solo shot waiting to be devoured by some brave soul.

“It’s yours,” Grace says, sliding it across the table toward me.

“No thanks,” I say, waving my hand in protest. My head is already swimming from the last one. I can’t tell if it was how quickly I shook my head or if I’m just a complete lightweight. Either way, drinking for two seems like an awful idea.

Corinne shrugs, grabs the glass, and tips it back.

“I’m tall—it takes a lot for me to get drunk. I’ll drink for two.” That is all Grace needs to seem satisfied, and it’s the perfect cue Ramona needs to order four more.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out with too much excitement.

Ian: Are you going to be a bad girl tonight?

Nia: Do you want me to be?