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Respects him too much? “I guess that implies that you respect him too little?” Scotland tilted his head in confusion, battling with his humor. Now is not the time. This is serious, dammit.
“He’s my boss, so…”
And didn’t that speak a thousand words. Whoever Maddy had worked for before must’ve been one sorry sonuvabitch.
But what the hell were they going to do? If Maddy was right, it was only a matter of time before Clint had a complete meltdown. Someone couldn’t carry that kind of weight and end up as a healthy person on the other side. Stress warred with your soul and usually won in the end.
“Let me come by the club,” said Scotland, reaching for his wallet and tucking it into his pants. They were black, too, not just because they made his ass look fantastic, but because it hid the little splatters of ink that were sure to be everywhere by the end of each working day.
“Okay, but wear something that will catch his eye,” said Maddy, his voice suddenly rushed. “Shit, I gotta go. With any luck, you’ll get laid.”
Scotland snorted, shaking his head. “Who taught you that? I never thought I’d hear you say the word ‘laid’.”
“Nav.”
“Of course.” There were so many people in the community, but it was hard not to get to know the regulars. Trick and Nav had had their membership fully reinstated while Scotland had been there—after an apparent incident, that was.
Not my pig, not my farm. There was a reason he tried to stay out of gossip, even as much as Maddy tried to drag him back. Everyone sounded terrible in the middle of a hearsay battle, but he always tried to see the best in people. It usually worked out okay.
“Shit, he tracked me down. I’m supposed to be stocking the supply room right now. Bye.” Maddy ended the call with a click, and Scotland couldn’t help but chuckle.
Their friendship had happened by pure chance, like so many other things in his life. One minute, Scotland had been admiring Derreck’s ass, and in the next, Maddy had had a baseball bat over his shoulder and death threats on his lips.
“You look at my Dom like that and no one will ever see you again. I know exactly where to hide the body, too.”
Scotland had laughed so hard that he’d fallen off his barstool and straight onto his ass, holding his sides as his chuckles refused to abate. “I was actually wondering if he’d bury me alive if I slipped you my number.”
He could have loved a sadistic sub like Maddy in his bed, but he was even better as a friend. That, and Derreck was a pretty intimidating guy. He didn’t have to lift a finger for people to get out of his way, and he’d probably never had to raise his voice in his life.
Even with the offer to Maddy, Scotland already had his crush by then. There was only so much longing he could do without breaking down a little.
Clint had been behind the bar that day, moving his hands quickly to keep up with drink orders, and striking up a conversation with anything that moved. He was rugged, in an ‘I slept on the floor’ kind of way, with arms that displayed exactly how many cases of beer he could carry in a single trip.
One look and Scotland had been lost. He hadn’t seemed to be able to find his way since.
Chapter Three
Clint
Reaching into his pocket, Clint felt for the remote to the sound system. Shelvin had insisted that he could adjust it from his phone until Clint had pulled out his archaic flip phone. Shelvin had almost fainted. The architect was against texting, but a flip phone had been almost beyond his comprehension.
He flicked the volume down, letting out a sigh as the rock music lowered to something a little more tolerable. He loved music in any form, but with a headache, the grinding guitar was killer. And no amount of rubbing his temples seemed to help over the last few hours as the temperature in the building rose and the occupants amped up the volume.
The soundtrack of his life was like a twenty-four-seven adult video, only way, way better. His life had every sense, not just sight and sound, and he could watch a couple go from budding amateurs to pros at anything from Shibari to flogging.
Sighing, he leaned against the wall, giving in to the urge to rub at his head. He did feel a tad warm, with sweat beaded along his hairline that clung to his fingertips.
Maybe I’m coming down with something? He’d hardly ever gotten sick at the bar, but that may have been because of the slightly excessive use of vodka. Definitely the vodka.
“You okay, Clint?”
Fuck.
Maddy was driving him up the wall, and every time he asked, Clint just gritted his teeth, counting down the hours until he could do another round and park himself in the recovery room for thirty minutes or so. With the Dungeon Masters on site and domestic servant subs volunteering their time, the club almost ran itself. But Clint didn’t want to leave too much up to fate.
He’d been in the right place at the right time on too many occasions to sit back and relax. And even though kinksters were usually a friendly bunch, he’d still broken up more fights than he could count.
“I’m fine, Maddy,” said Clint, failing to keep some of the edge out of his voice. “Don’t you have someone else to worry about? It’s a headache, nothing more.”
