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Rainer checked his watch for what felt like the millionth time this morning. Esme had gone to meet a good friend of hers, but was already fifteen minutes late in returning to his place.
She’ll be fine. She probably just left it too late to get the subway. She’s probably just enjoying spending time with her friend.
Rainer kept running over probable scenarios in his head, but he couldn’t help feeling a sense of creeping dread.
Images of Esme, walking through New York, lost and scared, haunted him. He checked his watch again. She was seventeen minutes late now. He kept pacing around the kitchen. The lunch he’d prepared sat on the counter — bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon, fresh green salad with vinaigrette, and a pot full of herbal tea.
In the short time they’d been together, Rainer had become quite an accomplished cook. He’d taken to reading recipe websites while he was meant to be working. It was important to him that Esme received delicious, nutritionally-balanced meals.
But maybe she didn’t care about that.
Maybe Esme’s friend had convinced her not to go back. Maybe he’d got things completely wrong and she just wasn’t interested in him at all.
“Calm down, Rainer. Calm the fuck down.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this worried about anything. The feeling took him by surprise. He knew that he cared for Esme, but this was a different level. Such a vulnerable, raw feeling.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
To take his mind off the worry, he whipped out his phone and texted Baron.
Bro, would you punish a Little who’s late for a date?
The reply came within seconds, almost as if Baron had been waiting for him.
A spank for each minute she’s late, no question. You planning any campaigning for your Presidency bid?
In truth, Rainer had barely thought about the fact that he was running for President of the Drifters. All his thoughts had been consumed by helping Esme.
Nope. People know who I am. If they prefer me to Dog, that’s great. If they don’t, so be it. It’s got to be club’s decision.
He was trying to take a leaf from Esme’s book by seeing what fate would serve. At the same time, he felt pretty sure that people would choose him over Dog. At least, he hoped that they would.
Baron sent another message.
Hmm. Dog is really going for it. Heard rumors he’s smearing you.
Rainer scowled at his phone.
Let him fucking try. No one likes a shit-talker. I know the club.
He hoped that he had the right policy for this. It felt right to him — Marcus had picked him. It hadn’t been his choice to run. Now he wanted to see if the rest of the club would pick him too, for who he was, not for some fake-ass leadership campaign. He’d see.
Just then, there was a very guilty-sounding knock at the door.
Thank fuck.
Rainer stormed to the front door, feeling a bizarre mixture of anger and relief. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to react when he saw Esme.
He pulled open the door. “What time do you call this, young lady?”
She looked up at him with the guiltiest, naughtiest expression on her face. “Oh? Am I late?”
Rainer knew that instant that she’d done it on purpose.
“Sweetheart,” he said, more seriously than he’d been expecting, “you worried me sick.”
Instantly, the naughty half-smile dropped away from her face. “I have?”
