Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Fuck.
Those were the magic words, weren’t they?
I’ll be a good boy.
I was sort of uncomfortable now.
And he was into older men?
Double fuck.
I took a big swallow of the wine, and I agreed. It was horrible. Too sweet, too fruity.
“I’m perfectly comfortable,” I lied. “And flattered.” That part wasn’t a lie. “I’m also in desperate need of a palate cleanser because this shit is foul.”
His cute grin was back. “There’s a tapas place not five minutes away from here. No agenda—” He showed his palms, and his face revealed what I felt was sincerity. “Just…in case you wanna get out of here and talk more.”
Oh, so tempting. I knew the tapas place he referred to. It was close to where Dean and I lived, only in the other direction.
“Let’s escape.” I nodded. I’d done my part; I’d made it clear we wouldn’t be taking this very far, but I did want to get to know him a bit better. He intrigued me, for being such a young man.
No more than ten minutes later, we were seated in a corner of a typical date restaurant with dimmed lighting, a semblance of privacy, small tables, and dessert options meant to be shared.
I chose to believe Macklin about not having an agenda. He didn’t seem like a sneak in that way, and he was much too animated and genuine to bother with composure or making sure the first impression was perfect. Something I’d always disliked with dating.
I’d rather make a new friend who spoke with passion about…monarchy.
I could only shake my head and chuckle at the revelation of Macklin’s love for European royalty. He seemed to know them all—and their history. The Queen of England was a favorite, as were Princess Anne, Prince Carl Philip of Sweden—because he was apparently “drop-dead gorgeous”—the Queen of Denmark, and…then I lost count of the names.
“…and I swear, the day I open my own restaurant, I’ll have a tribute to royalty,” he went on. “Like a whole wall of portraits or something. Maybe menu items too.”
I was still too amused. I nodded in thanks as our drinks arrived, and we were told our food would be here momentarily. It was the earliest dinner I’d had in years, so I doubted the kitchen was busy. The tables around us certainly weren’t.
“What is the draw of monarchy for you?” I had to ask.
He didn’t miss a beat. “The living legacy. They are historical figures guarding so much culture and history. The good and the bad. They change over time, but not as quickly as the rest of us. So it kind of makes them a constant. Something solid to look at and almost lean against. Don’t get me wrong—I’d never describe myself as particularly conservative, but I like structure and order.”
I liked his answer. It was more well-thought-out than “I love the bling” or something equivalent.
“And I think many times we’re drawn to what we miss in ourselves,” he continued thoughtfully. “Like, my background is pretty chaotic, and I’m flexible and spontaneous, so it makes me want the opposite to balance it all out. Does that make sense?”
“Of course.” It couldn’t make more sense. “Personally, I prefer our republic to something so arbitrary as monarchy, but—” I grinned as he sucked his teeth and shot me a playful scowl. “I do understand the need for a solid rock to help weather the storms of natural change in society. I just believe that can be achieved without crowns and castles.”
He smiled and shrugged. “I guess that’s where my kink comes in.”
Oh, hell no.
Kink?
“Pardon?” I raised my brows.
Surely, he meant that as a preference. Kids used that word all the time now. Right? If they liked something, it was a kink.
“Yeah, like, worshipping your own personal king,” he said casually. Then he took a sip of his soda—because he’s not old enough to order alcohol at a restaurant. “Or feeling like a prince. There’s a fairy-tale appeal to it all—and I know it’s not accurately portrayed to the reality, but… Anyway.”
Worshipping your own personal king.
This kept getting worse and worse for me.
I drank from my wine, a much better one than whatever we’d been served at the mixer, and I counted back. How long had it been since I’d broken up with my last sub? Seven, eight months now? I clearly needed to find a new community and get back on the horse. My previous kink community was a no-go. If you cheated on me, I didn’t need you or your friends looking wherever I went. It’d taken weeks before they’d stopped trying to contact me through social media with lies and accusations.
“Are you okay, Walker?”
Fuck. I’d zoned out. I cleared my throat and put a smile on my face. “Very. I was just thinking I’m glad you came up to me today. I’m enjoying myself.”