Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Cora. How you been, kiddo?” I haven’t seen him in a few days, and he acts like he’s missed me.
Something inside me warms despite the whole kiddo thing.
“Good. Working my ass off at school and stuff. The usual,” I say, and he gives me a sympathetic nod. “Zoe here tonight?”
“Nah. She’s got an overnight shift. I saw Diana and Beatrice head in a little while ago, though. I think Giada, too.” He rolls his eyes. “Not like anyone can tell, though.” He looks over his shoulder to make sure no one hears him. “Stupidest idea ever, to have a masquerade party like we’re some kinda fuckin’ sorority.”
I groan. I totally forgot tonight was Masquerade night at Verge. I’m told they don’t do holiday parties, but their competition apparently does, so this year Verge has decided to begin occasional themed nights.
“So people are wearing masks and stuff?” I ask him. It’s not uncommon for people who go to sex clubs to wear masks, but somehow knowing most people will be makes me a little uneasy.
“You could say that,” he says, but then he turns to face a couple entering behind me, so I wave good-bye and head into the club.
Club Verge is large and sprawling, clean and well lit. Current club owners, husband and wife, Tobias and Diana Creed, make sure to keep Verge classy by vetting members and enforcing strict adherence to basic rules. It helps that the most prominent members and dungeon monitors are long-term members of Verge, and several are officers for the NYPD.
Right beyond the entryway sits Tobias’ office to my right, and to the left, a lobby outfitted with comfortable furniture and paperwork. Contracts and the like are available for members to negotiate terms of play before they enter. It’s not required, as some are long-term couples and others are just here to observe, but new partners looking to scene are encouraged to lay down the ground rules before they begin. Tonight, though, the lobby is vacant.
Beyond the lobby is the entrance to the main bar area, and my place of business. The doorway opens to a massive floor. The gleaming bar with bar stools and bright overhead lighting that makes the glasses sparkle sits to the left, and to the right are small, round tables for members to sit together. Beyond that lies the pool tables and dance floor. This is the fun part, and where I spend most of my time, as people party and mingle and socialize. Just beyond this room, though, lies the area of Club Verge that piques my interest. I just haven’t been brave enough to venture there beyond my initial brief tour.
Down the hall is the dungeon… with every BDSM accoutrement one could hope for. And down the hall from the dungeon are all the private rooms for long-term members. The doors are color-coded and locked. I’ve never seen one, though they interest me.
That’s where the real fun happens. Or so I imagine.
I wouldn’t know.
I… hear things. See things.
And hell, I want to know more. But who has time for things like relationships? I’m a full-time college student and legal guardian to my younger brother and sister. And God, if Child Protective Services ever heard that I was involved in a kinky scene in a club, I can’t imagine what they’d do with that. It’s much safer for me here at the bar.
So much safer.
I place my bag in a locker in the small employee room near Tobias’ office. I eye the vending machines with envy, my stomach aching with hunger. That muffin seems like a long, long time ago.
I bite my lip. The cash in my pocket weighs heavily. It isn’t much, but hell I need it. Figures we live in one of the most expensive cities ever. We pay twice as much for basic groceries than the national average. I feel a little dizzy when I turn away from the machine and put on one of the clean aprons that hangs on a hook. We serve warmed mixed nuts at the bar, and employees are free to help themselves. That’ll tide me over.
I enter the bar area and can’t help but smile. Travis, who hails from Texas, stands at the bar dressed in full cowboy attire. He shoots me a boyish grin and tips his hat to me when I take my place behind the bar.
“Howdy,” I say with a snicker. He’s wearing worn leather jeans, a wide leather belt with one of those massive oval metal buckles, cowboy boots, a bandana or something tied around his neck, and a large, tan-colored Stetson.
“Howdy, purdy lady,” he says. I groan.
“You hit your older brother up for some…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Gitup?”
I giggle when he swats at me with a dishtowel.
“Supposed to be fancy dress night,” he drawls, shaking his head at me. “You didn’t get the memo?”