Page 587 of Hell Hath No Fury
“I don’t know, she’s a pretty risqué woman herself. It’d take a whole hell of a lot to drop her jaw.”
“Even better,” he says.
“What are we going to see?”
He tsks. “Now that would ruin the surprise and since I’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot, I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “You seem to be doing just fine on your own.” His chuckle makes me squirm on the couch, my legs rubbing against each other as if it’ll help burn off the nervous energy pulsing in my veins. “What about you? Did you always want to be a doctor?”
His sigh is long this time, weighted. “Some days I don’t even remember why.”
“Hard, I imagine.”
“It can be.”
“I don’t know if I could handle that kind of pressure.”
“I don’t know,” he says, “I couldn’t imagine being on the stage in front of hundreds of people.”
“Totally not the same thing. No one’s life depends on me.”
Liquid splashes into his glass and the bottle thumps down on the table. “Don’t devalue yourself like that. People need entertainment just as much as medicine. I can heal them, bandage their wounds, prescribe them medicine, but I can’t make them smile like you. Make them laugh.”
His words steal the breath straight from my lungs. Out of all the pieces of advice, words of encouragement, and doling out of sympathy, no one had made me feel quite as good as the comments from a complete stranger.
“Thank you,” I say, when I manage to steady my voice enough to respond. “That means a lot to me.”
“No matter what you say, going out to follow your dreams is never a mistake and you have more guts than most people for setting out on your own to make them come true.”
Blushing and grateful he can’t see it, I say, “You’re changing the subject.”
“Caught,” he says without shame. He pauses, then adds, “How about this? I’ll let you ask as many questions as you want when I see you on Saturday. Does that work for you?”
“You may end up regretting this,” I warn.
“Not a chance,” he says, causing my lips to spread into a smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I’ve been many people.
A queen. A lover. A daughter. A prostitute.
Even with all the costumes, makeup, and masks I’ve worn, no amount of stage time or acting lessons could have prepared me for the cascade of fear and uncertainty that rush over me as I pull up to the nondescript building where The Sanctum is located.
I never would have expected a BDSM dungeon to be located on a relatively normal-looking street. The brick building looks like many others surrounding it, right down to the wrought iron balconies and New Orleans style lamps lining the front face. The only oddity is the single front door and the lack of windows on the first two floors.
Guiding my car down the road to find a parking spot nearby, my stomach tangled in knots, I wonder if I’m making a huge mistake.
Again.
I wish I were the type of person I projected to people. Confidence is easy to emulate and so much harder to actually believe yourself. Nevertheless, I choke back my indecision, fueled by blatant curiosity and growing need.
Like recognizes like. Hadn’t Tally mentioned something similar?
Is that why I am so drawn to the idea of this club and the experiences I may have here?
I pull into the parking spot with damp hands clutched on the steering wheel. Feeling rushes back to them as I release the wheel and grab my bag. There wasn’t a dress code that I’m awareof, but even so, I wish there was. It would have been a million times easier if they’d given me guidelines, rules. Even as an artist, I can respect rules in this sense, but aside from “Keep your mouth shut”, the card doesn’t list any other requirements.
