“They’re definitely not dating.” Her voice was oddly firm.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, hell, Kat. I don’t know. I already told you that Cole doesn’t date. He fucks. And he’s fucking Michelle.”
“I see.” And I did see. I just wasn’t sure I liked what I saw.
“I don’t think it’s like that.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like anything other than two people who are convenient to each other. I just thought that I should tell you because despite your Fuck Buddy speech last night, I get the feeling you want more than that.”
I focused on trying to stab the cherry in my drink with a toothpick. “I’ll be honest,” I said. “I don’t know what I want. But, yeah, I think more probably comes close.”
“I’m sorry,” Sloane said.
“Don’t be. I don’t have a claim on him. And from what you just said, neither does Michelle.”
“There’s more. And it’s really none of my business, but we’re friends, and I feel like you should know what you’re getting into, because it may not be your thing.”
“All right,” I said, a little worried, a little intrigued. “Tell me.”
“Cole and Michelle—they both belong to a local club. The Firehouse. Have you heard of it?”
I nodded. “I’ve heard of it.” I’d never been there, but Flynn had gone once or twice with clients. A local BDSM club. Very high end. Very exclusive.
And very much not within my realm of experience.
“Like I said, it’s none of my business. But I do know that Cole goes there. And I know that he doesn’t date. So if you’re either looking for a relationship or if that’s not your kind of scene, you may want to back off. I love you and I love Cole, and I don’t want either one of you getting hurt.”
I nodded, acknowledging her words even as I turned the possibilities over in my head. Was that what I wanted? What I needed?
I didn’t know.
All I knew was that I was screwed up nine ways from Sunday where sex was concerned.
But this . . . this intrigued me. I didn’t know if it would help, but I did know that I was curious.
And there was no way in hell I was backing off now.
Mornings come early when you work in a coffee shop.
Since I was opening, I got to Perk Up by five, then got the brews going before I unlocked the door. Two cars were already parked outside, and the moment I flipped the lock, the drivers killed their engines and made a beeline for the shop. Less than five minutes later the drive-through was four cars deep.
Just another day in the life of our fabulous commuting culture.
The morning went by in a blur of coffee, scones, lattes, espressos, and granola-topped fruit cups. By the time I was able to finally breathe, it was past ten and time to get ready for the lunch rush.
The only thing that worked out well was that I didn’t have any time to think or angst or otherwise fret about Cole.
I told myself that was a good thing, but the moment I had the space to breathe, he filled my head again.
“Take your break,” Glenn, the manager, said to me. “And if you take it outside, clear the tables on your way back in.”
I nodded, then dumped a gallon of cream in my coffee to cool it off quickly, grabbed yesterday’s paper from the break room, and headed outside to the patio. The heat was almost unbearable, but I liked it.
My life had been a series of financial peaks and valleys, and all too often we would hit the valleys in the winter. Since my father’s favorite money-saving trick was to pile on the covers and ignore the radiators, I spent a lot of winters beneath old quilts and fleece blankets. And despite what I told my dad, my fingers and toes were always chilled, and the cold would spread right through my bones.