Page 41
“Hey, Timothy,” I greeted as he circled the bar to stow his coat in the staff locker room.
“Hi, Henry! Back in a second,” he called as he slipped out of sight.
When he came back out, he sidled up to me where I stood near the point-of-sale computer. I handed him the schedule I’d printed before we opened. “No changes tonight. The most dangerous demonstration will be run by yours truly, as you can see there.”
Each demonstration got a potential danger rating Ben and I had created with Timothy’s input based on a variety of factors, including how much experience the participants had in kink, the familiarity the participants had with each other both in this context and outside of it, the level of difficulty the demonstration type presented, and the kink itself. I had a sensory session with wax play and cock and ball torture, or CBT, planned with Carter, so despite our experience with each other, the nature of the kink made things dicey. I knew Timothy would double-check the implements to be used—like whips, paddles, and the specially made candles designed for wax play—but I wanted him to be fully aware of everything up front so nothing was missed.
Safety was always first here. People always came first.
“Good.” I watched him scan the page, observant eyes taking it all in. “Okay, great. Looks pretty straightforward.” He grinned. “Zander and Joey again, huh?”
I smirked. “They’re a crowd favorite, and they love to do it. They missed their calling as actors, I think.”
Timothy laughed, one from deep in his belly. “You may be right. Even I have to admit I love watching those two onstage. They have something special.”
I grinned my agreement, drying off a glass I’d just washed.
“Okay, Henry, thanks. I’ll kick us off right at ten.”
I waved as he made his way out from behind the bar, the colored lights shining off his bald head. “Thanks, man!”
He chuckled as he walked off, probably to check in on the guys getting ready for their demonstrations. I had a room in the back that served as a dressing room as well as a place for aftercare. I’d put a disproportionate amount of money into that room particularly, decking it out with not only a long counter with a lighted vanity mirror that stretched half the length of the side wall but also a long couch, two cozy but sturdy armchairs, a soft king-sized bed and matching nightstands, its own washroom complete with a large shower, and a well-stocked kitchenette, not to mention a cabinet of over-the-counter medications and a first aid kit, just in case. I wanted the people who performed here to have everything they needed to recover comfortably, safely, and enjoyably.
Before long, I heard Timothy kicking off Kink Night with his usual spiel. I smiled to myself as I poured and served drinks alongside Ryden, relishing the atmosphere that seemed to invade this place every week. I was infinitely proud of the community we’d built here, a safe space for queer folx to dance the night away and indulge their fantasies, at least a bit.
Just as the shibari session was wrapping up—I knew Timothy had safety scissors on hand when our rope bunnies showed up, but thankfully, he hadn’t ever had to use them—I saw Cameron sauntering over to the bar. As I was pouring a beer for one of our regulars, he called out for a rum and coke above the dance music we played between demonstrations. I nodded his way to acknowledge his order, and we made small talk for a bit as I was finishing up with the draft.
Cameron turned away to watch the dancers as I made his drink. I eyed him intermittently, sensing something was going on with him. I’d seen him and Tris in what appeared to be a serious conversation not too long ago. Maybe something to do with whatever he was dealing with that made him skip Kink Night a few weeks back, when I was Tristan’s Daddy for a night.
The thought made my chest squeeze painfully, and I winced as I finished up Cameron’s cocktail, but when I glanced up to find him, he’d turned white and was frozen in place, staring at the dance floor.
“Cameron, you okay?”
He spun around at my voice, but he was still much too pale, and he swayed a little on his feet.
I threw my arms out toward him despite the fact I could never reach him over this wide bar. “Whoa, sit down, man,” I commanded, praying he’d listen. I didn’t care about the possible liability headache of someone passing out in my bar—I just needed Cameron to be okay.
Thankfully, the man I’d handed a beer to a second ago stood so Cameron could sit down. I quickly poured a cold water and slid it across the lacquered bar top to my dream boy’s best friend.
I waited until Cameron’d had some water and calmed down a bit. “Everything okay?”
He nodded, still staring into space. I wondered what had shaken him so badly. “Yes, I just . . . I saw someone I know.”
Oh. I flashed a half grin. “Someone you like?”
He smiled right back, the color finally returning to his face. “Maybe.”
I caught a patron waving me down for another draft beer. I quickly poured it, winking at Cameron as I did, then delivered it with a smile. When I stepped back in front of Cameron, the water was gone. “Good luck with that, man,” I offered, continuing our conversation. “You deserve it.”
Grabbing the rum and coke I’d stashed for him behind the counter, I swapped it with the empty water glass then eyed him.
“You good?”
He nodded, thanking me as he hopped off the stool and sauntered away, drink in hand. I watched him for a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t unsteady on his feet, and he seemed to be okay, so I went back to serving the busy bar.
A few minutes later, between songs, I heard a raised voice over the din of the crowd. Scanning the dance floor, I spotted the offender, a blond-haired cocky type who was so pretty it almost hurt to look at him. Given the way he was acting, he’d probably never heard “no” in his life.
My stomach sank when I spotted who was involved in the altercation: an attractive, dark-haired man I’d seen a few times around here but hadn’t caught his name and—shit. Cameron.
