Page 15 of How May I Please You

“You stayed in the same house all of that time until recently. Wow. I get it, man. I really do. Again, I apologize for being offensive. No harm intended.”

“It’s fine,” I answer, trying to move on, but we spend the next fifteen minutes in silence as we finish our food and head out.

Once we’re back at the precinct, Marty shakes my hand and apologizes one final time before leaving Journey and I to talk without him. We stand in front of my truck, both us with the same exasperated look on our faces.

“Well, that was a fucking nightmare,” Journey says. “This is why we said we wouldn't be seen together around my job. I thought we were going to have to hide another body for a minute there, which wouldn't have bothered me.”

“Wouldn't have bothered you?” I snip, still feeling tight about the conversation. “All I wanted to do was surprise you for lunch, but if another one of your partners dies, you're definitely going to be the main suspect.”

“Yeah, you're probably right … but I’m still glad you came. It was great to have lunch with you, Sir. Don't worry about Summers. He’s an idiot who doesn't know any better. I told you he was annoying.”

“That you did, and somehow it was still an understatement. But I don't want to do anything that could cause problems for you at work, so I hope everything is cool.”

“He’ll be fine,” Journey says. “All that guy does is smile all day. I’m the one who has to plaster on a happy face while that fucker annoys me from the start of the day to the finish.”

“I’m sure that’s hard as hell.”

“You have no fucking idea.”

“Well, how about this?” I say, reaching out and taking her soft hand in mine. The touch of her skin instantly makes me feel better. “It’s Friday, which means we’re both off tomorrow. How about we go out and have some fun to make up for how fucked up lunch was?”

“Ooh, you have my attention,” Journey says. “It’s going to take something incredible to scrub this near disaster from my memory. So, what did you have in mind?”

I smile as I hear the words in my head first, then say them out loud. “I’m thinking we go back to where it all started for us. Let’s go to The Black Collar.”

chapter

eleven

Walking across the street toward The Black Collar feels like approaching a family reunion. Giddiness rises up in my chest and I smile involuntarily. To people like Journey and me, this place is nirvana; a judgment-free zone where like-minded people gather to be who they truly are. There is no need to wear a mask once you're within these walls, and outside of my own home, I’ve never felt more comfortable than what I do when I’m here. It has been far too long, and my body vibrates with delight the closer I get to the building.

As usual, the line to get inside is long and filled with people who probably won’t get in for one reason or another. Most of them haven't filled out the online questionnaire that is required, or they’ve been banned for being creepy assholes but they think enough time has gone by that their transgression has been forgotten. It hasn’t, but most of them won’t know that until they reach the front of the line.

My beloved Little Devil is shrouded in all-black tonight—a black dress that hugs her curves enough to make me jealous of the fabric, with black heels that make her ass even more mouth-watering. Her hair is in tight curls that bounce behind her back as she walks, and her makeup is flawless as usual. The woman is a walking wet dream I never want to wake from, and all I can do is try to look halfway decent while walking next to her. I stride over the pavement in dark gray slacks and a black button-up with silver buttons and matching cufflinks. We’re a combination of sexy and sultry as we step onto the curb and cut in front of the line to approach the bouncer.

“Evan Godric and Journey Monroe,” I say to him while interlocking my fingers with Journey’s.

The oversized bouncer looks down at the tablet in his large hands and enters our names, glancing over the top of it while he awaits the results. As soon as he sees what he needs to, he nods and grabs the thick black rope in front of us, granting us access.

“You guys are good to go,” he says, placing red wristbands on us both before stepping to the side. “Welcome back.”

Journey and I grin as we step past the rope, but before we can make it through the door, we hear commotion behind us that grabs our attention.

“Hey, what the fuck? Why are you letting them in and not me?” A random guy asks the bouncer with much more attitude than he should have when speaking to a man that size.

The bouncer glares at the guy, who’s dressed in blue jeans and a white Polo shirt. “Look, bro, you're not on the list. It’s not my fault you didn't fill out the form online and your friends did.”

“I forgot!” the guy barks. “You can't just make me stand out here while you let these assholes in, and my friends are already inside having a good time. This is bullshit.”

I suppose there are too many witnesses to beat a man until his face caves in.

Shaking my head, I chuckle as I grip Journey’s hand tighter and lead her through the doors.

The inside of The Black Collar makes my chest fill with glee. The slow, sexy music sways the room to its hypnotic beat, pounding the black walls with each kick of the heavy drums. Flashing strobe lights illuminate the sea of scantily clad people living their best lives as we walk down the hall toward the bar, passing rooms filled with the sounds of cracking whips, slapping paddles, and tantalizing moans of agony and pleasure.

“Fuck,” Journey says, her face lighting up like the strobes above us. “God I missed this place.”

“You and me both, Baby Girl,” I agree. “We definitely have to start coming here more often. It’s been way too long.”

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