“And speaking of the knights and sexy encounters,” Sloane said, propping her chin on her fist and studying me through narrowed eyes. “Where did you disappear to last night?”
“Home,” I said firmly.
“By way of . . . ?” she prompted. “Come on, Kat, give. There’s no way that amazing dress failed to make an impact.”
I thought of the dress, now crunched up in my trashcan, and smiled. “It made an impact, all right.”
“Ha!” she said, her tone triumphant. “I knew it. Tell.”
Sloane, apparently, was pretty damn perceptive.
“It didn’t go exactly the way I planned,” I admitted, which was about as close to a moment of deep, girly sharing as I intended to get.
“All right,” she said slowly. “Bad end of the spectrum or good end of the spectrum?”
“Both.”
Her brows lifted. “Oh, really? Care to elaborate?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“But it was good?”
I had to laugh. “For a former cop, you don’t listen very well. Yes, it was good. I had a moment of jealousy before it was good—some woman named Michelle who says she’s seen me at Destiny wrapped herself around Cole. And then I realized that she and Cole and some guy were all caught up in the business side of things, so I pushed the jealousy down, for which I gave myself bonus points. Then Michelle left and I had some Cole time and it was . . . quite delicious,” I decided. “At least until it got strange.” I thought of the encounter earlier at the house. “And then it got delicious again.”
“Delicious is good,” Sloane said, then added, “I’ve met Michelle.”
“Yeah? So she works for them, right?”
“Sure,” she said, but she didn’t quite meet my eyes when she said it. Instead, she took a sip of her drink, then reached down the bar to snag a menu another customer had left behind. “We should order. I’m starving.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “I’ve met toddlers who are more subtle. What’s up?”
“Nothing is up. My blood sugar, however, is down. Must eat. Want to split french fries?”
“I want you to tell me whatever it is you’re not telling me.”
“Two orders of fries,” she said to the bartender. “And add in some of those stuffed mushrooms, too. Just for fun.”
“Sloane.”
“It’s no big, really.”
“People never say that when it’s true,” I pointed out. “It’s about Michelle, so just spill it. Did she and Cole used to date? Christ, are they dating now?”
“They’re definitely not dating.” Her voice was oddly firm.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, hell, Kat. I don’t know. I already told you that Cole doesn’t date. He fucks. And he’s fucking Michelle.”
“I see.” And I did see. I just wasn’t sure I liked what I saw.
“I don’t think it’s like that.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like anything other than two people who are convenient to each other. I just thought that I should tell you because despite your Fuck Buddy speech last night, I get the feeling you want more than that.”
I focused on trying to stab the cherry in my drink with a toothpick. “I’ll be honest,” I said. “I don’t know what I want. But, yeah, I think more probably comes close.”
“I’m sorry,” Sloane said.
“Don’t be. I don’t have a claim on him. And from what you just said, neither does Michelle.”
“There’s more. And it’s really none of my business, but we’re friends, and I feel like you should know what you’re getting into, because it may not be your thing.”
“All right,” I said, a little worried, a little intrigued. “Tell me.”
“Cole and Michelle—they both belong to a local club. The Firehouse. Have you heard of it?”
I nodded. “I’ve heard of it.” I’d never been there, but Flynn had gone once or twice with clients. A local BDSM club. Very high end. Very exclusive.
And very much not within my realm of experience.
“Like I said, it’s none of my business. But I do know that Cole goes there. And I know that he doesn’t date. So if you’re either looking for a relationship or if that’s not your kind of scene, you may want to back off. I love you and I love Cole, and I don’t want either one of you getting hurt.”
I nodded, acknowledging her words even as I turned the possibilities over in my head. Was that what I wanted? What I needed?
I didn’t know.
All I knew was that I was screwed up nine ways from Sunday where sex was concerned.
But this . . . this intrigued me. I didn’t know if it would help, but I did know that I was curious.
And there was no way in hell I was backing off now.
Mornings come early when you work in a coffee shop.
Since I was opening, I got to Perk Up by five, then got the brews going before I unlocked the door. Two cars were already parked outside, and the moment I flipped the lock, the drivers killed their engines and made a beeline for the shop. Less than five minutes later the drive-through was four cars deep.
Just another day in the life of our fabulous commuting culture.
The morning went by in a blur of coffee, scones, lattes, espressos, and granola-topped fruit cups. By the time I was able to finally breathe, it was past ten and time to get ready for the lunch rush.