I didn’t miss the emphasis on “The Valley” or the snark he’d injected into his question.

“The mere fact you drove down PCH to get to Encino is grounds to kick you out.”

“And which way do you prefer, Sloane?”

You bending me over the arm of my couch, pulling my hair while you take me rough.

There it was again, my name purred in a way that reminded me I was sex-starved and deprived of human touch. It was a sad time in my life. There were numerous reasons for this—the first and most important was my best friend was missing. Gone. Vanished. Without a trace. And when the days had slipped into weeks, then weeks into months and the police had no leads, no direction, no answers, my worry had turned into desperation. That desperation and fear had led me to work at a club I knew Elise had frequented. I never understood the appeal of public sex—having it or watching it. But I did understand what two or three or five consenting adults do sexually is none of my business and seeing as that was the case, my friend’s sex life was not for me to judge.

Elise was sweet, loyal, outgoing, and kind. As the saying went, she’d never met a stranger. She lit up every room she entered. She made everyone around her smile. She was also too trusting and more than a little naïve. Not to further stereotypes, but she was the stereotypical midwestern girl who’d moved to L.A. with big dreams. She didn’t want to be a model or an actress. She was perfectly content being a waitress at a high-end, trendy eatery in The Palisades where she made a good living that afforded her to live the dream she’d dreamt—a life surrounded by beauty. From the weather to the people, to the beaches, to the cityscapes Elise loved SoCal. As cliché as it was, this dream stemmed from 90’s TV shows. And up until a few months ago, she was enjoying her life to the fullest. Now she was…gone.

A far step down from my friend missing, but still adding to my sadness, was that my life was no longer mine. Worry and fear and the need to find out what happened to Elise had taken over every aspect of my life. I wasn’t complaining; I’d gladly put my life on hold forever if it meant I’d find Elise unharmed and alive, but still. Every waking moment was dedicated to the task of finding my friend and that included working in a sex club. My other friends drifted away. They did it slowly, as nicely as one could do while they turned their back on you, but the bottom line was that none of them understood what they called an obsession. They all thought I should get on with my life and let the police look for Elise.

As if that was going to happen.

Another step down was dating. I was not the type of woman who approached dating as a necessary evil or the path to finding a husband. I loved dating. I loved the thrill of meeting someone new. I loved the getting-to-know-you part. I loved going out and having fun, getting wild, loud, and crazy. I loved that when I was older and settled, I’d have a million great stories to tell. I loved my life—scratch that; before Elise disappeared, I loved my life. Now my every thought was consumed with horrid, scary thoughts about what could’ve happened to her. Where she was. What was happening to her. The torturous thoughts were never-ending.