Milo lay in his bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. Enough of the city glow was filtering through the curtains that he could see them, even in the dead of night. He couldn’t sleep. The events at the club kept replaying in his mind. The embarrassment. The mortification. He must have seemed so helpless and pitiful, but despite all that, Lucien had still boldly stated he was interested in someone like Milo.

After Lucien and Danny had left the staff room, Milo had grabbed the copy of The Book that was kept in the staff room. He hadn’t even changed out of his alcohol-soaked clothes yet before he’d started flipping through the pages. The Book was organized alphabetically by first name, as some members chose not to disclose their last names, and Milo had found Lucien’s entry fairly quickly. Funnily enough, it was the page right before Milo’s.

Lucien Calloway, age 33, he/him, gay, dominant.

He’d been a member of Red Obsidian for seven years, which was exactly how long the club had been open. Another note disclosed that Lucien had been a dom for a total of twelve years, which would have made him twenty-one when he first joined the BDSM community. All that experience… it was an aspect Milo appreciated—especially after having his safeword ignored by a newer dom.

Milo had read on down the checklist, seeing how much his and Lucien’s preferences matched category after category.

But even if they were compatible kink-wise, Lucien was a Calloway. Every single person living in that city could tell you who the Calloways were: elite, rich, and the family responsible for building half the town. The tallest skyscraper downtown shone with their name emblazoned above the entrance. And Milo knew Lucien was one of those Calloways—and not just coincidentally sharing the surname—because he’d googled it on his way home. Lucien was the direct grandson of the founder of LeeCalloway, and he’d even gone on to create his own branch of the family business, Calloway Design.

Lucien had more wealth than Milo could comprehend. He was successful, driven, and hot as hell in every single picture that Milo had scrolled through on his phone. Lucien was just as Milo had thought before—way out of his league. And he had no business getting involved with someone like that, not that Milo was available for contracts or relationships anyway—if that was what interested Lucien.

But still, as sleep refused Milo, he kept wondering what a night with Lucien might be like. To be bound by him, submitting to his dominance and at his total command. Milo shuttered, and it took great effort to keep from responding to his too-vivid imagination.

When the morning finally came, Milo was relieved despite the serious lack of sleep. He needed to get to the express care clinic before Don left for work. The cut only bothered him a little, and it was on his non-dominant hand. After Lucien had left them last night, Danny had assured Milo that he could get worker’s compensation if the doctor said the cut was too severe. It was a huge relief, but he’d much rather work, as the comp pay wouldn’t cover the tips he could get.

Milo rubbed his tired, puffy eyes before putting his glasses on. Donovan slept on, and Milo wouldn’t wake him. He’d told Don the night before that he’d be running to the express care early, so that he could make it back before Don left for work.

There was no rush for the bathroom, and Milo got to use up the hot water first for a change. Once he was showered, dried, and dressed, Milo slipped on his shoes and jacket and left the apartment before anyone else was even awake.

The wait wasn’t too long to get in to see a doctor, and he did get a note allowing him to work that night. Since it was still early as he rode the metro back home, and Danny would be sleeping, Milo sent him a text to say that he was cleared to work and he’d see him tonight.

Milo wondered if he’d also see Lucien. Although it was unlikely since he’d be back to work at the nightclub.

When he arrived home again, Don was busy in the kitchen packing his lunch. He could hear the shower running, and it was probably Raine. Alice liked to sleep in for as long as she could get away with on the weekends.

“I got my note,” Milo said, heading over to the coffee pot.

Donovan placed the butter knife he’d used to make his PB&J sandwich in the sink and turned to Milo. “Are you sure you’re okay to work with your hand like that?” Don asked, with some amount of skepticism and concern.

“The doc said it would be fine,” Milo replied, waving the note at Don.

“You mean the doctor at the over-crowded express care trying to get patients in and out as quickly as possible?”

“Very funny,” Milo said, getting himself hot and fresh coffee. “I’ll be fine, Don. It barely hurts, and I can move it no problem. It’s just my finger. I can still pour all the shots and over-priced cocktails.” And Milo didn’t add that they couldn’t afford to miss a weekend’s worth of tips.

“Alright,” Don said, giving in. “Don’t forget I’m cutting your hair tonight, and I’ll be bringing home pizza—any requests for toppings? Besides cheese for Alice.”

Milo hadn’t forgotten that Don wanted to talk to him about something; the low niggling of anxiety had been with him since Don had mentioned it the day before.

“Nah, I’m good with what everyone else wants,” Milo said, sitting at the table with his mug.

“Alright. See you later,” Don said, ruffling Milo’s hair as he walked by, as if he were the older brother. Based on their looks, it was what most people thought anyway.

Milo just shook his head and sighed, waving Don off. He sometimes wondered how things would have been different if he hadn’t been born the oldest. Don had always been confident and capable, someone to naturally look up to. He didn’t hesitate or agonize over decisions like Milo always did. He was grateful that Don had stuck around to help, and he’d miss him terribly when he finally decided to leave and live his own life. Milo honestly didn’t know what he’d do if that was what Don wanted to talk about later.

He took a big breath, then continued drinking his coffee. He’d figure it out when the time came. He had to.

When Milo finished, he put his mug in the sink and washed the few dishes before they had a chance to pile up. Then he went down the hall toward his room to gather his laundry, passing Raine just getting out of the bathroom.

“How’s the hand?” Raine asked.

“It’s all good. I got the note so I can work tonight.”

Raine didn’t give him the concerned look that Don had. Instead, Milo received Raine’s special you-are-being-an-idiot look, but he was used to how Raine showed they cared.

“I’m gonna do some laundry,” Milo deflected. “Do you have anything you want thrown in?”

“Yeah, hold on. Let me get my work uniform,” Raine said, disappearing into their room.

Milo waited a minute before Raine returned, holding their uniform, which still smelled of fry oil and grease.

“Thanks,” they said. “I’m not working tonight, but I’m leaving pretty soon to hang out with Trent and Ellie.”

“Trent or Ellie’s place?”

“Ellie’s, then we’re going to the mall. I’ll have my phone on me.”

“Okay. If you leave while I’m downstairs, let Alice know where I am.”

“Will do,” Raine said, going back into their room. “See ya.”

Milo finished his way down the hall to his room. He pulled his hamper out of the closet and threw in Raine’s work clothes. Everyone was responsible for doing their own laundry, but Milo liked to ask if anything needed washing while he did his. Then he took his keys from his pocket and unlocked his bedside table drawer. He pulled out his bundle of club wear and quickly stuffed it into the middle of his laundry basket, keeping it hidden amid his jeans, sweaters, socks, and underwear.

He slid the drawer shut, then scooped up the old transistor radio sitting on the bedside table. He put it on top of the laundry pile, along with a pair of headphones. Then he carried the hamper to the living room, leaving it near the door.

They kept a jar of quarters in the kitchen, on the counter by the coffee pot. Milo opened it and scooped up a decent handful; the dryers tended to take a lot of quarters, needing extra time to avoid everything coming out damp. He put the quarters in a plastic baggie, then returned to the living room.

Setting the quarters in the hamper, Milo double-checked that he had everything he needed. The laundry room was only in the basement of the building, but he’d rather not make multiple trips up and down the stairs. Keys in his pocket—one unlocked the cubby that stored their laundry detergent—and his phone, quarters, dirty clothes, and radio. All set.

Just as he reached for the knob, a few sharp knocks startled Milo, then filled him with dread. Only one person knocked on their door like that, and Milo clenched his jaw. Then he tried plastering on a neutral expression before opening the door. Aunt Gina and his cousin Kace stood on the other side, ready to ruin Milo’s day.