Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Over a week later, Ray still couldn’t get the memory of Drake out of her head. And honestly, her head was busy enough that nothing should stick like this.
Ah well, it doesn’t matter anyway. She wouldn’t see him again, at least, not for anything except business.
Because she’d gone to Chains last night. Fridays were for Silver Members, basically a token membership for walk-ins. Before paying to get in, she’d asked the receptionist to let her peek inside on account of it sounding a whole lot louder than last weekend with Mac and Hope.
The atmosphere was totally different, far more sexual, and the younger crowd wore garish and provocative fetwear. Two men her age headed straight toward her, resembling a video she’d seen of wolves taking down a deer.
Despite the receptionist’s obvious concern, Ray said, “Sorry, changed my mind,” and fled back to her car. Her heart rate and breathing hadn’t returned to normal until the ferry was halfway across Puget Sound.
Yeah, total fail.
“Hey. Earth to Ray.”
Ray blinked and shook her head as the cheerful sounds of the coffee shop around her registered.
Across the marble-topped round table, Marisol laughed. “Where’d your head go?”
“I was riding on a ferry.” Ray buried her grumbling with a sip of her coffee. Good coffee. She needed to stay here, in the moment with her friend. Besides, the coffee house was the best of places. Floor to ceiling, it boasted so many different kinds of wood it made her think of home.
After a fight with her mother, Marisol had dragged Ray out of the workshop. They’d ridden their bikes into Winslow—the downtown area of Bainbridge Island—for coffee and pastries. The center of the ivy-covered brick coffee house was the perfect place to people-watch on a weekend.
“Did you have a good weekend?”
“Eh, I picked up a few hours on the evening shift at Harborview trauma unit. Weekends always get busy.” Marisol narrowed her eyes. “Nice try at diverting me. You’re stewing about something, I can tell.”
At Ray’s scowl, Marisol snickered. “See? That look is sus as fuck. Wassup?”
“Pushy brat.” Ray sighed and went for the more amusing story. “It’s nothing serious. Just…a totally hot man I met at a club called me mon petit chou, which apparently is affectionate, but means my little cabbage in French. Ugh.”
Marisol burst out laughing. “At least he didn’t call you gusanito—a little worm—like Mamá does with me. And my first boyfriend called me a marshmallow—bombón.”
“He thought you were pale and squishy? Ew.” Ray rolled her eyes. “It’s annoying how men think women are food items—cupcake, sweetie-pie, sugar. Gotta say, cabbage is a personal low.”
Marisol giggled so hard she started snorting. “I’m sure he meant it nicely. Oh, wait—does this mean you have a guy? Where’s the club? Sure isn’t on Bainbridge.”
“It isn’t. But, girl, you don’t want to go to Chains.” Ray wiggled her eyebrows. “I was there for the wood crafting project I’m finishing up for George—and would you believe it’s a BDSM club?”
“O. M. G.” Marisol leaned so far forward she almost fell off her chair. “I’ve wanted to try that stuff for-evah. There’s a group on campus I’m planning to check out.”
“At the university? No!” Her heart crammed into her throat. “They’re…” She swallowed hard. Don’t over-react. But, dammit, why did her past keep slapping her in the face?
“Ray?”
After she’d called and reported the incident to the club president, the abusers must have been kicked out if nothing else. Surely, they wouldn’t be there four years later.
Nonetheless, a warning wouldn’t hurt. “Listen. I’ve, uh, heard, bad things about that UW group. And really, you might want to play…um, vanilla, until you have more experience or something.”
Seeing Marisol’s expression close down, Ray winced. Maybe she was only a few years older, but sometimes it felt more like a generation. And apparently, she sounded like it.
“I’m almost twenty-one, not fifteen,” Marisol said in a cool tone, “and probably have more experience than you, Ms. Live-in-her-workshop.”
“Ouch, good point.” Especially since after that night, she’d avoided dating for a long time. “Sorry.”
“S’okay. Hey, did I tell you Mamá is going on vacation the middle of August? She and my aunts are doing a women-only trip to San Francisco for a week. ”
“Oooh, fun. Wish I had sisters.”
“I know, right?” Marisol grinned. “The Latinas take over Chinatown.”
Marisol’s mom was a force of nature. Three of them together? Ray was giggling when three noisy men entered the coffee shop.
A short ginger-headed man was saying to the others, “I want a place right on the water like Drake’s. Can you believe the view he’s got?”
Ray stiffened. Drake. Surely he hadn’t said Drake. Her imagination had gone bonkers.
The bearded blond snorted. “Since when can you afford to live on Bainbridge?”
“Yeah, okay, it’ll be a while,” the ginger grumbled.
“If ever.” The bearded blond’s eyes fell on Ray, and his eyebrows went up. He took a step toward her. “Hey, aren’t you Drake’s plaything from last week? You disappeared and—”
A hard thump on his shoulder interrupted him. The third man, maybe a decade older than Ray, said in a low voice, “You know better. What happens in…”
Old gods, they were from Chains.
Blondie’s tanned skin turned a dusky red before he nodded to her. “Sorry.”
The older man who’d reprimanded him was good-looking with the hefty build of an ex-football player. His clothing, although casual, was expensive. Then again, Bainbridge Island had a lot of over-the-top rich people.
He inclined his head at Ray. “Sorry for disturbing you.”
Before she could respond, Marisol piped up, “Are you a member of the…the club too?”
“Why yes, I am.” His smile was thoroughly charming. “I’m Blaize. And you are…?”
“Marisol, but I’m not a member.” Her gaze edged toward Ray. “Not yet. I have other things to do first.”
“Ah, your studies, of course. Good for you. The world is in dire need of more nurses.” His expression turned wicked. “And everyone in the lifestyle loves nurses.” He nudged Blondie toward the counter and added, “Have a nice day, ladies.”
The ginger followed.
Talk about awkward. Another reason to avoid Chains in the future.
Marisol’s brown eyes were alight. “How interesting.”
“More like way indiscreet.” Ray frowned. “How did Blaize know you’re a nursing student?”
“You’re so blind.” Marisol motioned toward her T-shirt. The graphic had a half-filled syringe with NURSE IN PROGRESS; PLEASE WAIT, underscored by University of Washington.
“Too funny. I didn’t even notice.” Angling her chair to put her back to the annoying man, Ray lifted her drink. Time to change the subject. “So what unit are you on for your clinical now?”
“I rotated to pediatrics, and sometimes it’s so fun and then”—Marisol’s eyes welled with tears—“not. Children shouldn’t get so sick. Or die.”
Ray put her hand over Marisol’s. “No, they shouldn’t. But they’re lucky to have nurses like you. Want to tell me about it?”
Marisol did, and all too soon, they were both sniffling. Losing George had been heartbreaking, but at least, he’d had a full life. Children—just no.
Eventually, Ray turned the conversation to something happier. “So what’s your cohort been up to?”
“Oh, wait’ll you hear this!” Marisol bounced on her chair.
“Bezzler totally hates one of the idiot medical interns; he’s such a patronizing twat.
Anyway, she smeared melted chocolate all over an incontinence pad.
I took it over to the desk an’ said the patient complained of abdominal pain and pooped all over.
Bezzler takes the pad, sniffs it, and then swipes a finger through the so-called BM.
Then she sticks it in her mouth and says, ‘Seems fine to me.”
Ray’s jaw dropped.
“Right? The intern gags and runs for the staff bathroom.” Marisol was giggling. “Honestly, I almost puked, and I even knew it was only chocolate. Best prank ever.”
Ray was still laughing as they got up and bused the table. A glance around showed the Chains members had already left.
Squinting in the bright sunlight, she followed Marisol onto the sidewalk. Across the water, Mount Rainier was out in its full glory.
Marisol’s cell phone buzzed. She answered and listened a moment. “Yes, Mamá, on my way.” Tucking her phone into her purse, she grinned. “Mamá’s over being mad. She did my laundry, and my payback is making supper.”
“Sounds fair.”
The sigh was huge. “Some of my friends go home, and their moms do it all for them.”
“Bet she took lessons from George. When I was in the dorms, he let me bring laundry home, but I had to wash his at the same time.” Ray’s eyes teared with the bittersweet memory. “He was a firm believer in TANSTAAFL—There Ain’t No Such Thing As A Free Lunch.”
He’d been such a mentor, happy to teach her everything he knew.
But he was enough of a traditionalist that, as the student, she got stuck with the most tedious jobs in the shop.
At least doing housework had netted her an allowance.
“When I wanted cake or cookies, he bought the ingredients, but I had to do the baking. From scratch.”
“Oh. yeah, he got real salty about people being lazy.”
“Truth. On the upside, I ended up being a pretty good cook, especially with sweets.
“You really are.” Marisol scowled. “Now I have a craving for cookies.”
Grinning, Ray unlocked her bike and led the way back.
A few minutes later, Marisol turned into her drive while yelling over her shoulder, “Next time you make cookies, call me.”
Ray laughed, continuing farther down the road before turning into her own drive.
Once the bike was in the garage, she headed into the house. Dammit, now she wanted sugar too.
She’d been a bottomless pit all through her teens and into the twenties, and it hadn’t changed much. Thankfully, wood crafting required a fair amount of activity, or her belly’d be bigger than her butt.
A thud sounded and a beige-brown furball scampered over, greeting her with throaty complaints about being abandoned for days and left to die.
“Oh, so pitiful.” She picked him up and got purrs. “Lots of food, a warm house, kitty beds and a catio and wall-trails. You have a rough life.”
Max voiced his complaint again. But you weren’t heeeere.
She looked around to share with George how funny this cat was and… The house was empty. “I know how you feel, baby. How it feels to miss someone.”
Faj isn’t here.
She rubbed her chin against the furry head. “I’m so glad you found me, kitty. It’d be awfully lonely without you.”
It was the honest truth.
Ray’d been almost done with high school when she came here and didn’t attend long enough to make real friends.
The island didn’t have a high percentage of single people her age, and they usually commuted to work in Seattle and partied there.
Marisol shared an apartment near the university campus and only came to Bainbridge now and then.
Feeling grumpy, she gave Max some scritches.
Trying to join Chains sure hadn’t worked out. Rather than making friends, she’d slid right into a panic attack. Sure, MacKensie and Hope said the club was safe, but unless they were there, it wasn’t really true, was it?
Or maybe it’s me. She didn’t feel comfortable without people she knew. After all, look at what happened at the play party she’d attended.
Yeah, no BDSM clubs in my future.
Even if that smooth-talking, French-accented Chains cop had called her a cabbage.
Speaking of which, she needed to finish the projects for the club. That’s the only reason I’ll go back there.
An hour later, she was making serious progress on the tantric chair. The cherry wood was a satisfyingly rich reddish-brown, and she’d picked a piece with an elegant wavy pattern to the grain.
So beautiful.
Of course, Pa would’ve insisted she paint the wood. He’d wanted everything orderly and matching…and for people to be predictable rather than interesting. He’d wanted her to be flat and smooth, but she was like this wood grain, full of waves.
Before she could spiral back down into grumpiness, a ringing came from the workshop entry. The small enclosure was where she changed into scrubs and tied up her hair to prevent hair or dirt from ruining a glossy wet finish.
Didn’t it figure she’d left her damn phone there?
And now, she had to answer—it was on her business line, after all.
In the entry, she pulled it out of her jeans pocket. “Creations by Ray. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Ray, it’s Hope. MacKensie gave me your work phone, since I stupidly forgot to ask for your number. Peter and I are having a Sunday afternoon barbecue tomorrow with some friends. You should come.”
When Ray didn’t answer, Hope’s voice turned coaxing. “C’mon, Ray. MacKensie and Alex will be here.”
“Um.” Unfamiliar people and territory weren’t a problem. What strangers thought of her wasn’t high on her worry list. But if Hope or MacKensie decided she was too emotional, too wired, too…
In her head, all the disapproving remarks from Pa and old boyfriends swept past and required effort to ignore.
Then again, her high energy had never bothered Hope. In fact, most of her friends, at least the female ones, hadn’t minded Ray’s quirks.
Faj used to quote Emerson when she got frozen by worry: “He who is not conquering some fear has not learned the secret of life.”
She pulled in a breath. “I’d love to come.”
As Hope burbled about the party, Ray could only smile. It’d be fun, right? And a summer barbecue was way far away from Chains and any BDSM stuff.