I could feel people watching me. There was a small groups of people chatting with each other. They looked comfortable, like they’d known each other for ages. Eyes kept shifting in my direction, and I felt suddenly like I had a spotlight on me.
I was the new kid in town, after all. And this time, I didn’t have Phantom as my chaperone. When he was beside me, they all accepted me implicitly. Now their stares felt loaded, like I was the new girlfriend at someone else’s family’s Thanksgiving table. Everyone wondering:is she just a tourist or is she here to stay?
I took a spot on the bench and began to scroll on my phone.Phantom, where are you?
My thought were interrupted when my bench, suddenly, sneezed.
I yelped with surprise and jumped to my feet. I hadn’t been sitting on a benchat all. What I’d thought was a bench was actually a man, a cloth draped over him, his back a perfectlystraight line. He held himself so rigid and still, I would’ve sat there all night if I hadn’t heard him sneeze.
“Holy shit!” I heard myself say. And then I realized…
Everyone was looking at me.
Wondering:is she part of the circus? Or is she just here to gawk at us animals?
If this was a test, I’d failed it.
I pivoted quickly. “Ugh,” I sighed dramatically. “What alumpybench. Does anyone know where a girl can grab a pillow…?”
A mountain of a man split off from the group and came to my rescue. He crossed the distance between us, then went over to the bench-man. “It’s better for your feet,” he said. Bench-man wore a collar, and he hooked his fingers in the collar, forcing the “bench” to crawl. Then, he sat down in the armchair, pulled the bench out in front of him, and kicked up his boots on the other man’s back. “Like this.”
I grinned. I sat down on the couch—an actual couch—across from him. “Noted. I’ll keep that in mind.”
My rescuer gave the human-bench a swat on the ass, then lowered his boots and pointed to the wall. “Go. Back to your spot.” The bench crawled back to his place, resuming position on his hands and knees. My eyes fell to the man across from me. He wasn’t bad on the eyes. About my age, all brawn, with a thick beard and hair so long it rolled down his shoulders. He was the kind of guy you’d expect driving either a motorcycle or a pirate ship. But he had kind eyes underneath that rough-and-tumble, and he’d saved me from social disaster, so I liked him already.
“You waiting on someone?” he asked.
“Sort of. But he’s late.”
“I’m sorry. For him, not you. I’d be kicking myself if I had a woman like you waiting for me.”
I laughed at that. My gaze fell to his hands. Muscled arms and large palms. Good spanking hands. My own thoughts surprised me.Is this how I see men these days?I no longer thought about those hands holding a door open for me. Now, I wondered if they could turn my ass black and blue.
I was already thinking like a Seeker.
I lifted my gaze to his face. There was something oddly familiar about his striking blue eyes, and I squinted, trying to place it. “Have we met before?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but a female voice carried through the space, cutting him off. “Are you bothering this woman?”
A woman approached us. She was petite, but striking. Even in her heels, she was short. But when she frowned at my companion, this giant, rugged man immediately caved. “Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbled. I watched as he lowered himself to the floor, kneeling beside her, and bowed his head.
That’s when I recognized him. I snapped my fingers. “Oh! Doorman! Last time I saw you, you were checking coats at the door.”
The woman took his spot on the armchair. “Oh, yeah, Zero got into trouble. I gave him coat duty as punishment. You’re really good at getting yourself into trouble, aren’t you, bad boy?”
She ran her fingers through his long hair, reached in deep, and gripped tight, forcing his head back. He grimaced, the column of his throat working as he swallowed. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry.”
She sucked air between her teeth. Then she smiled at me, as though the two of us shared some private joke. “Men. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” She released her grip on his hair and he exhaled a sigh of relief.
She was gorgeous, I decided. Late thirties, maybe, with dark raven hair cut to her shoulders interrupted by a single, striking stripe of white that framed her doll-face.
I was in love with their energy.
“Tell me about it,” I replied. “I think mine just stood me up.”
“Who’s your sub?”
“Oh, no. I’m the submissive.”
