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“Did Maddox let you know I was coming?” I suddenly remember I have my folded up resume in my pocket. Damn it, I should’ve printed a fresh copy. I pull it out, unfolding it, and realize the background check is still stapled to it.

“Nah. Probably forgot.” Orion shrugs. He leads me past the bar and down a short hallway. “He told us a while back he’d send someone.”

“I brought a resume.”

Orion waves me off. “Syril trusts Maddox, and Syril’s in charge around here. Besides, a piece of paper won’t tell me if you’re good behind the bar.” He smirks. “You’re good, right?”

“Yeah.” The corners of my mouth twitch upward in response.

He snorts. “Glad you’ve quit looking like I'm about to take you out back and roll your body in a carpet.”

“Sorry. I've just had a hard time of it,” I admit. “Not many places will hire a guy like me.”

“We do things differently around here. You’ll get used to it.”

Orion has me fill out a few forms while he disappears. The back office is… strange. Every corner overflows with plant life, even though there are no windows. Bookcases dominate the walls, housing not only books, but also bottles of colored liquid and jars full of things I don’t want to look too closely at. Some of them have limbs. Some of them havefingers. A giant, oval mirror hangs behind me, encircled by a tacky gold frame, and beneath the big oak desk is a rug that looks and feels exactly like moss under my boots. I have a weird feeling itismoss.

Whoever this Syril person is, they’re definitely eccentric.

Orion sticks his head in. “All done? I’ll walk you through the basics.”

“Yep.” I get to my feet, eager to get out of the spooky room.

“Cash room is that way.” Orion points the other way down the hall. “Kitchen is around the corner. Everything else is on the other side of the floor.”

He leads me across the floor. I hadn’t noticed before, but on the far side of the room there’s a stage with the curtains drawn. Behind the stage is another hall. Orion flicks a switch and floor lights come on.

“We have shows most nights, except Monday and Tuesday. Back here is the performer’s changing room, the staff bathroom, the lunch room, lockers for your stuff, and…" he opens the nearest door with a flourish. “Private rooms. These can be booked.” He smirks again. “Or not.”

The room is all red — red lights, a warm red and black velvet couch, ornate chairs off to the side that are upholstered in deep maroon. A chest of drawers topped with another massive mirror sits on the back wall. Adjacent, there’s a display of floggers with a leather-padded bench nestled below.

I swallow.

I’m starting to get the picture.

“Got it,” I croak.

I’ve been in the gay club scene since before I even turned twenty one, so I can’t say I’ve never seen someone use a flogger before. Most of it wasn’t my vibe. Some of it left me curious. Jasper was vanilla, thank god, so none of my knowledge is practical. Orion is watching me closely, probably checking on my vibe, so I strive to keep my face neutral.

But that spark is back.

“The rooms are mostly for Thursdays and Sundays,” Orion says. “The keys are kept behind the bar. You’ve got to watch carefully. They’re not dry nights, but we don’t let anyone in if they’ve been served alcohol.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

I guess my answer satisfies him, because he closes the door.

Back at the bar, Orion has me mix a few cocktails without using the cheat sheet. I slide a whiskey sour toward him and he examines it.

“You done much of this?”

“Officially? No. I’m only twenty four.” I pour another perfect dram of whiskey. “Unofficially? I’ve been mixing drinks since I was eighteen.”

It was my party trick. Jas liked to show me off — his punk-ass kid boyfriend who could mix you anything.

“I haven’t done much in the way of fancy cocktails, though. Mostly Long Island iced teas and cheap highballs.”

“Well, you’ve got skills.” Orion grins. “I think you’ll do fine in a pinch.”