Things that would be better than being on this date, Liv Foster thought as she stared across the high-boy bar table at her so-called perfect match, Jerry. A popcorn kernel stuck between my teeth…finding a snake in my car…a pelvic exam... She took a sip of her Prosecco, hoping the bubbles would make her feel better as the guy continued to complain about the hour-long wait for a table.
“…This really is unacceptable. I mean, it’s not even that busy in here,” he said, running his hand over his short black hair. He was attractive enough, although it was clear that the picture on his online dating profile was at least ten years old. Maybe more. She’d thought they were a few years apart in age, but she suspected it was more like ten or fifteen. “I just hate incompetence, don’t you?”
Liv eyeballed the guy. You know, the one who hadn’t bothered to make a reservation at a swanky new restaurant located in a hotel just two blocks from the baseball stadium on a Friday night before a Baltimore Orioles game. It took everything she had not to roll her eyes. “Yeah, I really do.”
He huffed out a breath and shook his head, then started stretching and turning in his seat like he was looking for their waitress. In the thirty minutes they’d already waited, the two of them had apparently exhausted every small talk conversation of which he was capable. Jobs—she was a florist and he was an architect. The weather—sure had been a hot summer! Siblings—neither had any, so that was a short topic. Prior relationships—Liv hadn’t offered any gory details—though she had them in spades, whereas she almost felt like she knew Jerry’s ex, Angela, personally.
“So, what are you going to order?” Jerry asked.
Liv tilted her head. “Uh, well, I don’t know yet. I haven’t seen their menu.”
He pulled a face. “I don’t use menus.”
“You…what? How does that work?” she asked with a little laugh. Was he joking? She honestly couldn’t tell.
He shrugged. “I don’t use menus.”
In her mind’s eye, she pictured her childhood golden retriever, Howie, tilting his head. Then tilting it even more. She was seriously channeling some Howie just then. “But…how do you know what you want to order?”
He waved a hand around at the restaurant as if it were self-evident. “It’s a steakhouse. They have steak.”
“Oh. Uh. Right.” The waitress’s appearance saved Liv from trying to come up with a better response. Right in that moment, she thought she almost would’ve given anything to turn back time to when she and Caleb were still happy. When they were looking forward to their wedding, their honeymoon, and their life together beyond all the celebrations. But she was beyond wishing for something that could never be—especially when she deserved so much better. Besides, too much of what she’d thought she’d had with Caleb hadn’t been real, had it? And she never wanted to go back to that. Not ever again.
But, man. Jerry. Jerry was too freaking real. And Liv was still deserving better. But she was stuck on this ride at least until she’d choked down the last bite of her steak.
“Can I get you another round of drinks?” their waitress asked.
“Can we just eat here in the bar?” Jerry asked. “This wait is ridiculous.”
“Oh, sure. Of course,” the young woman said, pasting on a smile. Working in customer service, Liv knew what it took to deal with assholes like Jerry. And being three years single and back on the dating market, she was starting to know what it was like to date them, too. “I’ll grab you menus.”
He put a hand on the woman’s arm. “That won’t be necessary. We don’t need menus. I’ll just order for us.”
Liv wondered if her expression appeared as stunned as the waitress’s, especially when the woman stepped out of Jerry’s grasp and looked at Liv as if to ask if this was okay.
No. Definitely, totally not okay. “Actually,” Liv said, trying to keep her irritation in check. Because dang if breaking that be nice habit wasn’t hard as heck. “I—”
“I’ll have the ten-ounce Kobe filet mignon and she’ll have the six-ounce Kobe filet. Both medium well with loaded baked potatoes and asparagus.” He stared at the waitress.
The waitress shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have Kobe beef. We have an excellent local provider of American beef, and we have Wagyu.”
“That’s okay,” Liv said. “I prefer ribeye anyway. Medium rare.”
“Ribeye is too fatty,” Jerry said, looking at her like she was a child who’d disappointed him before his gaze returned to the hapless woman standing beside their table. “And I’d like to speak to your manager. Because what kind of steakhouse doesn’t have Kobe beef?”
“I’ll get her for you right away,” the woman said, nearly running from them. Liv couldn’t blame her.
The silence that followed was thick with tension, and Liv almost couldn’t decide if she’d hallucinated what’d happened or if this first date was truly just that bad. Jerry wouldn’t make eye contact and, instead, peered down at his cell phone beneath the table. So she took the opportunity to survey the diners sitting at the horseshoe-shaped bar near them in the hopes she’d see someone, anyone, she knew. God, please give me a way to escape Mr. I Don’t Use Menus. But God had clearly forsaken her, because the party of three women having a girls’ night out were strangers. As were the various groupings of men, some of whom wore Orioles gear and watched the pre-game commentary on the captioned television screens above the bar. An elderly man she didn’t know sat alone nearest to their high-boy table nursing a glass of bourbon, and two seats down from him…sat the hottest man Liv had ever seen.
And that was her impression just from seeing him in profile.
He had dark blond hair and a chiseled jaw, and even sitting, it was clear that he was tall. Seriously broad shoulders filled out a dark green button-down shirt, and big hands gripped a glass of water. Now God was just being mean. Because someone was going to get to be with that man tonight while she was stuck here with Jerry of the I Don’t Use Menus clan. As she watched, not-Jerry pressed his cell phone to his ear and began talking in tones too low for her to hear.
On a sigh, Liv returned her attention to Jerry. Not that it mattered, because his gaze remained fixed on his phone. She drained the rest of her Prosecco and wished someone would bring her the bottle. That wouldn’t be too awkward for a first date, right? Right?
“How are you folks this evening?” a new woman asked as she stepped to their table. “I’m Ms. Sanderson, the manager.”
“Well, Ms. Sanderson, we’ve been better,” Jerry said, launching right into a tirade. “We wanted the Kobe filets.”
The manager produced two menus from behind her back like she’d been hiding a present. “I’m happy to recommend some other—”
Jerry blocked the large leather folio from hitting the table. “I don’t use menus.”
It took Ms. Sanderson a moment to recover, but you could hardly blame her. She glanced at Liv like Liv might impose some sanity on the situation, but the sanity ship seemed to have sailed on this date. “Well, sir, that’s really the best way to see what we serve—”
You don’t say, Liv thought, pressing her fingers to her lips to smother the smile that threatened.
“Why are you making this so hard?” Jerry asked. “It’s a steakhouse. I want your best steak.”
“Very good,” the manager said with a seemingly sincere smile. “We have several cuts of Wagyu. If you haven’t had it before, I highly recommend it.”
Red streaks climbed up Jerry’s throat and face. “Wagyu is ridiculously expensive, and this is only a first date,” he huffed.
“You know what?” Liv said, pushing her chair back before she’d really thought about it. “Whatever you order for me will be fine. I just need to use the restroom.”
She’d never run from a restaurant table so fast in her life. Now the question was whether she could run from the restaurant itself. Or, at least, how long she could hide in the bathroom. Or, possibly, whether she ever had to come out at all.
* * * *
Wolf Henrikson watched the sexy stranger flee her table like it was the Titanic and the bathroom was the last available lifeboat. And he couldn’t say that he blamed her. He hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop on the couple’s conversation; it was only that every time the man spoke to anyone from the restaurant’s staff, he shouted like he wanted to make the scene he was in fact making.
What the hell was the cute brunette doing with such an asshole anyway? The few times he’d looked around to see if his dinner companion had arrived, he’d noticed the woman sitting not too far away—and she’d made him do a double take every time. Between her glossy chocolate waves, the bright red paint on her bow-tie lips, and the vintage-style red dress with the plunging neckline and the full knee-length skirt, she had the sex appeal of a pinup girl. He couldn’t help wondering if she wore garters and thigh-highs beneath that skirt.
Wolf almost regretted that he no longer had any reason to stay at the bar because the scene playing out at the nearby table was like a train wreck he couldn’t stop watching. And, oh, he did enjoy watching. People were just so fucking interesting, even when they were off their damn rockers.
But the prospective submissive he’d been planning to meet—in public, at her request—had just called to let him know she’d gotten cold feet. He respected the honesty. The BDSM lifestyle wasn’t for everyone, and it wasn’t something he recommended anyone explore frivolously. But the change in plans left him at loose ends.
Actually, that feeling was a constant presence in his blood these days. Restlessness. Boredom. Dissatisfaction without really being able to pinpoint why.
In anticipation of the meeting, he’d only had water, but he dropped a few dollars on the bar anyway, then pushed off the stool and made for the restrooms at the back. Blasphemy would be hopping soon, and even though he wasn’t scheduled to work a shift, he could no doubt find a willing partner to play with there. Though he was one of the twelve Master Dominants and a one-twelfth owner of the city’s most exclusive BDSM club, Wolf’s particular kink didn’t require all the equipment and special rooms that some did. Really, voyeurism and exhibitionism could be enjoyed anywhere. Which was kinda the point.
As long as he could watch, or knew others were watching, or was with someone who got off on being watched, he was all kinds of good.
Or, at least, he used to be. Something had been missing for him in all of it lately, leaving him wondering whether his role in Blasphemy still made the most sense—for him and his partners. A number of the other Masters had found women to love and to collar, and even to marry. They were committed to the club because it was central to their lives and their relationships. For years, being a part of the scene there had been important to Wolf, giving him a safe place to play and meet likeminded women. But lately, he wasn’t getting the same thrill, the same satisfaction out of it. And it left him feeling like a bit of a fraud. Because the Masters of Blasphemy should be all in. The club and its patrons deserved no less.
On a distracted sigh, Wolf stepped into the narrow hallway that led to the restrooms and nearly bowled someone over. “Damn, I’m sorry,” he said, grasping the woman’s arms to keep from knocking her down. Momentum made it so that he nearly flattened her against the wall, and he got a lungful of a flowery scent from her hair. He prepared for the smackdown his carelessness deserved, but instead what he got was laughter. Full-on, deep belly, throw-your-head-back laughter.
From the sexy pinup girl with the atrocious taste in dinner partners.
“Just…just…an accident,” she gasped between bouts of laughter she tried but failed to restrain. “That full body contact with you…will probably end up being the highlight of my night. Trust me.”
Wolf grinned as he took in her meaning. He wasn’t sure which he appreciated more—her humor, her easy-going nature, or the compliment. Or that dress. Because seeing it up close, damn. The V-neckline emphasized the swells of her breasts, and the full, flaring skirt emphasized a narrow waist over satisfyingly full hips.
“That bad?” he asked.
“Oh, mister. The worst. Like, the God’s honest worst. And my friend can’t rescue me.” She rolled her eyes. “So clearly she’s fired and I need to hire a new bestie first thing Monday morning.”
His grin grew. “From what I overheard, I think you’re fully within your rights.”
She chuckled. “I didn’t even know not using menus was a thing. I mean, who does that?”
“Literally no one does that,” he said, enjoying her playful manner. She had an interesting face, expressive and a little dramatic. He wondered what she looked like when—
Nope. He couldn’t let himself finish that thought. Not unless he wanted her to see exactly how much she appealed to him. And given how her night was going, he doubted that.
“Right? Just my luck. I’m gonna have to cancel my matchmaking service, too. Clearly.” She sagged a little against the brick wall, almost like he’d pinned her there. Or commanded her to hold her position. Trying to rein in his lust for her, he dropped his gaze to the floor, but her calves were like artwork perched on a ridiculously sexy pair of strappy black heels with satin ribbon that tied at the ankles.
Wolf’s mind exploded with ideas of things he’d do to her—or have her do for him—if they’d come to this place together. If she’d been into the same things he was. If she was his. He licked his lips and shook the thoughts away. He didn’t often play with people outside Blasphemy because voyeurism and BDSM were more than most vanilla people could deal with. Admittedly, telling someone that you wanted to fuck them in public where other people could see didn’t easily create a good first impression.
“Sounds like your Monday is going to be busy,” he managed.
She chuckled. “I think you’re right.” She heaved a sigh. “Well, thanks for making my night a little better.”
He tilted his head and considered, and then the words were out of his mouth before he’d decided if they were a good idea. “I could save you, if you wanted.”
“Aw,” she said, peering up at him with striking, bright turquoise eyes. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has said to me in a really long damn time. But I guess it would be rude.”
“Yeah?” he said, a surprised at how disappointed he was. But her openness and honesty in this short conversation piqued his interest and made him wonder what else she might be open to.
“Yeah,” she said, also sounding more than a little disappointed.
Which officially intrigued Wolf, because she was interested even if she thought she shouldn’t be, given the disastrous date waiting for her. So he held out his hand and threw her a lifeline anyway. Given how he’d been feeling lately, what did he have to lose? “I’m Wolf. I’ll be at the bar. Change your mind, just give me a signal.”
Her eyes went wide as she slid her hand into his. “Liv. Olivia. And I…don’t know what to say.”
Wolf leaned down until he could look her eye to eye. Testing her. Observing her. Commanding her. “Say ‘thank you, Wolf.’”
When the words finally came, they were a little breathless. “Thank you, Wolf.” But she remained pinned to the wall.
Breathing in her floral scent, he waited a moment before he said or did another thing, just to see what she’d do. And all she did was keep her eyes on him. Which was exactly what he’d wanted. Finally, he gave her a wink and then a single nod toward the bar. Only then did she move. With one longing, last glance back, she left the hallway.
And hello, excitement…
Which was the moment Wolf knew he wasn’t leaving this restaurant without her.