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Kenzie’s traitorous bestie, Addison, shook with laughter and grabbed Paige’s arm as though she might collapse from the hilarity of it all. “Uh… Surprise? Welcome to Protocol.” Addison reminded her of her sister Bea; she was the light to Kenzie’s dark, headstrong, beautiful, and lived for the smug satisfaction of being right.
“So this is why I’m dressed like I’m performing at a burlesque show.” Kenzie tugged at the hem of her studded leather skirt. It barely covered her ass cheeks. And while she wasn’t a prude, she also didn’t think the whole world needed to see her booty. “This is the last time I follow y’all blindly into the unknown. No more ride-or-die. I’m done with you bitches.” She waved her hand at them. “When I get home I’m finding new best friends on Craigslist.”
Her friends’ giggles continued as she made her way to the bar. Her heart pounded in her ears and pulsed in her temples as she attempted to take in the bustling crowd clad from head to toe in leather and PVC, trying desperately not to stare too hard, or seem too out of place.
“Bitches.”
The French Maid raised her eyebrows as a wave of heat flashed across Kenzie’s cheeks. “Not y’all. Y’all aren’t bitches. They…” She pointed over her shoulder. “They are the bitches.”
French Maid and Corset-and-Collar picked up their drinks and fled out of sight before Kenzie could suck in another breath to explain any further. She didn’t blame them, she was acting a little odd and needed to calm the fuck down. While she wasn’t generally someone to yuck someone’s yum, as a former Sunday school attending, pageant girl from Pearland, Texas, she was most certainly in over her head.
Her body-hugging purple corset with black lace trim grew tighter as three men in dress pants and pressed shirts walked by her. “How come they didn’t have to wear pleather skirts that barely cover their butt crack?”
The giant, bartender with a brown man-bun to her right, laughed. “You didn’t either. Can I get you anything?” He placed a black, square drink napkin with an emblem printed in silver and the word ‘Protocol’ above it, on the shiny black bar top in front of her. It looked like a yin yang symbol with three of the darker, yin shapes. She traced her fingers over the three "arms" curving out from the center and merging with an encompassing circle.
“Yes sir. New best friends?” She groaned, dropping her forehead to the back of her hands on the cool surface.
“We don’t serve those here. At least not behind the bar. But I could provide you with a delicious beverage that might take the edge off. Who knows, maybe your new best friend is out there waiting.” He jerked his stubble-encased chin at the space behind her. “Give it a chance. I get that it can be intimidating, but you passed the first hurdle of getting in the door and not peeing yourself or running away screaming.”
She pointed her index finger at him as someone bumped her from behind with a muttered apology. “You don’t know that I haven’t peed myself. And maybe I haven’t yet bolted because my legs don’t work anymore ‘cause I’m frozen in place. Have you considered that… Thor?”
His broad shoulders shook as he laughed. “I get that a lot.”
“Must be because you look like a Viking.”
He winced and covered his heart. “I always thought it was because I look like a god.”
She rolled her eyes. Another bartender, seemingly half the size of the giant and in every way his polar opposite appeared and patted Thor’s expansive chest. “He likes to think that. Thor, Melissa called in sick. It’s just you and me tonight, your god-ship.” The second bartender’s lip rings glinted in the light as he grinned and the much narrower man, with wild short red hair bowed at Thor and smiled at Kenzie.
He made his way past Thor to the far end of the bar where he took orders from the three men in dress pants without a notepad. She envied people who could keep everything in their head. There wasn’t a day that went by when her to-do lists didn’t sprout to-do lists just to keep her on the path to successful adulting.
She narrowed her eyes. “Is your nickname really Thor?”
The giant with almost inhuman blue eyes shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I’m the real Thor of Asgard and I’m here to protect you from all the PVC and kinky fuckery that’s afoot behind you with my massive hammer. Maybe I really am the God of Thunder.” He waggled his eyebrows and pointed behind her. “Ask anyone, they’ll corroborate my identity.”
In her haste to get to the bar, and cover her behind with a high-backed barstool, she hadn’t truly stopped to take in her surroundings. She’d glanced around and panicked at her instant overwhelm. She wasn’t sure she was ready to look at what was behind her, no matter how curious she might have felt. She groaned and her head thudded against the bar. “Ugh.”
“I’d ask if it was your first time, but you have this blinding neon sign right above your head. It’s kinda distracting.”
She sat up as he leaned on his forearms in front of her. “What can I get you, sugar?”
“Three margaritas. Espolon if you have it. Salt rims.”
“She likes her rims good and salty.” Paige snorted as she and Addison joined Kenzie at the bar.
The corner of his lips twitched.
“What?”
“Most clubs with play are dry spaces.” He grabbed a glass from the rack overhead.
“Sometimes they are BYOB. We have timekeepers and dungeon monitors to ensure that anyone in the play spaces is not under the influence. It becomes risky for consent as well as activities that require coordination. As a general rule, most believe that there is no space for alcohol or drugs in the kink community during play, or introductions, for safety reasons. A common mantra at the places that do have a serving option is 'kink then drink'. We are not one of those places.”
“No tequila?”
He shook his head. “’fraid not.”
“I hate you both.” She flipped her friends the bird.
