Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Nope, was hoping I don’t piss myself when a roomful of bros see lil ole me in their midst.” I say it lightly, like I’m joking back, but it’s more truthful than I’d care to admit.
Concern fills his face instantly as he pushes off the desk to come closer. “Samantha, you’re safe here. I promise.”
I nod diplomatically even though I don’t fully believe him. He truly thinks I’m safe, but he’s never walked into a space feeling anything less than powerful and in charge of his own destiny. I’m days away from being harassed in public for simply doing business. And the guy who did it is going to be in my class.
“Welcome to The Gentlemen’s Club,” Chance says formally, taking my hand. Though the handshake is professional, his eyes smolder, reminding me that we’re already much closer than polite handshakes. “This is my partner, Evan White.”
Another man steps forward. His dark hair is side-swept loosely, his herringbone patterned suit surprisingly untraditional, and his smile charmingly inviting. But his gaze is shrewd, measuring me head to toe as well as the inches between Chance and me.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand.
Shaking his hand, I taunt, “Two big brains between you and you still couldn’t come up with a name that doesn’t sound like a strip club?”
Chance laughs outright at the comment. Evan’s lip twitches, but he doesn’t so much as crack a smile. “Would you like an official tour?”
The acerbic tone of his offer lets me know that Chance told him about my coming here already. Rule six has already been smashed to smithereens, and I’m coming in to kick the remnants away. And Evan isn’t a fan—of me or my presence in his second home.
Deciding his tip-toe through the landmine approach isn’t going to get us anywhere fast, I go full-frontal, center-mass assault. “Look, I get what you’re trying to do here. Men’s clubs aren’t inherently awful, as long as you’re not excluding women from opportunities, which doesn’t sound like what you’re doing. I support your trying to help young men become kind, successful, emotionally aware men who’ll enter relationships, professional and personal, with their eyes wide open. I’m here to help with that, if you want it. If not, I’ll go.”
Evan’s eyes have widened incrementally as I speak, his eyebrows climbing at the same time. Out of the side of his mouth, he grumbles to Chance, “Fine, you’re right. She’s perfect.”
Chance smacks Evan on the back in a bro-like move. “Told you. Now, tour?”
We start down the hallway, and I can feel the eyes on me and the whispers from the few boys already here. As we pass the weight room, I chuckle. “I feel like Wendy among the Lost Boys.”
“Thankfully, we’ve got no Tinker Bell to sabotage you,” Chance says. “And up here is one of our multipurpose rooms. We do counseling sessions here, but also, the guys can reserve it for their own usage, like if they’ve got homework they need complete silence for or if a couple of the guys are getting together. There’s a few subgroups here—a Dungeons and Dragons group, a band, and a bunch of investment guys.”
I look inside because though I saw this area when we walked the space before, that was with a fear-filled focus that somebody was going to jump out at every turn. Seeing it in the daylight, as my new workplace, is an entirely different vibe. “Nice,” I compliment, and Evan nods approvingly. I’m winning him over by degrees. “Better than the study pods on campus for sure.”
“We have a dedicated counseling room too,” Evan says. “If things go well and you’re comfortable, maybe you could do some one-on-one talks with the guys? You could choose what space you prefer.”
I smile at him thankfully. “I’d like that.” After a beat, I add, “But let’s see how today goes.”
“It’s going to be great,” Chance proclaims as if he can make it so by simply stating it into existence. “Anthony should already be setting up the room for you.”
“Part of his penance?” I assume, and when Chance flinches, I know I’m correct. “Does his parole also include getting me a Sprite? I’m afraid I’ll lose my voice talking for a whole hour, and the bubbles would probably be good for my nervous belly.”
“I’ll get you one,” Evan assures me.
Up ahead, I see an older man, his belly slightly stretching out the front of his gray polo shirt above his black pants and leather belt.
“This is Jim Delaney, our head of security,” Chance says, waving the man over. “Jim, our new part-time mentor, Samantha Redding.”
“Hmph, head of security? I’m the head, body, and legs of it. A one-man show, if ya will,” Jim says, his voice gruff and low, but he’s smiling welcomingly. “G’ta-meet-cha.” His words all run together as he extends his hand, but I get that he’s happy to meet me and smile back as we shake. “But I’mma hopin’ you got some thick skin to deal with these boys and a maybe a wooden spoon to beat ‘em upside the head. If not, you call Ol’ Jim and I’ll sort ‘em for ya. Already off to a bad start today.”