Bobbi followed Rick’s truck through the city streets with both hands on the steering wheel. The club was only a few blocks from Miller’s, just as Rick had said. Close enough that it felt ridiculous to be nervous about the drive. Far enough that every red light gave Bobbi time to rethink the decision he had already made. He could still turn around. That thought came easily. It always did. He could signal at the next intersection, take a different street, send Rick a message fr

For two weeks, Bobbi thought about Rick’s invitation. Not constantly. That was what he told himself, anyway. He did laundry. He bought groceries. He cleaned the kitchen. He took out the trash, checked the mail, answered messages, paid bills, and moved through the ordinary routines of ordinary days. But underneath all of it, Rick’s words stayed with him. There’s a Thursday evening at one of the clubs that’s usually set aside for first timers. First timers. The phrase should ha

The message came three days after the munch. Bobbi saw Lynne’s name on his phone while standing in the laundry room with a basket of towels balanced against his hip. For one breath, he simply stared at the screen. He had not expected to hear from her. That was not because she had been unkind. Mistress Lynne had been the opposite of unkind. She had been calm, steady, and careful in a way that had unsettled Bobbi more than any dramatic display could have. She had made space wit

Bobbi almost turned around twice before reaching the restaurant door. The first time was in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel with both hands resting on the steering wheel and the engine already shut off. The second was halfway across the pavement, when a family with two children came out laughing, carrying Styrofoam boxes and talking about dessert. It was such an ordinary place. That somehow made it worse. There were no black walls. No red lights. No velvet ropes. No