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“Hey, Griffin,” Isaac said, running his brown hand over his short black hair. “You were busy out there tonight.”
Griffin nodded, his gaze running over the screens and taking in the crowd’s vibe. Getting a feel for the energy on the floor. “Hey, man. Saturday night. You know.”
“Yup,” Isaac said, checking his phone.
Smiling, Griffin slid into at chair. “We still on Willow Watch?”
Isaac chuckled. “Every damn minute. I’m going outta my mind.” Isaac’s wife, a woman he’d met here at Blasphemy, was due to deliver their first baby any day now, which was amazing. Though it didn’t escape Griffin’s realization that Isaac starting a family and commitment-phobic Kyler collaring a submissive were both very likely contributing to the restlessness he’d been feeling. As if the other men were both mirrors that revealed all the things Griffin wanted but didn’t have.
“Why don’t you get someone to cover you and leave early then?
Isaac cut a sideways glance at him. “Because she’d probably kick my ass for driving her crazy. I offered to stay home but she encouraged me to go to work.” He used air quotes around ‘encouraged’.
Griffin couldn’t help but laugh. “Who’s the Dom in your relationship again?”
While flipping him off, Isaac laughed, too. “Yeah. Tell me about it. I never thought I’d be this nervous and of course she’s fine. But I can’t control any of this and it’s fucking...agitating.”
Still chuckling, Griffin pushed out of the chair and clapped Isaac on the shoulder. “I think it’s pretty much going to be like that for the next eighteen years, my man.”
“Jesus, I know.” Isaac scrubbed at his face.
At the man’s right arm sat a monitor listing the players out on Blasphemy’s floor, and Griffin’s gaze scanned the scrolling list of names. Given all the private, hidden spaces where people could play, the club needed to keep an accurate head count of who had checked in each night. The list only included members’ first names, however, as privacy and information security were key concerns of the exclusive clientele here. Only Isaac, who’d designed their security systems, and Master Hale, the billionaire businessman who owned a majority interest in the club but rarely played anymore, had access to all the members’ profile information. The rest of them were on a need-to-know basis.
“You see Tara’s name yet?” Griffin asked. He’d been manning new member registration, but existing members entered through a neighboring though private reception area.
“Yeah. She’s been here a little while,” Isaac said.
Griffin nodded. “Thanks. I’ll head out then. Keep me posted on Willow.” He turned away, but something new popped up on the screen and snagged his attention.
Kenna (unattached submissive)
If someone told Griffin that, just at that very moment, the earth had stopped turning around the sun and the disruption of gravity and centripetal force and whateverthefuck else was why he felt like he’d body-slammed a wall, he wouldn’t have been surprised. That’s how fundamentally seeing that name on the screen of Blasphemy’s players affected him.
He finally had to shake his head to try to snap out of the shock of it.
It couldn’t be his Kenna, could it? Well, not his. Obviously. But not Kenna Sloane, either.
Five years ago, he’d rejected her when she told him she loved him and expressed an interest in turning their frequent playing into a more committed relationship, and so she’d cut all ties and moved away. That was all he knew. Her cell phone number had changed. Her apartment had been leased to someone new—he’d gone and checked maybe three weeks later, when he first realized he’d made the wrong call. And though she’d mentioned a sister a few times, Griffin hadn’t known what her last name was or how to find her. So after all that, why would Kenna be here now?
She wouldn’t. The name wasn’t that unusual, was it?
No. Thinking anything else was just wishful. And pointless.
Because what Griffin wouldn’t do for a second chance—
“You okay, man?”
