Chapter 1
He and I were friends. Just good friends. For some reason, his crazy antics made me happy. Back in the day, when we were in our 20s, we would lie on his bed together, a little bored, talking about nothing-and everything. One afternoon, I remember we were waiting for a movie we wanted to see, though I doubted Adam Sackler-Slacker, I called him-would sit through it. He was a restless guy.
"Why are we wasting our money, Slack? You know you're gonna want to leave half-way through."
He stopped tossing this little rubber ball he'd found. "Fuck you, Feral Gremlin. I can sit through a movie."
"Naw, you can't."
He rolled over. "Probably not. Movies fucking suck these days. I can do better." He looked at his tiny phone. "Starts in two hours. Blow it off?"
I looked at him and his shaggy mop of black hair, his big old nose and lips, and those knowing whiskey-brown eyes. He was cute but a little rough around the edges for most girls. His big mouth got him in trouble.
"No, I heard it was good. Also, why are you going out with me tonight? Did you even call her?"
He made a face. "I don't cold call girls that much. I'm a fuckin' creep, Rey. You know."
If he called me Rey, it was serious.
"You are not." I'd defend him forever. If he was a creep, then I was a gremlin. We both had our shady pasts. He was a weirdo and I was a street kid.
"Yes, I am." He tossed the ball between his huge puppy paws. "'Cause all I wanna do is have nasty, creepy sex with her. She's probably a nice girl."
I'd heard this before. My buddy had a very low opinion of himself. "So what? Some people like creepy sex."
"Not like this," he muttered. He wouldn't tell me what he was thinking when I asked. We didn't talk much about sex or relationships. I was convinced he thought I was a boy, too. I wore my hair scraped back into three buns on the back of my head, owned no makeup, and dressed like a fucking hillbilly in khakis and t-shirts. I didn't have money or time to worry about it. A girl mechanic got dirty, so fuck it.
I jabbed my friend with my booted toe. "Spill it or shut the fuck up forever. Why won't you get into a relationship with someone? Or at least try?"
"I wouldn't be able to hang with you." He tossed the ball at me, trying to catch me off guard.
It took more than he had to do that. I was used to surprises from when I lived on the street. Adam knew that and wasn't surprised when I plucked the stupid ball out of the air.
"You shouldn't want to hang with me. I'm a grease monkey and a friend. Not even one with benefits." I didn't want to fuck him, though. We had too much fun together, fixing shit, banging around his place-or mine. The thought of ruining it with slimy feelings and slimier sex had me hyperventilating.
"The things I like would send women screaming. I tried it all already. The only close one was Hannah and she was fucking nuts."
I counted them on my fingers. "Hannah, Mimi Rose, what's her face, Jessa."
"Natalia," he said.
"Right. The really uptight one."
He groaned. "I fucked that relationship up."
"Yeah, it's fine. She didn't suit you anyhow. You're funny and she didn't know it."
He scrubbed at his beard. "No. You're right. I don't know how to be polite and I was drunk as a skunk. Fuck me. I called her names."
"Eh, some people like degradation."
He looked at me without blinking.
"Not me, asshole. I'll punch someone's lights out."
"Know you would," he muttered.
"I'm just saying there's someone out there for everyone, Slacker. Jesus. Don't get your panties in a twist."
He bounced off the bed and stood in front of me with one hand on his hip. I sat up and criss-crossed my legs.
"What up, pardner?"
He waved a hand. "I want to state here and now for the record..."
"There is no record, Slacker."
He ignored me. "For the record... I want a slave, a fucking free-use slave. Someone I can tell what to do and when to do it. I want a collar and a leash on her. I want her to be
my
little whore-and no one else's."
His eyes glittered.
"You want what?"
"I told you I'm fucking depraved."
"Sure. You're going to make someone your slave who'll do everything at your beck and call. Wash your shitty clothes? Do your stinky dishes? Make your ugly bed?"
"No, no." He flapped his arms. "I don't give a fuck about that stuff. I can do all that. I want a sex slave."
"Ohhhh, I see. Just 'cause you're a horny fuck."
"Yeah. But I want to boss her around and make her do what I want in bed."
I roared with laughter. "You and every other man in the universe. What does she get out of it?"
"I'll make her come, don't worry."
"Lovely. What else?"
He dropped to his knees, eyes an earnest burnished brown. "She'd be my queen and want for nothing in this world."
My mouth dropped open. He was completely serious. "Want for nothing," I whispered.
Shit, I could almost go for that. Of course, the man had nothing but some power tools and two-by-fours, but the idea was intoxicating nonetheless. Slacker's Queen, what a concept.
Who would be the Master and who would be the slave? That's what I wanted to know. That's what I never found out.
***
That weird conversation had to have been a good fifteen years ago. Things had changed. We lost track of each other a couple months later when Adam got cast in a TV show in California and moved away for good.
I got tired of being the last hired and first fired and put myself through journalism school. I ended up on the New York, then California, paparazzi circuit talking to spoiled celebrities about their latest films, albums, TV shows, and other pet projects.
It was a living. Most of the stars seemed to appreciate my sass, a change from others who fawned and trilled their way through interviews. However, I had never interviewed one of the most famous actors-turned-directors, one Adam Sackler.
Until now.
And all the fuck I could remember was that goddamned day in his too-sticky apartment talking about kink. I'd been around the block a couple times and now knew what he hadn't understood about his own proclivities. The man was a service Top who wanted some sort of Master/slave dynamic.
Wasn't gonna be me, but, hey, at least I understood it now.
I walked into the back room of the swank LA restaurant, feeling a bit cocky. Yeah, we were going to talk about that new movie he'd just released, sure. But we were going to talk-talk, like friends, too. I missed him.
"Hey, Slacker," I said.
He rose from his plush seat, bigger and wider than I'd ever seen him. I'd forgotten just how huge he was. He was so skinny when I knew him that he came across like a friendly beanpole with hands and feets too big for his frame.
Now, he was a fucking refrigerator.
