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The grand and spacious room was decorated the way a Victorian parlor would have been, with a lush carpet, antique lamps and five large, round tables for the customers to play a game or sit and drink with each other. There was a bar to the left where I could see Jacob pouring a drink and a huge fireplace on the right wall beside the door to the kitchen. Ahead of us, across the room, a half-circle platform jutted from the wall, with a settee off to one side and a movable screen on the other, and a window at the corner that was covered with red velvet drapes. At multiple times over the course of an evening shift, we would get up and perform impromptu skits, tell bawdy jokes or sing scandalous songs for the men, to much applause and the lifting of glasses.
“There you are,” Robin said, giving us a look over and practically salivating at the sight of Patrick in his outfit. “Can you train him? I’m up to my tits in needy men tonight.”
“Sure,” I said.
I led the way to a group of men playing at cards by the massive fireplace.
“Good evening, gents. What’s the game tonight?” I asked.
“Toby!” The black-haired man greeted me. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“And why is that, Mr. Youngblood?” I asked, before turning to whisper to Patrick. “Never use their first names, even if they use yours.”
“Oh, you know how it is,” Mr. Youngblood said, blushing as he cleared his throat.
“He likes the way your ass looks in the bloomers,” another man at the table said as he put a card face down in front of him. “But who doesn’t?”
The other men gave their agreement, and I grinned.
“Well, shucks. You know I love to show it off.”
I turned and displayed it, pleased to have all gazes directed to that prime real estate.
Mr. Youngblood made a noise in his throat. “Fuck. This hands-off policy Moriarty has going on is fucking torture. I just want to…want to—”
“Now, now,” I said, with amusement, “what would your husband say?”
The man sitting beside Mr. Youngblood threw back his head below the antique lamp that hung from the high ceiling, and cackled with glee. His name was Mr. Youngblood, too.
“Look… I can’t blame Michael. I can barely controlmyself,” he admitted.
I gave them a slow and seductive smile, wondering how nice it would be to be sandwiched between them in their luxurious bed in the Glebe. “Now, now, that’s enough of that. I need to concentrate on doing my job.”
“What, to look pretty and fuckable? You’re doing just fine on that front,” said the other Mr. Youngblood.Lawrence. We knew everyone’s first names, of course. We just weren’t allowed to use them.
I turned and pressed my hand into Patrick’s lower back, urging him forward. He almost tripped but gave the Youngbloods a shy smile.
“Curtsey,” I whispered, keeping the smile on my face.
Patrick’s gaze flew to mine in alarm, but then he turned back to the Youngbloods and attempted a very amateur curtsey. At least he knew what a curtsey was.
“This is our new server, Patrick. He’s learning the ropes tonight.” I knew they’d take that and run with it.
“Hello, Patrick,” Lawrence said.
“We’ve got a real nice set of ropes back at our place,” Michael Youngblood said, his gaze roaming over Patrick like he wanted to see him bound, gagged and strung upside down in his living room.
“Michael, you’ll scare the poor thing. He looks terrified,” Lawrence admonished, putting down his cards. “Toby, can we get some peanuts, please? It’s been ages since we had supper.”
“Of course, Mr. Youngblood. Look after Patrick while I’m gone, will you?”
“Yes, yes. We’ll be on our best behavior.”
Patrick looked as if he wanted to punch me, but I merely smiled and winked. “Back soon.”
It was best to leave the new staff on their own right away, if you asked me. I had no doubt the Youngbloods and the other two men at the table—a Mr. Solomon and a Dr. Agabwe—would help Patrick feel more comfortable. They were longstanding members of Maverick Molly’s and, although they would joke about inappropriate things, they’d behave themselves.
Jacob was on the bar tonight, and he eyed me suspiciously as I lifted the trap and joined him, grabbing a stoneware bowl from under the counter. He was an imposing black man, with an impish face that belied his stern disposition. Sebastian was the more easygoing of the two.
