7. Waverly
CHAPTER SEVEN
WAVERLY
M y feet are fucking killing me.
After working a full eight hours at the diner, running to the Scarlet Lounge, and then being on my feet for the last six hours in heels, I’m not sure how I’m going to wake up in five hours to pull another shift on my feet.
But I won’t have a choice.
Just like I didn’t last year when I had the flu. It was either work or become homeless again, and I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would never be in that position again. I dragged my ass out of what I truly thought was my deathbed and did three twelve-hour shifts in a row to make sure that was never my reality again.
The guard from earlier lets me out the front door and looks both ways down the street before his brows tug together. “You need me to call you a cab?”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m going to take the subway,” I tell him, cringing at the thought of walking the three blocks to the station. At least I’ll be able to take my time rather than sprinting.
“Absolutely not,” he snaps and pulls his phone from his pocket.
I stare at him for a second before I shake myself off. “It’s fine. I have pepper spray in my purse.”
He flicks his glare up to me, and I almost step back at the intensity in his eyes. “You’re not taking the subway, Waverly.”
I open my mouth to argue but quickly snap it shut again. I haven’t made it this far by arguing with men that are three times my size and could snap me in half if they really wanted to.
A sleek black sedan pulls up against the curb, and the window lowers, revealing the man I spent the whole night thinking about.
Emmett’s heated gaze locks with mine before he flicks it to the guard behind me. “I can take her home, Brodie.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I rush out.
“It would be my pleasure.” He smiles. “Plus, it will give me a chance to get to know you better, seeing as you wouldn’t give me your number.”
“Thanks, Pastor,” Brodie says from beside me before he crosses the sidewalk to the car and opens the passenger seat door for me.
I open my mouth to argue again, but every argument I manage to conjure is weaker than the last, and at this point the idea of trekking across the city to my apartment seems far more abhorrent than getting into a stranger’s car.
It’s a wonder I’ve survived as long as I have on the run.
He’s a priest, though, so hopefully my chances of him being a serial killer are significantly lower than most men.
With a sigh, I slip into the comfortable leather seat and give Brodie a quiet thank you as he closes the door behind me. Before he left for the night, Elias said he would let me know tomorrow about whether I got the job, but the idea of not returning to the club leaves me with an unfamiliar empty feeling.
I’ve had a lot of jobs, too many to name, but I’ve never fallen into a role quite as easily as I did tonight.
“Where to?” Emmett asks, and I finally look over at him, swallowing heavily when I suck in a breath and I’m assaulted by his deep sandalwood scent. Does he have to smell good on top of looking the way he does?
I rattle off my address, my cheeks burning with embarrassment at the idea of this man seeing the shitty apartment block I live in and the dangerous streets that surround my home, but he just nods and pulls away from the curb without a word.
I tangle my hands together in my lap and turn to look out the window. I can’t remember the last time I was in a car, usually opting for some kind of public transport or walking, but I’ve forgotten just how comfortable they are.
It’s rare that I have the spare money for a cab, and I’ve done everything in my power not to form relationships while on the run. I learned early on that it hurts to leave people behind when you inevitably have to leave, and I refuse to put myself through that kind of pain again.
“How was your first shift?” His deep voice fills the otherwise quiet car as he comes to a stop at a red light.
“It was just a trial,” I tell him. “But it was good.”
“Was the Scarlet Lounge what you expected?”
I turn to look into his intense eyes and swallow heavily. “No. I thought it would be…dirty I guess.”
He chuckles, tearing his eyes from mine as he turns his attention back to the road. “A lot of people think that. I guess the way adult clubs are portrayed in the media and in books and films gives them that image. But what Elias and Wyatt have created is a place that a lot of people feel safe to be their true selves.”
“Including you?” I ask without thinking, and my cheeks heat at my own forwardness. What the hell was I thinking asking a question like that? I have no right to ask a perfect stranger a question like that.
A rough chuckle comes from beside me and I find myself looking over to see the smile that’s tugging at his lips. “Including me.”
I bite down on my lower lip as I try to decide if I should question him further. It doesn’t really seem like something you should ask someone you don’t know about, but he doesn’t seem uncomfortable about the questions I’ve already asked him. “How did you find the Scarlet Lounge?”
Emmett takes a deep breath, and I wonder if he’s not going to answer. The silence extends as he drives us through the heart of the city. “I moved to the city early last year after moving around a lot before that. I’d started working at the local church, helping the pastor at the time, and one of our members mentioned it. He was struggling with the things he craved, and he wanted to repent for stepping foot in such a place.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Religion is seen as a stringent set of rules and beliefs, but in reality, it’s open to interpretation, just like every other thing in this world. I told him that and reminded him that as long as his desires weren’t hurting anyone, a just God would never punish him for whatever he found himself needing.”
I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but none of what just came out of his mouth was it. I’ve never stepped foot inside a church and honestly never planned on it, but I have to admit I had the same assumptions.
“I met Elias and Wyatt at a charity event a few weeks later, and they invited me to check out the club. I jumped at the chance, and I haven’t looked back since.”
“Aren’t you afraid of the judgment?” I ask. “Being a priest in a sex club really does seem like the beginning of a bad joke.”
He chuckles. “It does. But the God I believe in does not judge people on their sexual desires, only on their ability to be a good person, and you can be a good person regardless of your sexual orientation, what you like in bed, what you do for a job.”
I’m not quite sure how to reply to him, because if everyone who believes in any version of God spoke like this, the world would probably be a much more peaceful place.
“It helps that the church I work for is a non-denominational place of worship, so we are not bound to some of the stricter customs that other churches are,” he adds. “What about you? How did you find yourself at the Scarlet Lounge?”
I hesitate, unsure of how much of my life I should divulge to this perfect stranger. I can see why he has the position he does, because even though I’ve kept everything close to the chest for the last decade, I find myself wanting to lay it all on the table for him. “I also move around a lot,” I admit. “I came to New York because it seemed like the kind of place where you can hide from your past. As for the Scarlet Lounge, Elias and Wyatt’s wife organized it for me. We met at a community center, and she offered to get me a trial.”
Okay, so a community center is a bit of a stretch, but something about admitting I have to rely on a soup kitchen on my days off from the diner has embarrassment climbing my throat.
He glances over at me, almost like he can tell I’m not telling him the full truth, but he doesn’t call me out, and for that I’m grateful.
Again, I’m reminded why I don’t make connections. It’s too easy to get comfortable, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time on the run, it’s that as soon as you let your guard down, your entire world can come crumbling down.