Breathe [Running to Love 3] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Allyson Young

  * * * *

  After graduating at the top of her class, Rowan obtained a job in the library at the University, amongst her beloved books. She adopted a persona at work that was quite at odds with the one she portrayed in her social life and wondered a little at the dichotomy. She dressed conservatively on the job, both to impress upon the academics and her parents that she took her work seriously, for indeed she did, and to communicate that she was worthy of her position. She soon became one of the more invaluable employees. On the weekends she didn’t have to work, she frequented clubs with Jackie, and people would be hard-pressed to recognize the prim and proper campus librarian as the young woman out for the evening. Rowan “hooked up,” as they called it, with two of the men she met over the years, and embarked on relationships with them. She actually found the sex perfunctory, even after the obligatory deflowering, a process that wasn’t particularly painful or earth shattering. Zeke had been thoughtful and patient with her, but she hadn’t felt anything for him that might have been considered worthy of a long-term romance. The sex certainly didn’t live up to any kind of billing.

  After Zeke, Hans had come along, and he had elicited more physical feelings within her, and she thought it was because he was more forceful and assertive in their lovemaking, causing her to make a comparison to her erotic romance novels. She felt like she was on the cusp of something with Hans, but his job transferred him out of state before they could explore things further. Rowan had a feeling that she was like one of those submissives featured so prominently in said novels, although her brain worked hard at reminding her what a strong, effectual woman she actually was, graduating with her master’s degree and working at an esteemed university, part of the faculty, at age twenty-five. It made her a bit schizophrenic.

  Jackie had come out to her around that same time, and she and her friend had shared a bottle of the ubiquitous white wine, laughing and crying together, this time in Rowan’s apartment. Jackie believed she was not only bisexual, but interested in a polyamorous relationship.

  “Fuck me, Shakespeare. My mom and dad expect me to come home, get a job as an English teacher, find a husband and start having lots of children to add to the ranks of our humongous Italian family! No freaking way are they going to accept that I want to do both men and women. And not necessarily separately.”

  Rowan was intrigued and for a moment flirted briefly with the idea, then discarded it. She didn’t want to harm her friendship with Jackie for the sake of simple experimentation and her own sexuality yearned more so for one man. A strong, knowledgeable man who would know what she needed and provide it. Rowan just didn’t know where to look and wasn’t actually sure she really knew exactly what she needed. The fictitious man might, though.

  “I’m not adverse to a ménage of sorts and I’m slowly moving into circles that accept the idea of two women connected with one man. There’s quite the underground movement around alternate sexuality in this fine city, Shakespeare. I’m just kind of chickenshit to try. ’Cause what if some freak does me instead?”

  “What sorts of circles, Jackie?” Rowan wished she hadn’t drunk so much wine. She was missing something here.

  “Well, you know that I’m dispatching at the police station on the east side.” Rowan nodded. Jackie had applied on a whim for the position and to her surprise, loved the job, although her degree in English was polar opposite. The unpredictability of it, the adrenaline high, and the camaraderie totally appealed to Jackie, the social butterfly.

  “I was talking with one of the female cops on break the other night, and she kind of hit on me. I was sort of freaked, you know? I didn’t realize I was putting out vibes, but turns out I was. Ashley didn’t talk very long, had to go on a call, but she said some of the cops belong to a club. It apparently is a place for them to go and unwind out of the public eye with like-minded folks in the protection services. She alluded to it being a place to meet people safely and uh, participate in some stuff that you can’t find other places. I’m having coffee with her after work tonight.”

  Jackie looked so earnest, her shoulders a bit hunched, big eyes fixed on Rowan’s as if fearing a put down. Her recently cut blonde hair feathered around her piquant features, and Rowan felt a surge of affection for her friend.

  “I think you need to follow your gut, Jackie. It sounds pretty safe and this may be your chance.”

  “I appreciate the encouragement, Shakespeare! I have to tell you that it sounds perfect, and knowing there’s a club that offers the venue makes it easier.”

  Rowan’s head spun. She wondered if the club Jackie referenced might be like one of those in her novels. It felt like karma, and she gathered her courage.

  “Jackie? Will you tell me about the club if you go? Unless of course, there’s some kind of secrecy policy.”

  Jackie stared at her, eyes narrowed. “What’s up, Shakespeare? You aren’t bisexual. Or gay. Or…”

  Rowan shook her head and ’fessed up. “I’m something, Jackie. I’m searching, and those guys in the nightclubs kind of leave me cold. Hans was different, but there was no emotional connection, you know?”

  “Yeah, but he was hot. Was he kinky?”

  “What do you mean, kinky?” Rowan heard the defensive tone in her voice and bit her lip. This was her friend, Jackie. She could tell her anything. This kind of withholding was probably what was keeping her from getting what she needed.

  “C’mon, Rowan. Did he tie you up, use any toys?”

  Rowan felt the familiar crimson tide flood her face, and before she could answer, Jackie pounced triumphantly. “He did!”

  Rowan stood up and tried to walk away, but Jackie hung onto her like a leech. “No, he didn’t, Jackie, and I think I wish he had, but I didn’t know how to ask, and he didn’t read my mind. I’ve regretted it ever since and I don’t know why I’m so embarrassed about telling you.”

  Jackie got quiet and released Rowan’s arm, then patted it. “Oh shit, hun. Are you thinking you’re some kind of a deviant? Because you’re not. There’s lots of folks who experiment, don’t just have vanilla sex. I mean, look at moi! I’ll tell you about the club if I can. Now, let’s finish this wine and order in some Thai.”

  The rest of the evening passed in quiet friendship. Rowan felt closer than ever to Jackie, and reassured. Maybe her life outside of work would become more fulfilling.

  Chapter Two

  “Ms. Scott.”

  Rowan’s head snapped up from her perusal of the computer screen, her hands unfortunately striking the keyboard and leaving a nonsensical pattern of letters across the document she had been studying. The dean of literature stood at her desk, looking every inch the absent-minded professor, his gray hair and lined face belying the youthful intelligence in his old eyes. Rowan itched to find some patches to sew on the elbows of his jacket, worn thin by too many hours resting and rubbing on the surface of his desk. The dean was soon to retire, or at least that was the rumor and Rowan briefly wondered what he would do with his time. Teaching and research had been his life.

  “Yes, Dean Atkins?”

  “I’ve been assured that you are the best person to provide me with an outline of some of the drivel our students are reading these days. I have been led to believe, via that ridiculous suggestion box, that I am quite out of step, and that despite your evident maturity, you are more aware of the times.”

  Rowan looked down at her business suit in not a little consternation. She was only in her midtwenties, for goodness’s sake! Dean Atkins had just included her in his group of dry academics. She felt as though she was wearing a disguise and then fought a smile. She was. It was perhaps a good thing that the dean couldn’t see the underwear she had on under the dull, ordinary, if well-tailored, suit. She let the smile morph into a professional twitch of her lips. “I believe I can help you, sir. I’ll email you a list.”

  He grunted and wandered away, leaving a stale scent of pipe tobacco in his wake. Rowan suppressed a shudder. She really didn’t want to dry up
and blow away, working in a library for the rest of her life. The thought unsettled her. She loved this place! It just wasn’t fulfilling her. It was a good thing that a person really didn’t go blind from self-abuse. She covertly checked her palms anyhow, but that was just men, wasn’t it?

  She spent the next hour compiling some suggestions, throwing in a few eyebrow-raising titles while she was at it. She had a great deal of work ahead of her before the weekend, researching and cataloguing an entire donated collection in original Greek. The drawings themselves were intriguing, but she needed to find a translator. The hours flew by, and she wearily stretched up and out of her chair. The dean had his list, and she had made a good start on the collection. If she were truly dedicated, she would work over the weekend, and might have done so, except Jackie was coming for dinner. She hadn’t seen her friend for weeks, because of Jackie’s shifts not gelling with her own hours, and texts and emails just didn’t cut it. Rowan, the last to leave as usual, shut off all the lights and set the alarm. She couldn’t recall who worked this Saturday and Sunday, but thought it was one of the graduate students. Regardless, she was finished for this week.

  Jackie was already in the apartment when Rowan got home, the wine opened and poured. The oven had come on in blind obedience to the timer she’d set that morning and the smell of chicken in savory herbs and rice greeted her as she opened the door. Jackie enveloped her in a hug, smelling sweetly of the floral fragrance she preferred.

  “I missed you, Shakespeare! I’ve pulled a lot of shifts, and found a couple of other things to occupy my time.” Jackie’s affect was almost manic, and she looked different, somehow. Rowan hugged her friend back, stooping to do so, and then really scrutinized her. The drift of bright blonde hair was the same, the petite and curvy body as animated as ever, but Jackie’s violet-blue eyes were shining.

  “What?”

  Rowan shrugged. “You look different.”

  “I feel different, hun. Here, have a drink and let’s have a chat.”

  They settled themselves on either end of the heavy old couch that Rowan couldn’t bring herself to replace, despite the fact that it was ancient and upholstered in a depressing shit-brindle brown. She compensated by throwing brightly covered crocheted afghans over it, and enjoyed its firm comfort.

  “Remember I told you about Ashley?” At Rowan’s nod, Jackie continued, “Well, she and I have spent a few evenings together, platonic like, but she’s definitely interested and I’m feeling the pull, too. And she totally gets that I like men as well. She’s not so into them, but doesn’t object to the idea of a threesome. Maybe not permanent, even if she and I go anywhere with this, but still…”

  Jackie tapered off and then seemed to find her wine incredibly fascinating. Rowan tapped her leg with her toes. “Jackie? It’s me, remember? I couldn’t be happier for you, my friend. I won’t pretend to totally understand, but I’ve got your back.”

  Jackie gave her a tremulous smile. “I’m going to give this thing a shot, Rowan, and we’ll see how it goes. But, there’s more. Ashley is going to take me to the club tomorrow night. She wants to introduce me to her friends. I’ll know lots of them, apparently, because some are from the station, but it feels like, well, that I’m important to her.”

  Rowan smiled at her friend and got up to replenish their glasses. She nearly spilled all over the counter when Jackie added, “I told her about you and she said you could come, too.”

  She whirled on her friend. “Jackie! I don’t even know what goes on there! What if it’s not for me? It’s not like I’d even be going there with a date! I hoped you might find out and tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, Shakespeare, it just kind of came out. We were talking about stuff, getting to know one another, and we talked about our friends. Ashley wondered if you and I had a thing, and I laughed which made her curious. I kind of mentioned that you were totally hetero if only you could find a real man.”

  Rowan couldn’t get a full breath. The air literally stuttered in and out of her lungs, and her stomach clenched. God. A woman, who could conceivably become Jackie’s significant other, or one of them, now knew that Rowan wanted a “real” man in her life. She wanted to choke Jackie, and then wondered at her cowardice. She did want a real man. She knew she did and maybe it was time she quit kidding herself. She wanted one of those men who would take charge of her sexuality and help her experience it fully. Maybe she didn’t want the Dom thing in its entirety, but everything she read on it both intrigued and aroused her, even if it scared her a little. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to go with her friend and this Ashley and see for herself. She might learn more. She might even meet someone. It was getting tiresome, going to clubs every weekend and not sensing what she wanted in any of the men she met. Breathe, Rowan.

  “Rowan? I’m sorry. Maybe you’ll come another time.” Jackie sounded so penitent that Rowan couldn’t help but smile, but she wiped it off her face and fixed her friend with the stink eye, just to tease her.

  “If you abandon me to sneak off with Ashley, I’ll bitch slap you, Jackie.” Rowan ruefully reflected that all her reading had given her quite the varied vocabulary. The Urban Dictionary was really quite interesting.

  “I won’t, I swear! Oh, Rowan, maybe we’ll both get what we need.”

  Rowan sipped her wine and made a silent wish that her friend’s hope would come true.

  Chapter Three

  The club was nothing like Rowan had envisioned. It was quiet, for one thing, and not really dimly lit. There were small groupings of loveseats and chairs arranged to give people the opportunity to chat and enjoy a drink, much like the foyer in a nice hotel, although with considerably more intimacy. A large man met them at the door once they had parked Ashley’s car, and he checked their names against a list, despite the fact that he obviously knew Ashley. She winked at him and ribbed him gently about pulling door duty, but didn’t introduce him. Rowan immediately assumed that this was an indication of how seriously everyone’s privacy was respected. She had been surprised, as well, at its downtown location, assuming that such a club would have tucked away somewhere on a seedier side of town, but could see how it might hide in plain sight. It was a big, square, brick-fronted building with a short flight of wide stairs leading up to a paneled wooden door set on heavy iron hinges. Nothing distinguished it from its neighbors.

  They had left their coats in the small cloakroom, and Ashley led the way to a discreet bar. It was tucked in a corner of the room and was more of a long counter faced and topped with pale marble, the veining reminding Rowan of the bark on birch trees. The bottles were tucked into mirrored shelves, and there was a variety, but it clearly wasn’t the focus of the lounge area. Any influence on the senses here didn’t come from alcohol. The acting bartender, another large man who was also teased about working on the weekend, raised his eyebrows at Ashley. She said, “Nothing happening tonight, sweetie. Just introducing my girls.”

  He nodded and filled their drink order, and they chose a place to sit.

  “What was that about, Ash? The ‘nothing happening tonight’?” Jackie asked, easing Rowan’s pressing need to do so.

  “If you were participating in any of the activities tonight, then you can’t have booze,” Ashley explained. “Alistair has firm rules about everything being totally clear, consensual, and communicated. We had a screw up here last year, and he’s determined that it never happen again.” Ashley glowered. “The only good thing that came out of it is that a certain redheaded bitch can’t talk to any of the members, either here or anywhere else. Alistair would revoke her Dom’s membership and she sure as shit wouldn’t want to bring that down on herself.” Rowan’s curiosity was piqued, to say the least, but she was distracted by Jackie’s next question.

  “Alistair?” Jackie’s voice sounded a little shrill. “That’s an unusual name.”

  “He runs the club. He’s actually the owner and the only paid employee. The members pay dues and also take turns providing security, tending bar. The stu
ff we don’t want to hire out to outsiders. We even clean the place. There’s a roster, and none of us really complain. It gives us a safe, secure place to, well, shall I say, pursue our varied interests? You’re here tonight on a visitor’s pass. You might get invited back again, or you might not. Either way, you’ve passed a security check. We take our privacy seriously.”

  Rowan watched the other woman, who didn’t look like anything her mind’s eye had conjured in regards to what a female cop looked like, even if there was a distinct air of authority about Ashley. She was about average height, but with none of the body mass Rowan would have expected. Instead, the cop had a whipcord, feline grace about her. The short, feathered red hair complemented her pale skin and light-blue eyes, and Ashley wore tailored pants and a short blazer over a tight, shiny dress tee. When she looked at a person it was as if she saw all their secrets. Rowan could understand why Jackie had been drawn to her. Jackie was dressed in swirls of yellow silky fabric that suited her bright personality and set off her blonde hair. It was hard not to look at her, although she had grown quieter for some reason. Rowan wondered if she rethinking this whole thing. She hoped her friend would last through the evening, because she herself was very curious and hoped to see it all.

  Rowan felt less certain of her choice of apparel. She had asked Jackie what she should wear but hadn’t really believed her friend when she suggested a simple cocktail dress. Rowan had sorted through her closet and ended up with an outfit that could be perceived as a trifle provocative. The dress was really more suited for standing and dancing, and rose alarmingly high on her thighs when she sank down on the chair across from Jackie and Ashley. And it was red. Not a flashy, candy-apple red, but a dark, deep crimson that fairly screamed class with an undertone of slut. Rowan took comfort in the fact that it wasn’t skintight and that she hadn’t worn the matching shoes, choosing a black pair with modest heels instead, and that her jewelry was understated.