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in my dream.”
    He laughed lightly and we started walking toward a back door. “What did it smell like in your dream?”
    “Patchouli,” I admitted. “And I have no idea why.”
    “You think we’re dirty hippies?”
    “Apparently,” I answered. “But now I know the truth.”
    “And that would be?”
    “You’re all dirty gym socks.”
    He laughed again. I loved the sound and I was amazed he found me so funny. And, he was still holding onto my hand. It was warm and lightly calloused, and I liked it. A lot. He was a total gentleman too, pushing open and holding the doors. But just outside this outer door, he let go of my hand held up a finger. He backed me up a little bit, and looked at the door. He took a giant step at it, and using all of his forward force, planted a kick near the handle. The whole door shuttered and shook and slammed into place. He pressed a finger to the handle and there was a quiet ‘click’.
    I laughed. “Really?”
    “Yeah, Quentin’s too cheap to replace it since we all know how to lock it.”
    “I think Franz needs to have a talk with Quentin about maintaining his club,” I offered. He looked a little surprised I said it, and I shrugged. “You know I work there, why hide it.”
    He pointed at a car and beeped the alarm. I looked to find an Audi A7. Sleek and silver, the machine was everything I didn’t picture someone from Silver Soul driving. “You like?”
    “Holy moly...” I said. “Yeah, I do. But...”
    “But?”
    “It’s not what I imagined you driving.”
    “Well, we’ve already discovered that you think the dressing room should smell like dirty hippies,” he said. “What should I be driving?”
    “A beater,” I answered. “A very classy high end beater. Like a Mercedes or a BMW.”
    “A high end beater,” he pondered. “That’s a classic oxymoron.”
    “It is,” I agreed. “But you seem to be falling into that classic oxymoron hole.”
    “You know, I think you just cleverly insulted me,” he said.
    “Perhaps I did,” I smiled.
    “For that, we’re going to Denny’s.” He turned the engine over. “Well, that, and it’s the only place I can think of aside from McDonald’s that’s open past midnight.”

Chapter 4
    ––––––––
    “S o, you really do work at Imperial?” Nick asked.
    I gestured with my pancake. “Yes, but I’m just a bartender.”
    “You mean with all that kinky stuff around you, you only work the bar. Ever.”
    “Yup,” I said.
    “You never experimented?”
    “Where did I say that?” I asked, and blinked at him sweetly. If Nick had been wearing glasses, he would have peered at me over them. “Well, you asked.”
    “You are a fascinating woman,” he said. “Tell me about it?”
    “About what?” I gasped.
    “About the guys,” he said. “I know how the sex part works. Why aren’t you in the lifestyle?”
    “Because I don’t have the need,” I said. “I don’t feel like I need to be a Dom or a sub.” I picked up a piece of pancake and stared at it. “And if anything I’d have to be a Domme.” I popped the food in my mouth and got exactly the reaction I wanted out of Nick: his eyes bugged, and then he laughed nervously.
    “Why is that?”
    “Because the whole reason my first relationship in the lifestyle ended was that I was entirely too independent for my Sir.” I shrugged. “He and I sat down and talked it out, and now we’re friends and it’s all perfectly fine with both of us.”
    “You said first,” he said, waving the fork at me.
    I cleared my throat. “Taylor. There’s still two years on his restraining order.” Nick looked shocked with the bacon half way into his mouth. “And just think, that was the attempt at the Domme relationship.”
    He chewed quickly. “Really? What happened?”
    I sighed. Taylor. God, that was such a nightmare. “It started out as a bedroom-only D/s, and by week six, he was trying to push me into a Master/slave arrangement.” I twisted my lip. “He