“Big word,” I teased.
“You were always so to the letter of things in school.” Asha worked her jaw back and forth, studying me like I was made of bricks and mortar myself. “Have you finally started to loosen up?”
“Hey!” I lifted my hands in offense, even playful. “I’m loose.”
“You are the opposite of loose,” she countered. “You’re like your oldest brother trapped in the body of a twenty-five year-old.”
“I’m almost twenty-six.”
“Even worse!” She threw her head back and laughed, curling her fingers around the edge of the table before leaning forward conspiratorially. “What are you doing tonight, Smith?”
I swallowed hard, not daring to admit to her my plans had been to go home and read design magazines until it was impossible for me to keep my eyes open.
“Hadn’t thought about it,” I lied, voice cracking.
“Do you want to come out tonight?” Asha checked the time on her phone, swiping through the screen and keying out a text message.
“Where?” I asked.
“Jacob and I were going to a club in Pasadena,” she said. “Very cool place. Great architecture and the people there are veryopen-minded.”
I twisted my mouth up at the corner, narrowing my eyes at her. “What do you mean open-minded? Is it like a swingers club or something?”
“Jesus.” Her cheeks flushed. “Polyamory and swinging in the same conversation? What have you done with Smith Covington.”
“I’m the same as I’ve always been, Asha,” I whispered, realizing for the first time there was so much inside of me I kept hidden, so many things and wants and interests that I buried deep because I was scared of what it would mean to give them air. My attraction to men being one of those things, but being with Lincoln had cracked the top right off of that can of worms.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But no, it’s not a swingers club.”
“What is it then?”
Her eyes twinkled. “It’s a BDSM club, Smith. It’s called Rapture.”
CHAPTER 2
RIGGS
“If I haven’t told you lately, I fucking hate you!” Damon, my best friend, seethed at me.
I lifted the tattoo machine away from his kneecap and leaned back with a smile.
“Just the white and I’m done,” I promised.
“I don’t want highlights.” He dropped his head against the back of the chair and screwed his eyes shut. “Let it live in shadows.”
Itwas a flaming skull with diamonds for eyes, and it had taken four hours for me to blast the design onto Damon’s kneecap. He was swollen, miserable, and hating life. But me? I didn’t feel a thing.
“Two minutes,” I assured him, dipping the needle into some white ink and giving the pedal a tap with the toe of my boot. “You can make it for two more minutes, can’t you?”
“Don’t condescend to me like I’m one of your pretty little submissives.” Damon covered his face with his hands. “Just do it.”
“There’s nothing pretty about you,” I said, hunching over to lay the final highlights into Damon’s knee.
It took me less than two minutes, and he didn’t even thank me for being quick. He also didn’t thank me for not dry rubbing the blood and ink off his knee, but I’d let it slide. I rinsed Damon’s tattoo and cleaned his knee, bandaged him up and slid my stool out of the way so he could stand. He made a valiant effort before collapsing back into the chair.
“You’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”
“No,” he grumbled. “But I’m not sure how I’m going to get home.”
