Is that smart? Did you tell your Owners? Where are you now?
I’d told everyone in our group chat that I was probably going out there today with Ash and my husband, and Noa had been thefirst to mention he got off work at three PM and wanted to see me. Kit was gonna be there too. Camden was in Nashville, Corey was out in Winchester, and Gael had work.
Noa responded.
Im at home. Or I was. I just left for the bus. I wanna c if his balls r as big when hes not behind a screen. Youre coming out later right?
“Dammit,” I whispered.
I didn’t know the protocol here. Did I support my friend, or did I tell someone? Should I text Kit? He was supposedly at the house already. Did I message Master Lucian? He was a Founder of the community, so you didn’t need to be friends with him online in order to send a DM. Or should I text Ash?
I ran a hand through my hair and caught a glimpse of my reflection, halting my movement.
Don’t be such a coward.
Funny how easy it was to be brave when you risked nothing.
I hated this part of me. Especially since I wasn’t afraid by nature in other aspects of my life. I was even confident. I was outgoing and social.
Drive out to House Mclean.
Your car key is right there in the bowl.
You changed out of your jammies.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
I snarled to myself, grabbed my keys, and stalked out before I could change my mind.
Time to text James that I was heading out there on my own.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up!”
Or don’t. That was also a choice, I guessed.
I tossed the phone next to me before making a turn. I was almost in Mclean, and so far, nobody had picked up the damn phone! I’d called James, I’d called Ash, I’d called Noa, and I’d even called Kit. People didn’t freaking know how far outside my comfort zone I was with this nonsense. I didn’t like being on the phone with people I loved; calling online friends I’d never met in person was close to torture!
My worry here wasn’t the risk of Noa getting into a fight. It was about the people not liking me. The Brat Squad and Ash’s friends, that was. Not the fucking troll. I’d happily assist Noa in a fight against that dipshit.
I’d struggled to make friends my whole life. Always for the same reason. I was too shy in the beginning. I knew logically—and from experience—that once I got past that hurdle, everything was fine. But I couldn’t stomach rejection well, and the few times relationships and friendships hadn’t worked out, it’d almost crushed me.
I eyed the GPS and felt my stomach tighten with nerves and unease. Four minutes until I was at my destination. Four freaking minutes.
Had I dressed okay? I’d never been to a kink mansion before. I’d pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but what if they required latex and leather?
At least it was my brat tee. Plain black with bold white lettering. All caps, of course.
BRAT.
Because it deserved to be shouted from the rooftops.
Releasing an unsteady breath, I made another turn and saw the ticker go down to three minutes.
James better get me four cookies after this!
Just when I thought I couldn’t get more nervous, I was suddenly facing my last turn, and it was down a dirt road lined with trees and shrubs. I swallowed hard. This was it. At the endof the road, I’d see House Mclean. The big, three-story, black-painted Victorian building I’d seen online.
Here goes.
