CHAPTER SIX: What Would Pascoe Do?

GRIT GUILD: Bloom Where you Dare.

Hey Grit Guild babes,

You ready for the next installment of the adventures of Miss Lulu Dare?! I thought for sure you’d want Owen and Lulu to bone in this chapter and for Lulu to learn new things pretending to be her liberated mate, Pascoe…but that’s not what the people wanted. You chose no boning and disaster…so, here we are. Hahaha.

To recap: We meet Lulu Dare, a brilliant, list-making, ultra-organised primary school teacher who lives by the colour-coded calendar and rarely, okay, never, misses a flight, a deadline, or a 9:30 bedtime. But lately, life’s felt... flat. Beige. Predictable. Like a neatly folded tea towel that no one’s ever dared to use.

Enter Pascoe: Lulu’s best mate, a velvet-dipped erotic fiction writer-slash-part-time dominatrix with a laugh like champagne bubbles and absolutely zero interest in playing it safe. Pascoe’s birthday party was meant to be a little fun. Just friends. Just cocktails. Maybe a cheeky dance. And then… well, the lounge room turned into a five-person orgy and Lulu found herself being kissed by Greg, the very sexy, very primal local butcher.

Fast-forward to the next morning - Lulu’s hungover, phone dead, one hour from takeoff and very much still in Pascoe’s bed. Chaos. Panic. She somehow makes her flight to Melbourne, sweat-slick and panting, her heart racing for all the wrong reasons. Her solo holiday was supposed to be a chance to reset, rest and read.

Instead, she ends up flirting with her seatmate, who turns out to be gay, gorgeous, and happily married. Naturally.

Alone in her hotel room, spinning out, Lulu gets a message from Pascoe (equal parts support and smutty encouragement) and finds herself having unexpectedly steamy phone sex with Greg the Butcher. Yes, that happened. And for the first time in forever, she starts to wonder what it might feel like to be someone else. Someone bolder. Braver. Someone...like Pascoe.

So she dresses up, dials up the sass, and struts into a bar as the kind of woman who makes eye contact first. That’s where she meets Owen. An eccentric. A flirt. A walking poem in overalls with eyes like storm clouds and a voice like silk. One drink turns into a long conversation, and before she knows it, she’s inviting him back to her hotel.

Because that’s what Pascoe would do, right?

Now, let’s see what Lulu does…

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CHAPTER SIX

Stepping out of the bar, the cool night air hits my face, a stark contrast to the warmth inside the bar. My eyes search for that same intimacy in the streetlights but finds none. "This way," I murmur, my voice a little too high-pitched, betraying my confident Pascoe’esque persona I've been trying to wear all evening. It's like her confidence slipped off as soon as we crossed the threshold of the door into the real world. Inside it smelt like orange and wood Aperol and felt cool and exciting, now out here it’s just garbage and piss and feels a little overwhelming. Can I pull this off? Can I take this handsome man back to my hotel? Can I pretend I’m a sexually liberated, powerful dominatrix who gets what she wants exactly when she wants it? Oh God.

We start walking, side by side, and the city hums around us, indifferent to the jittery rhythm of my heart. Owen's presence is like a magnet, pulling at something deep within me. Every now and then our arms brush, sending frissons of anticipation dancing up my skin. Pascoe would seize the moment, pin him to one of these cold, graffitied walls and claim his lips in a kiss hot enough to light the dark. But me? I’ve never done anything like that. I crave a slow burn, the kind of build-up that makes your toes curl with will-they-won’t-they anticipation. Though, truth be told, it's been ages since I've felt the dizzy rush of that kind of first kiss.

"How far is your place?" Owen's voice cuts through my muddled thoughts.

"Uh, about a ten-minute walk. Is that okay?" I ask, hoping my casual tone masks my internal flailing.

"Perfect," he says, and there's a smile in his voice that eases my nerves.

The chill of the evening wraps around us, and I pull my jacket tighter around me willing myself to say something. What would Pascoe talk about? What would she want to know? The answer to that is easy. She’d want to know everything. She’d skip the small talk and ask him very specifically about his deepest desires in life and in bed.

"So…” Owen says, “Tell me your favourite thing about…” he pauses with a coy smirk, "…dominatrix’ing, Pascoe?" His question is genuine, tinged with curiosity rather than judgment.

I'm momentarily caught off guard, the unexpected inquiry throwing me back into character. I grapple for words, wondering what Pascoe would say, how she would respond with poise and confidence. “It's...” I start but realise I have no idea how to answer this question...Fun? Thrilling? Just like work? What would Pascoe say? What does Pascoe think about her work? She loves it, I know that. But why?

“I don't do anything I don't love,” I say. Owen raises his eyebrows suggesting I say more, so I rephrase, “I like being the conduit to people and the layers of their pleasure.” I feel like Pascoe would be happy with that answer, I'm sure I've heard her say something along these lines.

"I guess we have a lot in common," Owen says. "I only like being in spaces that feel good."