Taking Turns (Turning #1)(45)

So Turning Point is a place for members to be among friends. And breakfast is a time when friends get together.

But lunch is another matter.

Lunch today was dead. I was bored out of my mind, counting down the hours until dinner.

Quin shows up after work and joins me upstairs in Smith’s bar.

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the chair across from me and pointing at the bartender to bring him a drink. “What time will you bring her here?”

“Seven fifteen or so,” I say, sipping my drink. I want to ask him about his time with Chella, but I can’t. Not until we’re all together.

Rules. Smith and his f*cking rules.

“What do you think she’s gonna say?” The bartender comes with Quin’s drink and he picks it up to sip while I consider his question.

She only has two options. Yes or no. I hate being Number Three. And this is the second f*cking time I’ve gotten stuck with it. Maybe this arrangement isn’t for me anymore?

The question kinda surprises me. It was my idea in the first place. I’m the one who found the first six girls. I’m the one who helped perfect the rules. I’m the one who seemed to get the most out of it.

But it doesn’t feel that way anymore. It doesn’t feel necessary anymore.

“Well?” Quin asks.

“What?”

“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? I asked you what you think she’ll say.”

“Smith says she’ll say yes within two weeks.”

“I think so too.”

It pisses me off that they know her well enough already that they can even form an opinion. I don’t know her at all. I had one night out with her and it doesn’t count. Tonight won’t count either, we have to have the conversation about the rules. And then the party and then…

It’s depressing. I lose either way. Number Three is such a f*cked-up arrangement.

Quin talks about other shit until it’s time for me to leave, but I just tune him out, finish my drink, and then walk down to the elevator and take it up to the top floor. I don’t knock—I don’t have to. I just walk in.

The place looks completely different.

“Hey!” Marcella calls from the bedroom. “I’m ready, I swear.” She giggles like she’s having fun.

Is she having fun? Already? What part of this is fun so far? “Uh… I see you got some new furniture.” Gone are the sleek couches I chose to replace the earthy thrift-store look Rochelle had going on. It’s been replaced with more classic, traditional pieces. It looks very… homey. Nuclear family, two point two kids kind of homey.

“Yes,” Chella says, peeking around the door of the bedroom as she fastens her earrings. “Quin took me shopping. We picked out new stuff. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” I say, looking around. Kinda. “I didn’t know what your style was. I guess I missed the mark.”

“No,” she says, coming out of the bedroom. “It was fine. But given the choice…” She laughs again. “I guess I prefer this. Normal stuff, you know? And Quin is a shopper.”

I smile. Sort of. Normal stuff. I have so many questions about that seemingly innocent remark.

“I’m excited,” Chella says, grabbing her coat from the front closet. “I don’t usually go to Christmas parties.”

I take her coat and drape it over my arm. She won’t need it until after dinner. “No? Why not?”

“My dad. He’s not a Christmas party guy.”

“What about your mom?”

“She died three years ago.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say. Fuck. “Sorry, I knew that. I should’ve know better than to ask.” I’m so off my f*cking game.

“It’s OK,” she says, smiling as she drags a piece of hair off her face and tucks it behind her ear. “I’m over it.”

Over it. Normal. Yeah, I have a lot of questions for Chella Walcott. “Well, you look very pretty.” And she does. The black dress fits her perfectly. The lace bodice is tight, her tits look fantastic all pushed up and perky, and her waist is tiny. I envision dancing with her tonight. Placing my thumbs on her hips, my fingers splayed across her ass.

The dress is long, touches the floor. I asked for this specific dress on this specific night for a reason and that, at least, is going as planned.

And then I notice the necklace. The choker. The collar.

“What?” Chella asks. Her hand goes to her throat. To the collar I can’t stop staring at.

“Where did you get that?”

“Smith gave it to me. That first night when he took me home? When he dressed me up? He put this jewelry on me.” She raises her hand to show off the gold cuff bracelet and then I notice the earrings that match. “I figured it needed a night out as much as I do.”

I don’t like it. Rochelle was supposed to be eradicated before Chella got here. Gone. Thrown out. Given back to the world. And yet there is still something left of her. But if it makes Chella happy… “It looks beautiful, Marcella. And so do you.”

“Thank you,” she says, blushing pale pink.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am. Quin told me I have access to the kitchen any time I want. But it’s no fun eating alone. And I already did it twice today.”