*** Nate's Evil Exploits is the tale of a sex-crazed bisexual sociopath whose job (and passion) is sexually exploiting people during corporate downsizing. ***
Exhausted from a hard day of balling Zero Sum's employees, Nate decided to head to his favourite bar.
Mala Suerte Ciudad was like stepping into the heart of Mexico. Or, at least, what Westerners thought stepping into the heart of Mexico might be like.
The walls were lined with gaudy day-of-the-dead masks; skulls painted in garish colours or decorated with roses and bright floral designs. There was a shrine set up in one corner, with an effigy of some obscure armless, legless saint, draped in neckties and surrounded by bottles of tequila.
The walls were painted to look like cracked adobe, bathing the whole place in an orange glow.
On a Monday, you'd think things would be quiet - but not at Mala Suerte. Here, the music was bright and loud, the dance floor always full. It was mostly a gay bar, but like so many gay bars, straight women often frequented it, to get away from men like... well, like Nate.
Tonight there was a woman sitting at the bar who fit that bill. Her copper hair fell away from the crown of her head in a shiny wave, hiding part of her face from view. She was wearing a fitted white woollen coat that contrasted with the fall of amber hair that cascaded over her shoulders. If she'd just come from work, Nate was guessing it was organising private yacht sales, or selling million dollar houses.
Small pink diamonds glittered in her delicate earlobes when she turned her head, and she sat as if she was very aware of her body. And how enchanting it was to straight men.
He slid on to a stool next to her and ordered a drink.
"Hi." He gave her a brisk once-over, then turned back to the barman.
"No," she said.
He glanced at her. "No?"
"No, I don't want to date you, or keep you company, or fuck you, or suck your dick."
Nate paid the bartender and took his drink. "Just as well. That's his job."
He nodded towards a good looking guy on the dance floor.
The woman gave Nate a wry grin. "Does he know that?"
Nate sipped his drink. "I hope so. He's been doing it for six months."
His boyfriend, Rene, was lost in a drunken trance, grinding on some slutty kid wearing way too much makeup. Nate could tell he was already trashed. Just another Monday.
The woman tipped her drink towards him. "I'm Lila."
"Nate." He clinked his glass with hers. "What brings you to Bad Luck City?"
She set her drink down and spun it distractedly on the counter.
"Escaping, I guess."
"Escaping?" He took a swallow of tequila and let it burn the back of his throat.
"From life. Responsibilities. Being a woman."
Nate chuckled. "Is it that bad? Being incredibly hot? I know women who'd killed to be you."
She gave him a sharp glance. "You think I'm hot?"
"I may love dick, but I'm not blind. You're muy caliente." He gave her his best rendition of a Mexican accent.
"You're not bad looking yourself," she said. She shrugged off her coat and Nate did his best to keep breathing as if he wasn't getting hard just looking at her. Underneath her coat, she was draped in a black dress made from layers of chiffon.
"You just come from a party?" he asked.
She sipped her drink. "Every day's a party." The way she said it, make it sound like it was a really shitty party.
"You want to go sing some bad karaoke with me?"
She laughed. "What makes you think I can sing?"
"I'm banking on you being crap, so that I can feel better about myself." He gave her his best, disarming smile. "Come on. I can see you doing a great version of—" he squinted his eyes, "—rolling in the deep?"
She snorted. "Yeah. We could have had it all."
He put his hand on her arm, noticing with satisfaction that she didn't react.
"Lila, you clearly need cheering up. Let's go get plastered and sing songs about how shitty our lovers are."
She threw back her drink. "Okay."
The walked arm-in-arm up to a karaoke bar where Nate had a quiet arrangement with the owners. He paid in cash, and no one knocked on the door until he was ready to come out.
Lim Hee Hyo took the folded notes and led them to a room. "You want drinks?"
"Tequila?" Nate asked Lila.
She nodded.
"A bottle of tequila and two glasses."
Lim Hee gave him a wink, and disappeared to get what he knew would be billed to him as a two-hundred dollar, thirty-dollar bottle of tequila.
He handed a flip book to Lila. "Take your pick."
While she looked for a song, Nate dialled up his old go-to. Song number 1931, 'I want it that way' by the Backstreet Boys.
Nate performed it complete with the dance, while Lila giggled hysterically.
Nate knew his voice was good, but made sure he wasn't too good. When he finished, Lila was choking with laughter.
"Oh my God, Oh my God, does your boyfriend ask you to leave after you do that dance?"
Nate grinned. "No, if anything, he sucks harder."
She wheezed asthmatically, and jumped as Lim Hee knocked on the door. Nate took the tequila and glasses from her and thanked her, then gave her a nod. From here on out, they'd be given complete privacy for as long as he needed it.
Lila recovered and flipped through the book. "Okay, this one. Nine seven one two."
Nate keyed it in. "Shake it off. Old Tay-Tay, eh?"
She smiled shyly. "Now don't laugh!"
"What?" he said, putting a hand to his chest. "But you just burst a seam laughing your ass off at my efforts."
"Okay, okay, but don't be mean."
"I would never," he said, his brown eyes shining with sincerity.
She cleared her throat and held the mic ready, at chest height.
"No, no!"
Her eyes widened as his fingers closed over hers, guiding the mic towards her mouth.
"You gotta hold it like this."
He took his hand back, and gave her a charming grin.
She broke eye contact first, launching into a nervous rendition of 'Shake it Off'.
She was shit, and it hurt Nate's ears to hear her off-key wailing about players and haters, but he smiled encouragingly and joined in the chorus. Soon she was dancing around the room, and Nate could see the tequila was doing its work.
He danced along with her, the two of them freestyling like a couple of drunk cheerleaders.
She finished the song, and dropped to the floor and crawled between his legs, ending up in a heap of chiffon, laughing as she threw back another glass of tequila.
He dropped down on the couch and flicked through the book. He already knew what he was going to sing next, but it had to seem spontaneous.
He gave her a mischievous grin. "Got one."
He keyed it in, as she got to her feet and fell on to the couch.
The strains of Eric Clapton's acoustic version of 'Layla' filled the small room. He knew the words. He turned his back on the screen and sang it to her, while she watched, mesmerised, her brain drenched in alcohol.
His voice lent itself to the slower version, filling those low notes with deep longing. When he got to the chorus, he beckoned to her. She got unsteadily to her feet and stood in front of him.
He took her hand, dropped to his knees and sang to her.
A tear trickled down her face as he finished the song. He guided her back to the couch and sat her down with his arm around her shoulders.
"What is it, love?"
"I just... I just wish a real guy would sing to me like that."
"A real guy?" He pretended to take offence.
"You know what I mean!" She slapped his chest with her hand, then left it resting there, the heat of her fingers soaking through his shirt.
He gave her a steady gaze until she looked up at him. "Who hurt you?"
She licked tears from her perfect, rose-painted lips.
"His name's Sergio."'
"No it's fucking not."
"Yes, it is!" she said, giving him another playful slap. "He's a fashion designer." She rested her head against his arm, her fingers curled against his chest.
"Of course he is," Nate said dryly. "Have you seen his collection?"
She blinked. "No. He doesn't want his work to get in the way of our relationship."
"Uh-huh." Nate gently disengaged and turned on the couch to face her.
"Sweetheart, you know he's lying to you? He's probably pushing drugs and trafficking women in his spare time."
Her eyes widened. "What a horrible thing to say!"
He shrugged. "You don't know a fashion designer named Sergio. At least, not a straight one. Trust me."
She looked down at her hands, stroking her fingertips across her perfectly manicured nails. "Are you in love... with your boyfriend?"
Nate snorted. "Not likely. You know he'll be fucking that kid tonight? Assuming he's still capable of fucking by the time he gets home."
She frowned. "Why do you put up with it? If you don't love him?"
Nate put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. "I'm kind."
He bent forward and kissed her, a brief brush of his lips against hers.
He pulled back and found her eyes were closed. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him again, and he pulled her into his lap so that she was straddling him.
They locked lips for several minutes, and his hands drifted to her breasts, plump and soft under all those layers of chiffon.
She pulled back, panting for breath, weaving in place.
"I thought you were gay."
"Did you, now?" he said. "How's that working out for you?"
He reached behind her and slowly inched her zip down, until her dress fell around her shoulders. Gently, he peeled it away, exposing her magnificent breasts in their Italian lace bra.
He cupped her breasts, enjoying the look of consternation in her eyes. She was enjoying herself, but she hadn't planned to. Now she wasn't sure what to do.
"I hate it when men take advantage of women," he said in a low voice, running his thumbs over her nipples until they pushed stiffly against the lace.
"I don't sleep with strange men."
"I'm not that strange," he said, leaning forward to nuzzle her. He kissed his way up the side of her neck and bit gently on her earlobe. "At least my name's not 'Sergio'."
