“Come on, Darcy,” Charles replies, his tone rife with disbelief. “You can’t pretend you didn’t have a good time tonight.”

“It’s just so artificial,” he adds stiffly. He crosses his arms over his chest, clearing his throat. “And too . . . much.”

Ming nudges me, making an exaggerated humping motion toward the curtain. I hold in a laugh, though Darcy’s word choice, “artificial,” doesn’t sit right.

Charles laughs. “You’re such a prude, man.”

“I prefer the intimate remain intimate.”

Despite Darcy’s flat tone, the comment has me cocking my head. This I like; real intimacy isn’t for show. Granted, I’ve never considered what goes on here to be intimate. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to do it.

Regardless, methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.

“It’s all for fun. Come on.” Charles smirks. “What about Kitten?”

Ah! Ming smacks my shoulder and I wiggle my eyebrows. Yes, what about Kitten?

I wait, eagerly anticipating the response. The door to one of the bathrooms opens. Charles nods to the woman who steps out, then catches the door, still waiting for Darcy’s reply.

Anticipation winds through me. After this long a pause, I can only assume Darcy is searching for words adequate to convey his insatiable lust.

“She’s thoroughly tolerable, but not enough to tempt me.”

A record scratch tears through my brain. Excuse me? I replay the comment, but there’s no room for interpretation. His emphasis was clear: good enough for some, but not him. The slight is a needle into my ballooned ego, bringing it sputtering from the ceiling to plop at my feet.

Ming’s jaw drops and she mouths an elongated, “Damn.”

“Thoroughly tolerable?” I mouth back, incredulous. Ming snorts back a laugh, then covers her mouth with her hand. But when I peer out again, the landing is empty.

I shove back the curtain with a huff. “And I sold him a deck earlier. I have half a mind to take back the card I’m on.”

Ming gasps. “Well, that settles it. If anyone can turn you down after the Four of Clubs, they’re not worth pursuing, anyway.”

The disappointment settles on my chest like a physical weight. I really thought there had been a connection. All his watching, and the moment during Jane’s song; it felt like we were building to something.

Ming links arms with me, and I force a stiff upper lip as we march back to the dressing room with the pasties, my tattered ego limping along after us.