John put his phone away, distracting himself by making small talk with his driver. The man was named Jorge, and John would place him in his fifties or older. He spent the majority of the ride lecturing John about Lyft and Uber and how much better they were than taxis.
“Here we are,” the driver said, pulling over and completing the ride on his app. John looked out the window and frowned. He’d been expecting to be met with a line of people, but the side street on which the entrance to Club Thorn was located was practically empty.
Checking the map on his phone he confirmed he was at the right place.
“Thanks, Jorge,” John said, opening the door and exiting the Toyota. Jorge pulled away as soon as the door was closed, off to find his next passenger.
John looked up at the building in front of him, a large three story red brick structure lacking any windows facing the street with an almost sinister aura hanging over it, and frowned. As far as John could see the building had just one entrance from this side of the street—a huge black door at the top of a narrow staircase that looked like it lead into the second floor—and before he could psych himself out he made his way up the staircase to stand in front of the door.
There was a small sign that read Club Thorn next to the door, but the place didn’t look like any kind of club that John had ever been to.
Trying the door, John was almost surprised when it swung open. He stared into a dimly lit foyer, dark hardwood floors and fancy crown moldings at odds with the building’s plain outward appearance. At the end of the foyer there was a wide reception, a muscular man wearing head to toe leather looking at John with a raised eyebrow.
John stepped through the door and let it close behind him, feeling supremely awkward.
Cory hadn’t said he was taking him to a fucking fetish club.
“Can I help you?” the man asked. His voice was darker than John had expected, with a pronounced southern accent that John couldn’t place.
“I…” John trailed off, words failing him at the sight of the muscular man staring back at him expectantly.
How did Cory even know that he might be curious about this stuff? It wasn’t something they’d ever discussed. Was he that transparent? The thought made him blush.
“Come over here.” The words were a command, and John found himself obeying before even giving it a second thought.
The man’s lip curled up in a slight smirk. “Do you have an invitation?” he asked.
John was about to shake his head no when he wondered if maybe that was wrong. Had Cory even known that the club was invite only?
“I’m not sure,” he said after a pause, his voice coming out an octave higher than its usual register.
The man merely lifted his eyebrow.
“I was supposed to come here with my friend, Cory, but then he had to take an extra shift at the hospital and I figured why not just go by myself. I didn’t realize that it wasn’t just a…” John wasn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence without being offensive.
“A regular club?” the man provided. He looked amused.
“Yeah, that,” John said. He hadn’t been this flustered and lost for words since he was sixteen and had accidentally walked in on a narcotics anonymous meeting instead of his mother’s church group—not realizing until he started talking to a girl his own age that he was in the wrong place.
The man in front of him was much hotter than anyone in that meeting had been, however. He was about the same height as John, maybe half an inch shorter, but he had to outweigh him by at least thirty pounds of pure muscle.
“And what is your name?” the man asked, turning his attention to the laptop sitting on the counter in front of him.
“John,” John supplied, swallowing nervously as the muscular leatherman typed his name into the computer.
The man shook his head. “I don’t see you on the list. Your friend—if he’s a member—must have been planning to bring you as his plus one. I’m sorry.”
John felt embarrassed. He shrugged, putting his hands in his coat pockets and clenching his fists.
“Thanks for checking. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
John was about to turn around when the man spoke again.
“Sir.” The word was spoken firmly, but not like he was addressing John. It sounded like a reprimand.
“What?” John asked, licking his lips. The man across the counter gave him a steely stare.
“When you address people in this building, you call themsir. Or am I reading you all wrong?”
