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ChapterEleven
“Can I get you another drink?” The same dark-haired guy asked when she wandered back to the bar.
“No thanks,” she replied with an easy smile. “I’ve got a scene booked and I don’t want to be peeing all night.”
The words popped out of her mouth, and she cringed as she said them, but it was too late to take them back. Hell, maybe she was suddenly a little too chilled. It was the bartender’s fault, she decided. His good looks and attentive manner made her forget herself.
But instead of horror a completely wicked look entered his dark, dark eyes. “This is a kink club,” he said with a wink. “There are people here who would take that statement and run with it.”
Beth felt her face flame at the implication and had to look away from the glint of laughter in his expression, which took his usually serious face from handsome to stunning.
The man was making her seriously hot under her non-existent collar, despite being a few years younger than she was, even if he was hinting at golden showers.
Beth wasn’t going to judge, everybody to their own was particularly true of the kink world; but anything to do with watersports was on her hard limit list and that’s where it was going to stay.
The club was filling up, but the bar remained pretty quiet, which was why she’d chosen to meet her ‘dates’ here.
Since there was a two-drink limit on alcohol for anyone who was scening, and table service for all, most people chose to find somewhere comfortable to sit, and the only people at the bar were the employees.
“I still don’t quite understand how you keep tabs on how much people are drinking,” Beth commented to the bartender when he came to check on her for a second time a bit later on. It was sweet of him, but Beth didn’t have an issue with sitting alone. Sometimes her own company was preferable to some of the losers who struck up a conversation with her back home, thinking the fat chick must be desperate for some action and therefore a sure thing.
“It’s not as difficult as it seems,” he admitted as he stood before her, polishing a glass in the lull.
Beth had to make a deliberate effort to drag her eyes away from the sight of his tanned forearms where they flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves. His hands were scrupulously clean with short, blunt nails and she couldn’t help wondering if they’d have the same assuredness when they caressed a woman’s skin. What was it about a man’s hands and arms that made them so damn hot? And what was it with her suddenly eyeing up all the younger men? Was she going through some kind of age crisis now she’d hit her thirtieth birthday?
“None of them are that much younger,” she muttered under her breath. “Only a couple of years. It’s not like they’re kids.”
“What was that?” her companion asked.
Oh, I, um…” Beth waved her hands, flustered. “Do you not have trouble with those, um, a bit younger in years. You know, kids trying to beat the system?”
The bartender - she suddenly noticed he had a name tag saying ‘Sawyer’, now she wasn’t ogling his ass or fantasizing about his hands - continued, and she concluded, thankfully, that he hadn’t heard her mumbled comments.
“Not really,” he replied readily. “The majority of our clientele is over twenty-five and those that take the lifestyle seriously aren’t interested in breaking the rules. They all understand that kink and alcohol don’t mix and ninety-nine percent of them prefer to get that buzz from the scene, rather than a bottle.”
Beth pursed her lips and considered his words. “Hmm, I guess that makes sense.”
“Besides,” he continued. “The consequences aren’t worth the risk. Anyone who’s caught trying to deliberately dodge the system is removed immediately and banned for life. The owners have a zero-tolerance attitude when it comes to that.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Beth replied, just as a slim, cocky looking man, who looked vaguely familiar, approached the bar.
“Hey dude,” he whisper-shouted. “Do us a solid and pour us three jack and cokes will ya.”
Sawyer’s lips thinned and Beth could feel the tension in him as he studied the guy who appeared to be in his early twenties.
“You’ve already had your two. I thought you were scening this evening,” he asked carefully. “Or am I mistaken?”
“Yeah, but we’re fucking some fat, old bitch tonight. Gonna need to dull the senses, man.”
Beth looked away in disgust and quietly swiveled her barstool in the opposite direction, so her back was towards him, before her mouth got her into trouble. But she could still see his reflection in the mirrored wall that stretched along the entire length of the bar behind the opticals.
She pitied the poor woman who was here with this pathetic piece of shit. Whoever she was, Beth was pretty certain it wouldn’t be hard to do better. The guy was a douche but probably not as useful.
“Sorry, rules are rules,” Sawyer told him in no uncertain terms.
Beth was pretty sure he’d been pre-loading and had already had more than his two-drink allowance because the guy didn’t seem to know when to quit. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he told Sawyer with an exaggerated wink. “Just like I did for your buddy last night.”
From her vantage point, Beth saw Sawyer’s broad back go rigid. He was obviously pissed and the fact that he respected the lifestyle enough not to be bribed made her like him all the more.
