Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Tracy Judd

" D oesn't this change everything ?" I picked up the next crate of vegetables and placed them on the bench.

"It sure sounds like it," Alessia responded urgently. "So what did he say after that?"

"Just, like…no, I don't hate you, Tracy, blah, blah—but if you don't mind, I'll be keeping my distance," I answered. "Then he went back inside the bar, and he didn't go near me for the rest of the night. He stuck to Ryan and Jameson and a few others, while I was mostly with Madigan and Abel."

" Dio …" She beamed and put a hand over her heart. "Oh, I'm so happy for you, ciccio !" She threw her arms around my neck, and I laughed, both nervous and frazzled. A combination of feelings I'd struggled with all weekend. "You know what this means, yes? You have to flirt with him."

I grinned and shook my head, and she eased back. "I don't want him to go back to glaring at me and calling me punk."

"Pshh! He likes you," she insisted. "He's just…" Her expression softened, and I could see the sympathy. She adored Griffin too. "He's jaded. I think he needs a push."

Trust me, I'd considered it. Alessia was essentially parroting Abel, so I'd already heard this.

Make a move, man! He clearly wants to hit that!

I wasn't sure I had the guts to go straight to flirting, but I did intend to make my presence known when I finished filling out my form. It was Tuesday today, so they had to be returned to Mister Madigan tomorrow. And if Griffin happened to be standing next to me when I added my limits and preferences, maybe he'd feel inclined to show a little interest?

One could hope for a slight reaction, at least. Then we'd see if there would be a next step. If he got angry, the last thing I'd do was flirt. But I did want to find out if there was a possible pressure point that might crack an exterior.

My grandpa had once taught me all about pressure points.

Our gossip moment ended when Jon and Lee arrived, so Alessia excused herself to go drop their boy off at the grandparents'. Just a minute later, Taylor showed up too, which completed back-of-house setup.

Technically, Adam and Griffin were back of house too, but since they manned the grill behind the bar, they were included in the front-of-house crew.

I checked the clock on the wall and set our first timer. "Sixty minutes till we open!" Then I walked over to my expo station and logged in to double-check the reservations.

I fucking loved working in a smaller kitchen. We got the right amount of madhouse but never enough to drive me batshit.

Adam waltzed in soon enough, yawning, and asked for his wife. They lived on the top floor, the third floor, so their commute was comfortable.

"She went to drop off Nicky, Chef." I printed the tickets of the preorders and organized them according to time of arrival. "We have seven tasting menus so far, guys! Two guests on gluten-free, one on vegan."

Adam huffed derisively and walked out of the kitchen.

I grinned to myself.

Griffin took his break in between services when we had a lull, and that worked great for me. While he occupied a stool in the corner of an unused workbench, eating a grilled chicken sandwich, I took the opportunity to eat too. Wings and zucchini fries for me.

It was a job for a multitasker to eat, run expo, and sign forms at the same time.

Our servers, Aurora and Joey, came out to grab the last two dishes on the counter for the moment, so I estimated I had around fifteen minutes before a new round of tickets poured in.

I stuck a couple zucchini fries into my mouth and walked over to Griffin's corner with my form.

He eyed me in that unreadable way, but it was better than blatant hostility. Much better.

"In the spirit of disrespecting your request for distance, may I ask you a couple questions?" I asked. I splayed the form next to his plate, and he knitted his brows and glanced at it. Meanwhile, I lowered my voice so the other three guys wouldn't hear anything. "While I'm very much curious about interrogation play, I'm wondering if the Pursuit is a good place to try it out."

I wanted him to see what I'd filled out already. You never knew if that might set something in motion. I mean, I'd been thorough. From safeword preferences and level of play to aftercare and…all of it. Y for yes on being open for sexual play, Y for yes on having sent my last STI screening already, Y for yes on being on PrEP, Y for yes on severe impact, et cetera.

Abel had divulged more the other day. Griffin was apparently one hell of a Sadist—in that primal way. CNC, takedowns, no holding back. He had less interest in just beating someone who was tied up; he wanted the brutality that came with primal play. Just like I did.

"Do you regress as a Little?" He didn't lift his gaze from the form. He was scanning the different boxes I'd ticked.

"Sort of," I said. "It won't happen during a takedown, though. Two different mind-sets. But with an interrogation involved, I'm not sure what might happen."

He clenched his jaw and took another bite of his sandwich.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and watched him.

"If you don't know, I'd wait," he muttered.

"Great! Thanks." I grabbed a pen from my apron and scrapped the interrogation fantasy for now. Hopefully another time.

He cleared his throat. "When you checked R for rough, are you sure you knew what you signed up for?"

"I have high hopes." I nodded. "Master Ryan says I'm ready for their brand of rough play."

He hummed. "What about partners? Are you teaming up with anyone for this event?"

I shook my head. "No, Sir. I think there are three of us bottoms who are single, and I guess we'll just have to see who catches us. Master Waylon and I have played a little bit before, but we don't have the right chemistry."

He finally flicked a glance my way. "Because he's a high-protocol Master."

Partly because of that. "Yeah, but…sometimes you can't put a finger on it. The connection is either there or it isn't."

He nodded with a dip of his chin and crammed the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

"What about you?" I asked. "Are you joining?" I wasn't ready for the moment to be over. Talking in a civilized manner was progress for us!

"I haven't decided yet." He rose from the stool and reached for a paper towel next to the walk-in freezer. "I had every intention of joining, but then I learned I'm sharing my kink community with a coworker."

A thrill buzzed through me, and I couldn't help myself. "And now you're scared you'll stumble upon him out in the woods and discover he's stronger than you?"

Banter with me, please.

He let out a laugh, a good and proper "Ha!" and wiped his mouth. "Yeah. That's why, Tracy. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to overthrow you."

I beamed at him, downright giddy we could talk like this. "Understandable. Your arms are kind of puny."

Boy , was I full of shit.

He shook his head in amusement and threw away the paper towel. "Get back to work."

But, ugh! I wanted to joke around and see if maybe I could move into flirting territory.

"Okay, but I hope you'll consider joining," I replied honestly.

His mirth faded a little, giving way to something else. Pensiveness clouded by…I wasn't sure. Trepidation, maybe? Caution? Skepticism?

"I'll think about it," he said eventually, and then he left the kitchen.

I blew out a breath as something settled in my stomach. Nerves, hopes, anticipation, a million what-ifs .

I yawned and put on my windbreaker, itching to get home to shower and crash on the couch. To a movie. I was in a Pixar mood. Maybe cocoa too.

"Tracy? Before you leave…" Adam came over to me and handed me a piece of paper. "This is for our Christmas event this year. I wanna get started early on the planning so we don't have to stress ourselves out."

"Yes, Chef." Good call. Last Christmas had been a hit, but we'd miscalculated the interest. In the end, we'd had to add services and days to the calendar, and we'd been so exhausted by the end of it.

I eyed the list Adam had so far. He would be in charge of the turkey and main dishes like ham, brisket, and lamb. Griffin was on specialty courses that showcased local food culture, including his passion for seafood, and I was on side dishes and all things carbs.

"The buffet will be open throughout December this year, and you have six weeks to present your dishes to us," he told me. "It's important that the Christmas theme ties it all together. We're going traditional for this—obviously with our steakhouse twist."

I nodded. "Understood, Chef. Thanks."

"All right, good job today. Get some rest."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." I pocketed the printout and stepped outside, just as Griffin got ready to leave too.

He must've talked to Adam about the holiday stuff already. "Are we doing regular services alongside the buffet?"

"No, not this time," Adam replied. "We overdid it last year. Tracy and I didn't go home until two in the morning most nights, and we didn't get enough customers who wanted the regular menu anyway."

Word. It'd just added extra work to our plates to keep the ingredients for our regular menu on hand.

"Okay, good." Griffin nodded and zipped up his jacket.

They wrapped things up within seconds, both men as tired as I was, and Griffin stepped out into the fall cold too.

It wasn't like I'd deliberately waited for him; it just felt weird to bail when we were leaving at the same time.

We'd been too busy today for me to get a decent number of interactions with him.

Now probably wasn't a good time either because when I was tired, my filters took a hike. I could already feel my adultisms slipping. I wanted my jammies, my movie, and sound in the background when I fell asleep.

Griffin side-eyed me briefly as he aimed for his parking spot, and he halted his steps. "Do you live far away?"

I shook my head. "No, Sir. Just over on Alder." So, five blocks.

He squinted a little, as if he was seeing the map in his head. "That's long enough for me to offer you a ride." He nodded at his truck. "Let's go."

Wow, really?

Um, okay!

Shit, I had not seen that coming.

I hurried after him, and it was crazy how quickly my heartbeat suddenly drummed faster.

Now I was going to get maybe three minutes of alone time with Griffin Lawson in the confines of his truck.

Holy crap.

I climbed in next to him, and he reminded me to put on the seat belt. Such a Daddy reminder! Right? Wasn't it?

"I have a question of my own, if you don't mind." He backed out of the parking spot and fastened his own seat belt.

"I don't mind at all, Sir."

That one earned me a barely there reaction. I was sure it was the use of Sir.

"How do you unite or separate the primal masochist and the Little?"

Oh. Hmm. Good question.

"To be honest, I don't feel my littleisms, if you know what I mean, around others," I answered. "Like in the community, when we meet up—when I see Abel and the others. I guess the masochistic grown-up in me is in charge there."

He nodded slowly and turned onto the next street.

"It could be because I'm single and haven't met the right Daddy," I went on. "Mister Madigan triggered a few of those reactions after he beat me once, and he and Abel invited me to sleep in their guest room. Mister Madigan wanted to keep an eye on me."

Griffin nodded once again. "As he should've."

"But I don't mind my personal Little time either," I felt the need to add. I yawned too. "Every night when I get home from work, I turn my couch into a cuddle fort, and I fall asleep to a funny movie. My Deadpool PJs are waiting for me as we speak."

His mouth twitched a little, and even though he kept his eyes on the dark cobblestone streets, I could tell I had all his attention.

"You don't sleep in your bed?"

I shrugged and then shook my head. "Not really. My bedroom is tiny, and I don't have space for a TV in there. I like falling asleep to sound. So…yeah."

I couldn't explain it, but sleeping alone on a couch was less lonely than sleeping alone in a bed.

Dammit, we were almost on my street.

Griffin cleared his throat. "Have you identified as a Little for long?"

I had no exact answer for that one. "I read about Daddies and Littles when I was, like, eighteen or nineteen, and I've been drawn to that lifestyle ever since. But I guess I didn't find my comfort as a Little until…I don't know, two years ago? Something like that. But it sort of happened bit by bit. I didn't hear about it being a spectrum until later, so I struggled to find my sweet spot first. I had some friends who were Littles, and they didn't act like me." Though, to be honest, they didn't act like one another either. Everyone was different. Some changed their vocabulary, some regressed, some felt it was purely mental. "I sorta stopped defining it. I'm comfortable with the title of Little, but I still have traits some Tops have assumed made me a Middle."

"Such as?"

Oh yeah. "Well, one guy told me I curse too much to be a Little, and another said my favorite movies—Deadpool—weren't fit for a Little's ears."

"In other words, they were idiots."

"That's what I said!" I beamed. "Then I went home and put way too much whipped cream in my cocoa. Sometimes I put chocolate sprinkles in there too, cuz that's delicious like you wouldn't believe."

He actually smiled to himself!

Ugh, I wanted him so bad.

"Cocoa and Deadpool," he murmured pensively. "Cute."

Cute?

"With all due respect, Sir, Deadpool is badass," I said frankly. "I'm number four, by the way."

He chuckled and turned onto my street, where number four was way too close.

My time was up.

The truck grew silent as he slowed to a stop in front of my door, and I had zero desire to leave the car and head up to my empty little loft on the third floor.

"Well…" Crap, I was getting awkward. "Um, thank you for the ride."

He nodded with a dip of his chin and rested his forearms along the wheel. "No problem. I'll wait till you're inside."

Oh God, he couldn't say such things. My heart exploded with yearning to the point where I almost wanted to cry. I really didn't wanna go up there and have another evening on my own. Not when I could so clearly envision him coming with me. Maybe he'd remind me to brush my teeth. Or kiss whipped cream off my upper lip. Or tuck me in…

Fuck. This actually hurt.

I swallowed and mustered a weak smile before I opened the door and jumped out.

"Good night, Sir."

His quiet response came right when he averted his gaze. "Good night, Tracy."

Call me little one, please.

Fuck, what I wouldn't give to hear that.