“It was the only time I ever moved out and had to do my own laundry, but totally worth it. Can’t exactly bring girls home when Mama is waiting on me with a nightcap. Unless, of course, you know, she’s met them during daylight hours and given her approval. She doesn’t like loose women.”
I glance around the room, almost expecting someone to jump out of the corner and yell,Surprise! You’ve been Punk’d!But this guy isn’t joking.
“Interesting,” I repeat, for lack of anything else to say to him.
I want, more than anything, to blurt out something likeI like sex clubs, but that’s not something I can say while I’m sitting in my place of work. Or ... maybe I can and he’ll freak out and run home to Mama?
“How do you feel about BDSM?” I ask.
He stiffens and his eyes widen. He looks so shocked, I’m afraid a few of his remaining strands of hair might fall right out of his head.
“Who told you?”
Oh Jesus fucking Christ. You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Who told me what?” The question comes naturally, but I regret it immediately.
“That I like to be ... kept. Locked up.” His gaze drops to his lap. “You know,caged. Until my Mistress lets me out to play.”
The buzzer goes off, and I praise everything that is holy.
He offers a card to me. “Give me a call. I’d love to talk more about our mutual interests.”
I smile but can’t make myself nod, even for politeness’ sake.
Another man sits down across from me and smiles with blinding-white teeth. The kind of teeth you see in toothpaste commercials. They must be veneers. They’re just as perfect as his expertly cut blond hair, symmetrical brown eyes, and Windsor-knotted tie.
He offers a hand, and I shake it as he introduces himself. “John Trout. Local cosmetic dentist. I have two golden retrievers. In my free time, I enjoy jogging, history, decaf coffee, and Volvos.”
“Nice to meet you, John. Decaf coffee and Volvos ... quite the rock-star lifestyle you lead.”
“I like being up front. If you’re looking for drama, unpredictability, and wild times, I’m not your guy.”
“Okay.”
His gaze drops to my name tag. “Temperance. You sound perfect for me, just based on your name. My therapist would approve. Do you come here often?”
I’m not sure if he’s trying to be funny or if he’s trying to flirt, but I laugh. “I work here, actually.”
His expression falls. “I’m afraid we’re ill matched, then. I’m in AA. I can’t have a wife who works at a whiskey distillery.”
“Wife? Slow down, turbo.”
“I don’t do turbos. Too risky,” John says with a shake of his head. “Even for Volvos, which are generally very safe.”
We make the most awkward small talk in the history of small talk until the buzzer sounds again.
He stands. “Before I forget, if you ever quit this sinful business and want to look me up, here’s my card. I’ve included a picture of my penis on the back for compatibility purposes.”
My jaw goes slack, and I wait for him to start laughing. He doesn’t. Instead, he places the card in my hand and moves on to the next table.
I drop the card on the table with a shudder and it lands wrong side up.
He wasn’t joking. I throw up in my mouth a little bit as I swipe the card off the table and shove it in my pocket. I’ll have to remember to burn it later.
There are some things you just can’t unsee.
“You okay?”