Chapter 16 #2
This time, maybe due to all the support, her words got through. Theodore’s expression changed from angry determination to resignation. Even sadness. “I…I get it.” His gaze swept the table. “Sorry to have interrupted your brunch.”
He walked away. Dignified, polite, a nice man if he thought he was dealing with equals.
She sighed. “That right there is why I started going with him. But when it comes to women, if cluelessness was a sport, he’d be in the Olympics.”
Drake put his arm over her shoulders, pulling her against his side. “Mon c?ur, you are far better with me.” He raised his voice. “Oui, my friends?”
And got a rousing chorus of agreement.
Ray pulled a shirt from her suitcase and tossed it into the laundry basket.
“Mew, mew, mew.” Perched on the bed, Max had a lot to say. You were gone too long. The two-legger who came in didn’t fix my food right. How can I sleep without a warm body to curl up against at night? I didn’t get nearly enough tidbits to nibble on. Mew, mew, mew.
Ray grinned as she listened. Unlike George’s cat Yuki, who’d sulk for days after an absence, Max had greeted her with enthusiasm. With head-butts and cheek-rubs to mark her as his property.
And complaints.
She bent and gave him a cheek-rub of her own. “I missed you, too, my sweet fuzzbutt. Drake makes a wonderful sleep companion but doesn’t purr worth a damn.”
Head and tail high, Max jumped into the empty suitcase, made a circle, and lay down…purring extra loud.
Ray put away her new fetwear in the growing section of her closet. “If I’m ever involved in a criminal case, the cops will see this stuff, and I’ll automatically become a person of interest. A lot of men figure a woman who enjoys kinky sex is obviously a criminal.”
Max’s ears perked up. Mew. Two-legger men are stupid.
“True that. Except for Master Drake, of course.” Ray plucked Max out of the suitcase so she could put it away. “But it sure seems as if lots of guys get angry if a woman understands her own needs. Maybe they’re afraid we’ll expect a lover to do more than jump on and pump away?”
Max yawned and strolled out of the bedroom.
“Yeah, yeah, I know…sex doesn’t interest you, Mr. I’ve-been-neutered.” She followed the cat downstairs to the kitchen. “The vets insist neutered boy cats are healthier and more loving and less liable to get into trouble. Do you suppose it’d work for overly aggressive human males?”
She poured herself some apple juice. “We should put a bill into Congress. Instant birth control.”
Max delivered a cynical cat stare.
“I know, I know. Rich, old, white men rule the country. They’d never go for it.” She made a face. “If there weren’t men like Drake and George—and Max, the human you were named for—I’d be in favor of killing off all the males in the country, leaving no more than a few alive for stud services.”
Huh, I should be a writer. What a great dystopian story.
The doorbell derailed her train of thought and sent her to the door. “Hey, Marisol, what’s up? Did your mom get my text that I’m home?”
“She did. Since I’m on my way back to the university, she wanted me to drop off a batch of cookies.”
Ray laughed and pried off the container lid. The scent of ginger and molasses drifted up. The crinkled/cracked tops of the big amber-brown cookies glistened with sugar. “Ginger cookies?”
“Good guess. Do you like—” Marisol laughed. “Guess you do.”
The mmm-mmm-mmm sounds Ray was making were a total giveaway. Soft, chewy cookies. She swallowed and barely managed not to reach for another. Be polite, Ray. “Tell your mama she’s my favorite person. And how are you doing? How is school?”
Marisol glanced at the time on her phone. Missing a ferry never made anyone happy. “School is good, although summer classes are intense. But…” Her lips curved up in a happy smile.
“But…but what? Spill!”
“I met a guy…a Dom as cool as your Drake. Dios, Master Atlas is hot. Even his name is hot.” Marisol fanned herself. “We’re going to play this weekend.”
“Play… BDSM play?” Observing the way Marisol was eyeing the cookies, Ray moved them out of reach. Because there was undoubtedly a box of goodies in the car. Consuela showed her love with baked goods.
“Yes. I can’t wait!”
At the worry tightening her gut, Ray sighed. Marisol was over eighteen. Not a child. But still… “Did you meet Master Atlas through the BDSM club?”
“Uh-huh. He’s one of the organizers, I guess.”
Guess that meant he knew what he was doing, right? But damn, why did it have to be the BDSM club on campus. “What’s his major?”
“Oh, he’s not a student. He teaches law. Not tenured yet, though.”
“He’s a teacher?” Ray frowned. He’d have to have a PhD, which meant he’d be over thirty. Marisol wasn’t yet twenty-one.
Okay, a ten-year age gap wasn’t rare. Look at her and Drake. He was a decade or so older. Still… An older teacher and an undergraduate seemed sketchy.
“Aren’t there rules about teachers dating students?” Jeez, now she sounded like Miss Judgy McJudgyFace.
“Stupid rules.” Marisol grumbled and averted her gaze. “We can’t let it get around. But Master Atlas said everyone who’ll be at the play party on Friday is really discreet. They won’t say anything.”
A chill ran through Ray as little red flags started waving in her mind. A party was where she’d been assaulted. “Marisol, I… Um, it kinda doesn’t feel as if he’s…honest. Um, honorable. Not if he’s breaking the rules and hiding his actions.”
Marisol took a step back.
Ray hurried to get the next words out. “And a play party on campus—your campus. Remember I heard those rumors?”
“Oh, please. Rumors. You worry more’n Mamá.”
“Going to a club would be safer, okay? A good one with dungeon monitors and rules. Please? You’ll be twenty-one in a month and can get into a club, and you’ll know this man better by then.” Tears burned Ray’s eyes.
“Madre de Dios, you really are upset. Don’t cry, okay? I’ll talk Master Atlas into waiting and going to a club.”
Blinking hard, Ray hugged her. “Thank you. I’m sorry, but…yes, it means a lot to me.”
“Fine, fine.” Marisol glanced at her phone. “I gotta go. See you in a couple of weeks when my laundry runs out.”
“Hey, I’ll be in Seattle on Friday. I have a bunch of carvings and trinkets to deliver to the Pike Place gallery. I know it’s not a party, but how about I buy you dinner at the Pink Door to make up for being a worrier?”
“Oooh, yes. Must be nice to be able to get reservations with only a week’s notice.”
Ray buffed her fingernails on her shirt. “What can I say? My artwork is in their outdoor area, and they love it.”
“Everyone loves your artwork. But I love Italian. Text me a time, and I’ll see you then!” Waving a hand over her head, Marisol was out the door and trotting to her car.
Heaving a relieved sigh, Ray closed the door and sagged against it. Her heart was going way too fast. Dammit, I will not have a panic attack.
One party circumvented. During dinner next week, she’d get more details from Marisol about her new boyfriend and the current BDSM club on campus. It’s probably fine, just fine.
The ones who’d assaulted her wouldn’t still be around. The club would have fixed their problems. Because she’d called them after her disastrous party. She’d talked to the club president anonymously and shared what’d happened.
No, the offenders would be long gone.
Right?