Free Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) by Logan Belle

but not this time. His voice was oddly constrained, and he just said, “Uh-huh...Don’t worry about it....Not a big deal.” He glanced at Mallory but then away. “I think we have plans but thanks anyway.”
    He was clearly in a hurry to get rid of the call and didn’t look at Mallory as he put it away.
    “Who was that?” she asked.
    “Violet,” he said.
    Mallory resisted the urge to say, “What the hell is she doing calling you?” Instead, she remembered Allison’s prediction that their relationship was doomed to fail as long as they were in the burlesque world; Mallory was determined for that not to be the case. She was going to stop being paranoid and trust her boyfriend. If Violet was getting out of line, she’d deal with her directly.
    “Oh? What did she have to say?”
    “She, um, apologized for upsetting you the other night.”
    “I wasn’t upset.”
    “Mal, you didn’t speak to me for almost twenty-four hours.”
    “Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”
    “You gave me dirty looks all throughout dinner. I think she got the hint.”
    “So that’s it? She just called to apologize?”
    “Yeah. And I guess as a peace offering, she invited us to the Jack Terricloth show at Joe’s Pub tomorrow night. I told her thanks but no thanks,” he said, finally looking at her and smiling. He took her hand again.
    “Really? I’d kind of like to see that show.”
    He stopped abruptly.
    “You want to go to the show—the three of us?”
    “Yeah,” she said. “Why not?”
    Alec shook his head. “I’ll never understand you.”
    “That’s right,” Mallory said, squeezing his hand. “You won’t.”

7
    A nother Saturday night, another Law & Order marathon.
    It was getting to the point that if she didn’t have a show at the Blue Angel, Poppy and her girlfriend, Patricia, didn’t go out. Anywhere.
    “I work hard all week, and you have shows a few nights a week, so let’s just enjoy some quiet time together,” Patricia said. It was true that Patricia had just made partner at the prestigious law firm Reed, Warner, and her work hours were insane. Poppy didn’t have a day job, and Patricia’s career afforded them a great lifestyle. Poppy understood that and appreciated it. The problem was, their “quiet time” together more and more involved lying around in bed watching television. As for sex—well, there was only the occasional rote session.
    Poppy pulled the floral comforter up around her waist. Patricia passed her the bowl of popcorn without taking her eyes off of the television screen. Poppy took the bowl, put it on her nightstand, and discreetly checked her BlackBerry. No messages. Of course not. Everyone else was on their way out to having a good time.
    Maybe this was what relationships always looked like eight months in. She wouldn’t know—she’d never had a serious relationship before. And who better to have one with? Patricia was her best friend; she’d saved Poppy from the loneliness she felt after moving to New York and feeling, for the first time, like just one of the crowd. She’d saved her from the pain of her unrequited crush on Bette Noir. And yes, her interest in Bette had started out as careerism, but the hurt she felt when Bette turned her attention to Mallory Dale had been far deeper than any sense of professional setback. But then Patricia took her in, showed her love—made her feel like she was a part of something special. Maybe that was more important than sex.
    “Pass me the remote,” Patricia said.
    Poppy dutifully complied, glancing over at her partner. It might help if Patricia did more with herself physically. She knew it wasn’t fair to make comparisons, but it was difficult when Poppy spent so much time in the sexually-charged atmosphere of the Blue Angel, with women who, while not all beautiful, certainly did the absolute most with themselves. But Patricia had literally never seen the inside of a gym, and for her a garter was a type of snake, not an