3. No Sugar Tonight
CHAPTER THREE
no sugar tonight
ROMAN
The Hi-Dive is our spot, and has been for long a while. The lights are low and the place is relatively empty save for a few of the regular drunks crowding the bar like a watering hole. It smells like stale beer and cigarette smoke that’s seeped into the walls and foundation. Logan said it reminded him of a Stephen King book, so naturally, it’s been his favorite place to go on campus for years.
I spot Logan and Abi almost immediately as Frankie and I walk in. Logan’s slightly disheveled sandy hair falls in his face and he pushes it back just before his hand shoots up to wave at me.
Beside him is Dr. Abigail King, with her long, jet black hair, and bright green eyes. Abi has always reminded me of someone ripped straight from a Gothic novel: a sort of put-together elegance without having to try very hard. Tonight is no different, lounging casually in a beautiful blood-red blouse, her crimson lips contrasting her pale skin as she grins.
“Oh my god, he showed up!” Abi digs through her bag with a sudden fevered excitement, dragging out her phone. “Hang on, I absolutely need to get a picture of this, it’s a momentous occasion!”
I shake my head, rolling my eyes as she snaps a picture.
“That’s beautiful, Roman. It really captures your winning personality.”
I used to feel really comfortable going out, but I’ve been dodging plans for so long with this group that now, everyone looks sort of alien in this setting. I’ve gotten used to passing them in the hallways, or declining when Logan stops by my office to ask me if I want to grab lunch. And then I pack up for the day, go home, stare at the ceiling, and pass out for six hours.
I have a very specific routine, and this is cutting into my ceiling-staring time.
Logan flashes me that big, beaming smile and slides out of the booth to pull me in for a hug.
“It’s good to see you somewhere besides your office, man.”
“What kind of magic brought you out tonight?” Abi asks with a smirk.
“Less magic, and more of a bribe,” I laugh.
“It was not a bribe!” Frankie shouts. “This guy and his fuckin’ dramatics. I’m gonna go get drinks. Shots? Yes? Everyone’s on board? Great.”
“No!” I shout.
“I said great, Roman! It’s too late!” Frankie calls as he makes a mad dash to the bar.
I walk over to Abi to give her a tight hug.
“Happy birthday, Abi. Sorry, I don’t have a present for you.”
“You being here is enough.” She slips back and winks at me. “And if you let me use your Keurig while you’re on vacation, you’re in my good books.”
“Sounds great. I’ll give you my spare key. Just keep Logan out of there.”
“Jokes on you dude,” Logan replies as we all settle down at the booth. “I already got my own key cut.”
Frankie saunters back to the table with a whole tray of drinks, including two pints of beer, one of which he sets down in front of me, along with a shot of god knows what. Abi leans in and sniffs it.
“Tequila?”
“Yup!” Frankie chirps.
“Where’s the salt? And the lime?” She asks in disbelief.
“They were out of limes.”
She raises a brow and Frankie smirks.
“Fine, if you don’t want it?—”
“Whoa, whoa!” She grabs her shot glass and protects it with her hand. “Let’s not do anything crazy, okay?”
Frankie raises his glass and looks around the table.
“To Abi, congratulations on 26 years around the sun!”
Abi puts a hand on her chest, beaming at all of us.
“Thank you. You know, simply existing is such a feat. I’m surprised I made it.”
I snicker and sip my beer as Frankie turns to me.
“And to Roman, for finally getting out of the office— and his apartment! This is a big day for you, man.”
“Fuck you, Hughes.”
“You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”
“So, you want it in a paper bag, or…”
Logan and Abi descend into giggles.
“The disrespect. Somewhere nice, at least! Like Arby’s. Are you writing this down, man?”
“I’m taking mental notes,” I mutter.
“Are we gonna toast or not?!” Abi shouts. “We gotta stop letting Frankie make speeches!”
Frankie raises his glass.
“Alright then: cheers, happy birthday, and fuck you, Abi!”
I almost choke watching Frankie toss his drink back before slamming it on the counter. He grimaces and starts to cough, along with Logan, who’s already smacking the table. I’m starting to seriously consider tossing mine onto the ground and hoping no one notices.
“Son of a bitch that burns!” Frankie chokes.
“Yeah, see, the lime and salt would’ve felt real good right about now, huh, tough guy?” Abi teases as she pours her shot into her margarita.
“Cheater!” Logan bellows.
“I am not! There’s already tequila in this! And lime juice, and salt, and I’m the birthday girl, so shut up!”
She shoves her hand in his face and Logan pretends to swat her away, but I can see the adoration in his eyes. Logan is head over heels for Abigail King, but we can’t date people in our department. So far, it’s hard to tell if there’s anything going on between them aside from the odd nickname and the fact that they’re always having lunch together. Relationships between colleagues aren’t nearly as frowned upon as relationships between students and teachers. That’s where the power dynamic gets really fucked up.
“Don’t be a wuss, King,” Frankie chuckles, pushing another shot toward her.
“Hey, don’t talk to my date like that!” Logan teases.
“Your date?” Frankie asks with a raised brow.
It looks like Logan’s testing his limits tonight, but Abi doesn’t say anything, merely sipping her margarita as her cheeks turn pink.
“I’m paying for her drinks,” Logan replies. “Therefore, she’s my date.”
“Only because you took my credit card,” she fires back. “He said I wasn’t allowed to pay for anything.”
“Speaking of dates,” Frankie cuts in, sliding back into his seat with his eyes fixed on me. “That’s the next thing we’ve gotta do for this guy.”
“What? I go out one time and all of a sudden I’m the group project?” I ask. “I haven’t even been here for fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t think you should be in charge of this project,” Logan pipes in. “I’m the best friend, and?—”
“Why not?” Frankie retorts. “What’s wrong with me being in charge?”
Christ, here they go. You get one shot of tequila into each of them and they’ll snipe at each other all night.
“Because you haven’t been in a relationship for years, dude! Unless you count that dominatrix you see.”
“Nah, none of you are allowed to give me shit for that. It’s stigmatizing! Also, don’t knock it till you try it.”
Years back, after his accident, Frankie got interested in the BDSM scene— academically at first, but he quickly dove right in, blending research and practice. He says it’s as important to him as meditation is to some people.
I admit, I’m curious about it. He says it’s a release, a way for him to be fully present in his body and feel everything all at once.
“Look, I don’t need a relationship, but some people, who I just so happen to be looking directly in the eye, might enjoy some companionship. Or at least someone to watch Chopped with.”
“Or maybe I should follow your lead and just hire someone to get freaky with,” I snort.
Frankie’s eyes light up.
“Now, there’s an idea.”
The last dregs of summer float through the air, along with the smell of french fries from the kitchen. I can hear car tires grinding against pavement as they pass by out front. Emerald Bay is so quiet sometimes, it’s almost maddening.
The back door opens, Logan and Frankie coming stumbling out with cigarettes stuffed between their lips. We each look a slightly different shade of exhausted; the curse of academia. Late nights, early mornings, and way too much shit rattling around in our heads. Even while I’m doing other things, I’m thinking about all the work I have to catch up on, and I’m never really present. Turns out, once you form an obsessive relationship with your job, the habit becomes harder and harder to break. The work is always there for me when I need to consume myself with it.
I gesture to Frankie’s cigarette.
“That shit’ll kill ya, you know.”
“Thanks, doc.” He fires it up before passing the lighter off to Logan. “How’s it hangin’?”
“Not bad,” I murmur.
“God, I thought you were gonna tell that shitty joke— long and a little to the left ,” Logan sighs.
“Well, I didn’t wanna make you feel inadequate,” I snicker.
Logan grins and exhales a large cloud of smoke, flipping me off.
“You hate it in there, don’t you?”
Frankie’s eyes volley between us. I think he’s always liked it when the two of us get into it like this. It’s better than Monday Night Football for him.
“No!” I exclaim. “It’s fine, it’s just… you know, I’ve been such a…”
“Shut in?” Logan teases.
“I mean… I leave the house.”
Frankie snorts.
“Really? I practically had to drag you out here by your hair.”
“Anyway, work and the grocery store don’t count, dude,” Logan continues. “And we miss you, man”
I’ll admit, I don’t come out to these things often because I don’t want to be that sad old bastard nursing a pint of beer, still stuck inside of his own head, but I don’t think my friends give me enough credit.
“I’m not a total shut-in. I’ve tried to date, and I’m here, aren’t I?”
Logan puts a hand on my shoulder, the two of us sharing a moment. I’ve been there for him, or at least tried as hard as I could to be, after his dad passed. Phone calls, lunches, and driving around the bay for hours… but Christa’s suicide changed me profoundly. Since then I haven’t been able to be there for him.
For anyone.
I pulled away from everything. I didn’t have any answers, and no great reason why. I searched through every single thing she owned for a note or an explanation. What I found were hidden bottles of liquor and antidepressants that I didn’t even know she was taking. It just left me with more questions and more guilt. I clearly wasn’t there when I should have been.
I didn’t ask the right questions; didn’t say the right things.
Now I’m left swallowing my grief like poison.
“You know, Roman, if you really want to jazz up your vacation, I have a proposition for you,” Frankie chimes in.
“What? The dominatrix thing? We already share a wall at work, I’m not sharing a dominatrix with you, too.”
Frankie rolls his eyes.
“I don’t mean the same person, dumbass. I mean I could show you how to find someone to have a kinky hookup with. You know, whatever you want.”
“A professional?” I ask. “With this job? You know I don’t have the money for that.”
Frankie shakes his head.
“No, no. There’s no money involved. It’s usually people I meet on an app who are all in the scene. There’s something for everyone on there.”
Frankie’s work on kink is written with compassion, empathy, and understanding. It’s so richly detailed and illuminating that I have to admit, it’s made me rethink my relationship with sex. It’s also made me curious enough to start looking into some of the stuff he writes about myself, but I’ve never gotten farther than the suggested tab on PornHub.
“What’s the app?” I ask, immediately regretting the apparent enthusiasm in my voice when Frankie’s eyes light up.
He pulls out his phone and hands it to me, Logan looking over my shoulder with interest.
“KinkFinder,” I mutter. “Is this like… Tinder for a dominatrix?”
“Well, yeah. You write a bio, list the kinky shit you’re into, and swipe through until you find a match. Doms connect with subs and vice versa. Anything you want, really.”
Just as Frankie begins to dive into the details the door flies open and Abi appears, her eyes bloodshot from too many margaritas. She glares at us, cocking her head to the side with irritation.
“You’re leaving the birthday girl alone?!” She yelps. “What the hell, guys? We were supposed to do karaoke!”
Logan chuckles and crushes his cigarette before gently guiding her back inside.
“Come on. We’ll duet on Wanted Dead or Alive. Roman and Frankie’ll join us later, right fellas?”
We both wave and the door slams shut behind them, with a brief moment of silence between us before Frankie’s face curls into a grin.
“Look, all I’m saying is that it’s an option. It’s helped me a lot, and I mean that beyond exploring my kinks and shit, man.”
“What do you mean?”
“I see my body differently. I can stand to look at myself without any clothes on, directly at my legs. I couldn’t manage that before, had to cover the mirror in the bedroom.” Frankie lets out a sigh. “This whole thing has been healing for me. I’m writing a book about it.”
Frankie’s usually jovial, but guarded, whereas Logan is an open book about his pain. You wanna know something, Logan will give you the play-by-play but Frankie will just leave the room. This feels different though.
“Look, I’m not pressuring you, but don’t think I don’t remember those late night talks we had at your apartment after too much whiskey.”
Maybe he’s right. I feel like I’ve been lost in grief for so long that I’ve forgotten how to connect with anyone who’s outside of it. When I socialize, it’s in the halls at EBU, at conferences, and it’s mostly about work.
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
Frankie slings his arm around my shoulder.
“That’s all I ask.”
My head is swimming from what Frankie said, about how finding kink has helped to heal his wounds. Maybe he’s right, maybe it could help me too. God knows I’m sick of doing the same thing over and over again like it’s Groundhog Day.
We head back inside, finding Logan and Abi up onstage, already singing their hearts out to Bon Jovi, and Frankie buys us all another round. I envy how much fun they’re having. Two years ago, I would have been right up on that stage with them.
I pull my phone out and quickly look up the app. It’s a purple square with a white K. Pretty innocuous. Before I can think better of it, it’s already downloaded and I’m scrolling through the front page blurb.
Find kinky singles near you, no matter if you’re experienced or want to try something new!
I’m definitely new, not to mention curious.
“I’m really glad you came out tonight, Roman,” Frankie says, startling me just as I hit the join button.
“Yeah.” I quickly lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket. “Me too.”
He snorts into his drink as he flashes me a big smile.
“No, you’re not. You can’t wait to go home and watch cooking shows or porn or whatever it is you do.”
“Actually, I’m usually in bed with Mitzy reading a book by now,” I murmur.
Mitzy was a bait dog until someone rescued her. I got her when she was still fairly young. Skinny as hell, and covered in bite marks and sores. She didn’t trust me at all in the beginning. In fact, she spent the first few nights growling at me any time I tried to go near her. But I was patient, and determined to win her over. I’d sit with her for hours, reading to her or playing music on my phone to calm her down. I like to think we saved each other, but these days she’s helping me more than the other way around.
“Well, we miss you, you know,” Frankie says softly. “I know things have been tough for you, and–”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand before he can finish his sentence. The worst part about grieving is having to listen to everyone else tell you how sorry they are and how hard things have been for you, especially after so long.
“It’s fine. Thanks, Frank.”
He pats me on the shoulder, but the moment is undercut a little as Logan points at us aggressively from the stage, him and Abi preparing to launch into another song.
“We’re going to get the whole gang up here for the next one!”
“No!” I shout.
Frankie boos and Abi frowns, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Come on, it’s my birthday!”
“Yeah, it’s her birthday!” Logan shouts, his voice booming through the mic as the introduction to Uptown Girl by Billy Joel pours through the speakers. “I know you can’t resist this!”
Logan begins to dance, but he looks more like one of those inflatable tube things outside of a car sales lot while Abi is snapping her fingers and moving her shoulders from side to side. Neither of them have a rhythmic bone in their body, but it’s still kind of adorable watching them try to coax us onto the stage.
Frankie lets out a deep sigh, draining his drink.
“You know as well as I do that there’s only one way to stop him from dancing. You in?”
“I gotta take a leak,” I lie.
I want to finish signing up for that app, but I can’t just stay at the table or they’ll keep harassing me until I join in.
“When you’re back, then.” Frankie pats my shoulder. “If I have to suffer through this, you do too.”
“Sounds good,” I chuckle.
I slip into the bathroom as Frankie heads for the stage, quickly picking a stall and locking it. The first thing I do is take my phone out of my pocket and open the app back up.
“Name…”
I don’t want students finding me. That would be… well, a disaster.
I go with Henry, my middle name, and I use an old picture of myself from when I got some new tattoos added to my chest piece a few years back, cropping out most of my face.
I don’t lie about anything else in my profile, even my inexperience with kink. From what I’ve read, some of this gets pretty intense, and I want someone who can ease me into all of it.
Then I get to the hardest part.
Kinks.
Do I have any?
I think I like the idea of being dominated, so I type it in. But there are four other boxes. Should I fill them all out?
God, I already hate this app. And yet, I’m still desperate to create a profile.
“Fuck it,” I mutter.
I type man being dominated into Google, going straight for the images. Women in fetish gear, all leather and latex, holding whips. Men tied to chairs with ball gags in their mouths. It’s surprising how quickly I’m responding to all of this, and I find myself reaching down to squeeze my cock through my jeans, but I stop myself.
I am not going to jerk off in a public bathroom.
But then I find the one image that sends shivers down my spine.
It's a stunning photograph of a woman wearing thigh high leather boots and nothing else. She’s sitting on a man’s face, one hand pressed into his chest. His ankles are bound, and his cock looks like it’s in some kind of steel cage. The light’s hitting her in all the right places to make her glow a gorgeous gold, almost like the sun is pouring in through an unseen window.
The look of ecstasy on her face, the total submission of her partner… it’s like he’s just a tool for her to use for her own pleasure. It’s been a while since I’ve been this turned on. Even watching porn, it takes time for me to really get into it, but this?
This is different.
If the app can give me even a fraction of this, then I’m all in.
Without thinking, I find myself popping the button open on my jeans. It won’t take me long to get off. Maybe a few minutes, especially if I can find more pictures like this.
Just as I’m reaching in to stroke my cock, the bathroom door slams open and I almost drop my phone straight into the toilet.
“Roman!” Logan bellows. “Are you in here?”
Jesus.
My heart pounds as I quickly button my pants up and grab my phone. I love the guy, but he has the worst goddamn timing.
“You know you could text me,” I growl, opening the stall door and stepping outside.
Logan’s at the urinal, glancing over his shoulder as I go to wash my hands.
“And what are the chances you’d answer?” He laughs.
I grunt, grabbing some paper towel and heading for the door.
“We’re doing Prince next,” Logan tells me, finishing up and heading for the sink. “And you, my friend, have yet to embarrass yourself.”
I want to tell him I have to leave, that this isn’t my scene anymore. I could make up an excuse easily, but I couldn’t stand to see the hurt look on his face. I hate that guilt is the thing that keeps me here sometimes, but maybe it’s important.
“Fine,” I reply with a small smile. “But only if it’s When Doves Cry .”
Logan’s grin goes wide.
“You’re on, my dude.”