Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 132657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“You seem different than the other guys who work here,” Jack said, leaning against the brick wall.
That was good for his soul. Not so great for his cover. Still, he wasn’t about to freak out because that might cause more questions. So he posed one of his own. “How so?”
Jack’s green eyes stared his way as though he was trying to figure out how much to say. There were times when the young man seemed a little older, a bit smarter than he pretended to be, but that might help him in the long run. “You care more than the others. The other monitors would have booted her without any help. They would have been upset she was causing a scene and have her hauled out. They wouldn’t have made sure the dude who drank too much had a buddy who could get him home.”
“That was a good call, by the way.” Jack had been the one to cut the guy off. It hadn’t gone well. “I think he was about to pass out, but not before he did some damage. You were right to refuse to serve him.”
“I’m not supposed to, you know.” Jack sighed. “I already got a lecture about how as long as the card is processing, I should keep pouring.”
“I’ll talk to them,” Jensen promised, though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He might be able to sway management if he could convince them they would get more attention than they wanted if something bad happened. A lawsuit would get eyes on the club, and that was the last thing they wanted.
“And that is why I say you’re different,” Jack pointed out. “It’s weird. No one else here seems to care what happens on the dungeon floor. I have to wonder if other clubs are like this. If you tell anyone I said this I’ll call you a liar, but when I did a bunch of research, I have to admit the philosophy behind this lifestyle kind of called to me.”
Jensen shook his head. He felt for the kid since he was in the same position. The philosophy—communication, asking for what a participant wanted, taking sexuality seriously—called to him, too. But he wouldn’t find that here. “This isn’t a real club. You were right when you called it a tourist place. You need to think of this as a nightclub with a sex theme. There’s no real philosophy here.”
“But a nightclub doesn’t have…” Jack stopped and sighed. “I was about to say women don’t get smacked up at a nightclub, but we both know that’s not true. I wouldn’t use that word if it was a real club since consent would be at the heart of every interaction, but they let drunk people play.”
At The Hideout you can do one or the other. Drink hard or play hard. Trust me. There are times when you need to get wasted and hang with your friends, but that’s why we put the bar on the second level and toward the back. To delineate the space. And there’s always someone ready to set you on your ass if you get out of line. That’s what family does.
He wanted to be part of that family. Harlow’s carefully culled club family sounded perfect to a man who lost everyone except one friend. He wanted to sit in that bar and take care of her if she needed to shut her brain off for a little while, help his friends out because they counted on him.
“A real club restricts alcohol or any substance that makes consent questionable. If you’re interested in the lifestyle, there are a couple of places you could check out,” Jensen offered. It fucking felt good to be helpful. So often lately all he felt was how he was dragging other people into his hell.
“Really? There are actual clubs here?” Jack asked, his brow rising.
He looked so young and earnest. He reminded him of his brother, so clearly he couldn’t help himself. “Yes. They’re quiet though. They don’t have a website or social media, but they’re there. You should check out a place called The Hideout.”
Jack went still as though listening carefully. “The Hideout. I like the sound of that. Makes me think of a bunch of childhood friends starting a club. Damn. That makes me miss my hometown.”
“Where are you from?” He wasn’t sure why, but he was interested. Or maybe he did know. Maybe he needed to form some kind of connection. Any kind.
“A small town outside of Austin,” Jack explained. “I grew up on a ranch, and let me tell you, when you’re from a ranching family, you get close to your siblings and your friends. You end up needing them to help out. A lot. My parents had blood family, but their friends were family, too. I learned a lot from them.”