L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

practice run, moving my forearm and hand across my lap, while above the line of the
bar my upper arm and shoulder appeared still. Good, it could work. I moved quickly, my
hand under the bar gathering the front of my skirt. I slipped the other hand up my thigh,
wrapping a nger through my thong and lifting my buttocks o the stool ever so
slightly, hooking my heels into the base of the stool to get leverage. Just as I yanked
hard, the song came to an abrupt end. I thought I was the only one to hear the rip, like
a needle skipping across a record. But a man with a shaved head, who’d been standing
with his back to me, turned to see what had made that sound. I froze. Oh no.
I smiled at him awkwardly and let out a nervous laugh. This man was riveting with
crinkly eyes like Will’s, but his were icy blue. He had on a black suit, with a black shirt
and black tie. For a man who was probably closer to fty than thirty, he had the lithe
build of a soccer player.
Leaning towards me, he said, “Got them o yet?” He took in my expression of shock
with a bemused smile, then took a sip of his scotch and plopped the empty glass down,
wiping his mouth with the back of his wide hand. “Your panties, I mean. Are they o?”
he said in a British accent.
I looked around in case anyone had heard him. But the music had started up again.
“Who are you?”
“The real question is, do you accept the Step?”
“The Step? What? You? I thought it was going to be with the other guy.”
“I can assure you, Cassie, you’re in good hands with me. Do you accept the Step?”
“What’s going to happen?” Panicking, I looked around. But no one was watching us;
they were watching the band. No one cared what we were talking about either. It was as
though we were invisible.
“What’s going to happen?” I asked again.
“Everything you want, nothing you don’t.”
“Is that what you’re all trained to say?” I said, with a hint of playfulness. I could do
this. I could denitely do this with him. I yanked my thong again and this time the
waistband cut across the tops of my thighs, leaving me in a deeply uncomfortable
position.
“Do you accept the Step, Cassie? I can ask only three times,” he said patiently. His
eyes traveled down to my skirt.
“Maybe if I went to the ladies’—”
He turned and summoned the bartender.
“I’ll take the bill, please, and put her champagne on it, would you?”
“Wait. Are you going?”
He smiled at me and pulled two twenties out of his money clip.
“Don’t go,” I said, lifting my arm from beneath the bar and placing it on his rm
forearm. “I accept the Step.”
“Good girl,” he said, shoving his money clip back in his pocket.
He removed his dinner jacket and asked me to hold it in my lap. Standing beside me at
the bar, he turned to the side, as if to watch the band. When he jolted my bar stool
backwards a little, and my stomach took a second to catch up. He pressed himself