If I didn’t want to strangle Jeff before, I do now. I can’t believe I’ve had to sit through nearly a dozen speed dates because he wanted me as a captive audience for five minutes.

I dodged his requests for a real date during our time, but I know it won’t deter him forever. That, I’ll need Keira’s help with, because she apparently gave him the idea we’d be great together.

A new guy sits down at the table and looks at me with hopeful eyes.

I wish I could just tell him not gonna happen and then we could both eat Odile’s appetizers for five minutes rather than engage in pointless small talk.

“I’ve never seen you around any of the chamber events before,” he says. “I’d definitely remember you.”

“I don’t have time to get out to these things very often,” I reply with a tight smile. “I work all the time.”

“I know how that goes. My mom is constantly getting after me about not spending so much time at the office.”

“You’re close with your mom?” I ask, because oh Lord, you’re a mama’s boy doesn’t seem polite.

“I live with her. It’s so much easier. That way I don’t have to do my own laundry or cook or clean. No one can press my shorts like Mama can.”

“Uhhh.” I release a sound from my throat that doesn’t quite sound like a word, but he keeps going.

“And her chocolate beignets? Like nothing you’ve ever tasted. You want to come over and meet her? She puts on a great spread for guests. She’d really love having some company this year.”

There’s a lump in my throat, and I’m ninety-nine percent certain I’m going to choke due to shock. I cough twice.

“You okay?”

I nod and reach for my water. He waits expectantly for me to finish coughing.

The awkward silence grows, and I finally speak to fill it. “What’s your name again? I missed it when you sat down.” His name tag has a scrawl that looks like it starts with C. Carl, maybe?

“Crabs.”

This time I do choke. “Excuse me?” I blink back tears from my watering eyes. “Your name is Crabs?”

“Nickname. From college. It stuck. I just go with it.”

“That’s . . . interesting.” I’m not sure what else to say to Crabs.

“It was the only time I ever moved out and had to do my own laundry, but totally worth it. Can’t exactly bring girls home when Mama is waiting on me with a nightcap. Unless, of course, you know, she’s met them during daylight hours and given her approval. She doesn’t like loose women.”

I glance around the room, almost expecting someone to jump out of the corner and yell, Surprise! You’ve been Punk’d! But this guy isn’t joking.

“Interesting,” I repeat, for lack of anything else to say to him.

I want, more than anything, to blurt out something like I like sex clubs, but that’s not something I can say while I’m sitting in my place of work. Or . . . maybe I can and he’ll freak out and run home to Mama?

“How do you feel about BDSM?” I ask.

He stiffens and his eyes widen. He looks so shocked, I’m afraid a few of his remaining strands of hair might fall right out of his head.

“Who told you?”

Oh Jesus fucking Christ. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Who told me what?” The question comes naturally, but I regret it immediately.

“That I like to be . . . kept. Locked up.” His gaze drops to his lap. “You know, caged. Until my Mistress lets me out to play.”

The buzzer goes off, and I praise everything that is holy.

He offers a card to me. “Give me a call. I’d love to talk more about our mutual interests.”

I smile but can’t make myself nod, even for politeness’ sake.

Another man sits down across from me and smiles with blinding-white teeth. The kind of teeth you see in toothpaste commercials. They must be veneers. They’re just as perfect as his expertly cut blond hair, symmetrical brown eyes, and Windsor-knotted tie.

He offers a hand, and I shake it as he introduces himself. “John Trout. Local cosmetic dentist. I have two golden retrievers. In my free time, I enjoy jogging, history, decaf coffee, and Volvos.”

“Nice to meet you, John. Decaf coffee and Volvos . . . quite the rock-star lifestyle you lead.”

“I like being up front. If you’re looking for drama, unpredictability, and wild times, I’m not your guy.”

“Okay.”

His gaze drops to my name tag. “Temperance. You sound perfect for me, just based on your name. My therapist would approve. Do you come here often?”

I’m not sure if he’s trying to be funny or if he’s trying to flirt, but I laugh. “I work here, actually.”

His expression falls. “I’m afraid we’re ill matched, then. I’m in AA. I can’t have a wife who works at a whiskey distillery.”

“Wife? Slow down, turbo.”

“I don’t do turbos. Too risky,” John says with a shake of his head. “Even for Volvos, which are generally very safe.”

We make the most awkward small talk in the history of small talk until the buzzer sounds again.

He stands. “Before I forget, if you ever quit this sinful business and want to look me up, here’s my card. I’ve included a picture of my penis on the back for compatibility purposes.”

My jaw goes slack, and I wait for him to start laughing. He doesn’t. Instead, he places the card in my hand and moves on to the next table.

I drop the card on the table with a shudder and it lands wrong side up.

He wasn’t joking. I throw up in my mouth a little bit as I swipe the card off the table and shove it in my pocket. I’ll have to remember to burn it later.

There are some things you just can’t unsee.

“You okay?”

A deep voice comes from across the table, and I look up at a man sliding into the seat.

“Yes, fine. I think. Wow. Speed dating isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“No kidding. I’ve already had offers for two blow jobs in the parking lot and to get pegged at the nearest pay-by-the-hour motel.”

“Uh, then it sounds like we don’t need to talk. Your schedule is full.” I’m not sure how I manage to say it with a straight face, but I do.

“The blow jobs I’m down with, but I don’t put anything in my ass. She was barking up the wrong tree. I bet that guy who was just here with you would be cool with it.” He eyes the dentist. “He gives me the closet kink vibe under all that straight-laced, perfect-teeth bullshit.”

I want to tell him about the dick trading card in my pocket, but I can’t bring myself to admit it out loud. “You want to just drink whiskey and not talk?”

The man nods at my proposal. “Sure thing. I’m gonna bang the blonde at the end when I leave, anyway. Already fingered her a little under the table, so it wouldn’t be fair to lead you on.”

I shoot up from my chair. “I need to use the ladies’ room. Be right back.” Never, I add silently.

The only thing I can think of is that I need to wash my hands right fucking now before I vomit.

I practically run to the restroom, nearly colliding with a server and a patron on the way.

“Sorry!” I toss the apology over my shoulder but don’t stop until I’m inside.

Then I scrub until my hands sting.

“Gross. Gross. Gross.”

If this is what dating is like, I’m not interested. Now or ever, and not just because every man pales in comparison to Kane.

I freeze as I reach for a paper towel.

No man can compare to him.

It’s not just a physical thing either. It’s everything. He’s different.

He understands me. What I want. What I need. Even the things I don’t understand. He sees me like no one else has ever seen me before.

And I don’t want to let him go.

With that realization sending me reeling, I push open the bathroom door and charge into the alcove—only to run smack into a hard chest.

“Sorry. I wasn’t looking—”

“Damn right you weren’t, and you’re not gonna bolt like that again.”

I look up into Kane’s eyes. “I’m sorry. It was truly an emergency.”

His gaze sharpens. “What happened? Someone say something to you?” His head jerks from side to side like he’s sweeping the vicinity for predators.

“No. Just . . . the weirdo who shook my hand after he fingered another woman under the table.” Just saying it almost makes me puke for real this time.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

I shake my head. “I wish I was.”

“Who was it?”

“Don’t make a scene, please. I’m at work. Also, let’s not talk about the guy who gave me a business card with his dick on it.”

Kane’s nostrils flare as he stares down at me. “Someone gave you a fucking picture of his dick? What the fuck is wrong with these people?”

I open my mouth to reply, but the fire alarm starts blaring.

Fire alarm?

“Fuck,” Kane growls. “Don’t you leave my side. No matter what.”

“But I have to deal with the fire—”

“Not if there’s a chance someone’s trying to cause chaos and grab you. We need to get you out of here.”

“I can’t leave right now!”

“You can and you will.” Kane wraps an arm around me. “Come on. Let’s move. Stick to me like a shadow, got it? If it’s that prick I was watching—” He cuts off as Jules, our restaurant manager, rushes up.

“I’m not sure what’s going on, but we’re going to have to comp all the dinners if we don’t want bad reviews.”

“It’s fine. Just get everyone out.” I shift back to Kane. “You really think this is because of me?”

“I’m not taking any chances. Not with you. Not ever.”