No Reservations - Megan Hart [50]
Yes, very hot.' Dix grinned, probably at the memory. You're slurring your words and weaving. Christ, kid, you're sloshed.' 'Not,' Brandon said. 'Let's go to that bar in New York New York. Something Irishmen. Or something.'
Dix looked around as another crowd of extravagantly clothed conventioneers passed by. 'Shit. It beats the fucking Penny Pincher. Which I am not going back to, by the way, you can have that vermin-ridden bed all to yourself if you're gonna be proud.'
They moved through the crowd, which parted pretty easily for them since they weren't dressed like everyone else. They got their share of stares, though. At the bar, they found a booth in the back, Dix checking his cell phone while Brandon ordered a round of shots.
'Slainte,' he said, raising his glass.
'May your life never be hard and your dick never soft.'
The liquor burnt Brandon's throat and belly. A couple, not wearing fetish gear but obviously in town for the convention, slid into the booth beside them. The woman, a tall brunette, wore a black fitted dress. The man with her wore a simple white long-sleeved T-shirt under a black one and a pair of jeans. But what caught Brandon's eye was not the way the couple looked so adoring at each other, or how their fingers linked across the table.
It was the collar.
Braided leather, plain, it could be nothing else. It fit tight to the man's throat. As Brandon watched, the woman reached to adjust it against the man's skin.
'Fuck,' he muttered, and looked away. 'What?' Dix looked over. 'Oh. Well.'
Brandon ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed his eyes. 'It's not like that, either.' 'Hey. I already told you ..."
'I know. But it's like . . . shit.' Brandon looked around, noticing other couples in various levels of costume. 'Everyone thinks a guy who likes to let the woman lead is a pussy. I'm not a pussy.'
He said it a little too loud. Turned heads. Dix looked uncomfortable for a moment. 'Nobody said you were.'
Brandon pointed at the couple next to them. Shit, that last drink had been a little too much. 'Leah doesn't like any of that stuff. Those games, she calls 'em. The pomp and circumstance, is what she says. She'd never put a collar on me, because I'm not a dog.' Dix looked amused. 'No more shots for you.'
Brandon lifted a finger, tiying veiy hard to make his point and knowing he was probably failing. 'Even if sometimes they call me Bingo, which is NOT my name-o.'
Dix laughed and Brandon joined him. Dix shook his head. 'Listen, kid, I can't pretend I get it, but if it makes you happy and makes her happy, who the hell cares about anyone else?'
'I guess it doesn't make her happy, or she'd have said yes. Man,' Brandon said, aware he was not too drunk to want to explain but a little too sloshed to make sense. 'Shit. Well. Whatever. I told her what I had to say, and if she doesn't want it I guess that's it. Nothing else to do about it.'
Dix still looked amused, but before he could say anything else, Brandon's phone rang. The ringtone, a clip from Portishead's 'Glory Box', didn't sound too loud compared to the bar's raucous atmosphere, but the photo of Leah told him it was her. He thumbed the touch screen immediately, listening. He didn't haye to say anything. Leah said it all.
'Get over here, Brandon, and fuck me until we both can't stand.'
He ended the call and sat back against the seat. 'She says she wants me to get over there right now.' Dix raised a brow and set his glass down. 'And?'
The Penny Pincher had looked a hundred times worse after seeing Leah's suite. Not only that, but after a few hours of fake tits in tiny bras and tight, tanned asses jiggling in glittery thongs, Leah looked a thousand, no, a million times better. 'Fuck taking a stand,' Brandon said.
Dix clapped him on the shoulder. 'Well, kid, there's not a damn thing wrong with being a booty call. Let's get out of here.'
Chapter 12
Kate must've answered the door, because when Leah came out of the bathroom after brushing her teeth and washing her hands — she didn't want to greet Brandon with nacho