PE: Free: Locke: Chapter One

Chapter Two

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Chapter One

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“So… Guess what?” Harper spoke excitedly as I met her for dinner one quiet Thursday night at our favorite pizza place in Deep Ellum. She had already gotten me a tall draft Abita strawberry lager, and it was waiting for me on a small paper napkin sprinkled with salt to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the glass. My friend knew me too well. She had also ordered our food.  

Pushing my purse to the right side of the booth as I slid in, I asked, “What?”

“I’ve been chatting with FBI Guy a lot lately,” she began with a big grin, taking a sip of her own beer, then wiggled her shoulders. 

The ‘FBI Guy’ had been one of her favorite fantasies for a few years. They met when she first came onto the BDSM scene and had played some. It went nowhere, but she wanted it to. In her words, he was super hot. But I had never seen a picture. To be honest, I wasn’t that interested, but it was entertaining to listen to her talk about him. 

Smiling, I hummed, “Mmm.” That was all she needed to go on. 

“Yeah. He’s been looking for someone new to play with when he’s in town, and I mentioned your name.” 

This made me pay attention. Slowly, in surprise, I repeated, “What?”

Harper and I had been friends since college. We figured out we were both into the scene while sharing a dorm during a drunken night of confessions. We played together several times before, but we were into incredibly different things, so it wasn’t a regular occurrence. But it was fun to have someone to talk about it with openly. It helped me to become more secure with myself, my body, and my sexuality. I realized there was nothing wrong with enjoying getting spanked if others did, too.  

“I was chatting with him, and some stuff he’s into are things I know you really enjoy. Like sensory play and belts,” she breathed, trying to pretend as if she wasn’t talking about being blindfolded, gagged, then beaten in the middle of Mellow Mushroom.  

I adjusted uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t think he’d be interested in me.”

“Why?”

I looked down at my size sixteen self, then back at her- a four. Guys who were into her weren’t usually into me. And I was okay with that. Everyone was different, with distinct tastes. There was a flavor for everybody.  

“He’s seen a picture of you. Lots of them, actually. We’re friends on my real Facebook, too. He said if you wanted to chat, send him a request. If you don’t want to play, at least you’ll have a new friend. He’s a really nice guy,” she encouraged with a smile. Shrugging, I bit my lip as I considered it only briefly.  

“Who likes to viciously spank tied-up women,” I joked a moment before the pizza arrived. We both grinned awkwardly at the server. When he left, I continued, “I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything.”

“I wanna play with him again. I keep hinting-”

Interrupting, I questioned, “Why hint? Why not ask?” Harper shrugged her delicate shoulders, her nose in the air. 

Pouting, she waffled her head back and forth. “If he were interested, I would know. He’s not.” She wanted him to go after her, and it annoyed her he didn’t.  

I shook my head, then mused in a joking tone, “Wouldn’t it bother you if I played with him?” Taking a long sip of my beer, I toyed with the napkin. “I know you have a crush on him.”

Snorting, she turned pink. “Nah. I’d only be mad if you didn’t tell me about it after.” She giggled as she sprinkled cheese onto the crispy pepperoni and ham pizza we were sharing. “He’s still one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. You should at least think about it.”

Just shrugging again, I let the moment pass. 

After dinner and an action movie, I went home to the apartment I shared with my roommate, Morgan. We had lived together for a few years after she answered an ad I put online, and we had become real friends. She was funny, bubbly, outgoing, and gorgeous. She was an actual model. Her long blonde hair and big blue baby doll eyes drew everyone in. Somehow, she looked even better in pictures. 

As much as I liked her, I was jealous of her. But not because of her appearance. I might have been a chubby girl, but I knew I had a pretty face and nice breasts. I loved my looks and my curves. The reason I was envious was Doctor Ryan Maxwell, the man with his arm draped around her shoulders as she leaned into him on the couch.

Beautiful and tall, he had inky black hair. Muscular, every angle was sharp to a fine point. There was nothing about him that was soft. He was the son of a wealthy plastic surgeon and was well on his way to becoming one himself. They had been dating for a couple of years, and my instant crush on him had only grown since the first time I met him in my kitchen at two in the morning while he was getting a glass of water in his underwear.  

Their eyes flicked towards me and away from the movie they were watching on Netflix. But his gaze went back to the screen after a quarter of a second. 

“Hey babe,” she beamed from her spot beside her boyfriend. “How’s Harper?”

“Good. She sends her love. And leftovers. Pizza, if you want it?” I offered her the box, but she shook her head. 

“Ryan?” Still not looking away from the movie, he hummed as he sipped his beer. Pointing, she asked, “Would you like some?”

He peered at me and the small brown cardboard container for a second before taking it from my grip. His fingers brushed against mine. “Um… Yeah. Sure. Thanks, Tine.”

“You’re welcome,” I said lightly, annoyed at how giddy it made me. I didn’t want to be a grown woman with a crush. Dammit, I was nearly thirty. I was getting too old for that shit. “Enjoy!” 

Hurrying back to my room, I was eager to get away from the couple. Plus, I wanted to change into my pajamas. While I did, I turned on my laptop. The first thing I saw on the screen was a funny BDSM meme my friend posted on her private Facebook account. We both had them. No one wanted to deal with their parents or employers knowing about their perverted hobbies. 

I sighed heavily. It had been ages since I played with someone, longer since I dated. It would be nice to have the sex I enjoyed again. There had been too many things going on in my life to focus on that part, and time just sort of slipped away from me. I wasn’t even sure how to start looking anymore.

Before I could change my mind, I PMed Harper, “Okay, what’s his name?”

“West Locke on Facebook,” she messaged right away. She forwarded me a link to his page. There were no pictures of his face, not that I expected there to be. He was in the FBI and probably wanted to keep his job. But there were photos of his body- muscular and firm. His profile picture was of a cropped image of him shirtless and holding a brown leather belt in his powerful hands. She assured me it was him.  

Before I could overthink it, I sent him a request. There was no harm in that, I figured. I always needed more friends. 

“Anything I should know about him?”

Quickly, she answered, “Hmm… Well, he travels for work, so he’s not in town a lot. He lives out of a suitcase. He doesn’t even have an apartment.”

“That’s got to suck.”

“He loves it. Says he prefers to travel.”

Though we had spoken about him a bunch, the details were mostly sexual. I realized I knew little about him. “What does he do for the FBI?”

“He’s a psychologist of some sort. A profiler. But he can’t really talk about it.”

After getting changed, I sat on the bed with my phone. My Facebook wall was still on my computer. West Locke had accepted my request and sent the message, “Hi there.”

My heart skipped a beat in surprise. “Hey, I’m Tine, Harper’s friend,” I typed hastily, just in case he thought I was some random stranger. My screen name was Ann Heart.

“Yes, I know. Hello! How are you?”

“Good. Yourself?”

The three tiny dots showed up in an instant to indicate he was typing. “Tired. I’ve just gotten off of work, and I’m about to fly home… hopefully. My flight was supposed to leave an hour ago.” 

“Oh, no!” Curious, I asked, “Is it raining or…?”

“Yes, it’s storming in D.C. right now. But it seems to be a pleasant night in Dallas,” he casually remarked. I was chatting with a Dom about the weather, and it felt bizarre.  

“It is nice. I was just out with Harper, and it was lovely. I love the summer heat, but I’m ready for fall.”

“As am I,” he replied. “So, tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?”

Deciding to be sarcastic for the hell of it, I wanted to see how he would answer. “I’m a drug dealer. Is that a problem?” 

Typing fast, he demanded, “You’re joking, right?”

“Yeah,” I sent back with an eye-roll emoji. “Of course I am.”

“You know… If you had that kind of attitude with me while you were here, I would’ve had you over my knee already.” 

Something in my stomach tingled. I licked the corner of my mouth as I thought about how I wanted to react. 

Brassily, I responded, “I was going to tell you what I do, but I think I’d rather be taken over your knee.”

“Actually, I know very well what you do, Valentine. I was just trying to get to know you better and see how you answered.”

With a smile, I asked, “Oh, and what do I do?”

“Besides being bratty, you mean?” Bratty was a good term, and I knew it right away. I was already enjoying this conversation. “You’re a writer.” There was a pause before he added, “Harper speaks of you often.” 

“She talks about you a lot, too,” I admitted. 

“I enjoy chatting with her. She’s funny and intelligent. And she always speaks highly of you.”

He was rather formal, but I didn’t hate it. “Same. She says you’re a great guy, but I am a brat,” I joked. “I should warn you.”

“I know. I like that.” A shiver tickled the base of my neck, running down my spine. It had been so long since I flirted with anyone that it amazed me I still knew how. “So, though your original reply speaks volumes… Tell me more about yourself. How old are you?”

“29. I’ll turn 30 in about a month. You?”

“33. What do you do for fun? Besides the obvious.”

I wasn’t expecting him to ask that. I had to think about it for a second. “Well, I may pretend it’s torture, but writing is a lot of fun. The research, the planning, the organization… which is the boring stuff. I also like to cook and paint. What are your ‘normal’ hobbies?”

“I love to read and draw. Actually, I have a confession. I’ve read some of your work before, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Harper recommended it.”

I had dozens of books and short stories online- everything from children and teen novels to hardcore smut. They were all published under different names. Though I had written a lot, I wasn’t making much. I was just pulling in thirty thousand a year. It was barely enough, but I knew it was still more than the average author. 

“Oh, which?” I could only assume. 

“Everything under Ann Heart.” I wasn’t surprised. Those were my perverted titles and where I made most of my money. They were easy to write, and I sometimes pumped out hundreds and thousands of words of it a month. “And all of your Valentine Chase, too.” 

That one shocked me. That was the moniker I used for my efforts into more serious dramas. There was a murder mystery and a period piece under that, too. They barely sold a thousand copies each.  

“All of them?”

The dots popped back up. “I spend a lot of my life waiting. In airports, on planes, trains, and just in general. I have an overabundance of time to kill. And once I find a writer I like, I have to read everything by them. It’s a habit.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. “So, I’m an author you like?”

“One of my favorites now, if I’m honest.” 

He was very effectively flirting with me. But I wasn’t certain how seriously to take him, so I decided to test him. “What’s your favorite story of mine?”

“The whodunit under VC. The Rabbit in the Snow. Your attention to detail on the crime scenes was stellar. I appreciated the realism you used when dealing with the criminal aspect. Also, the twist was beautiful. I didn’t catch it until the end that the surgeon was the villain the first time. When I went back again, it was like reading a whole new story. I read it three times in a row, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything else.” 

This stunned me. I wasn’t expecting an answer, let alone a lovely and detailed review of his feelings towards the novel that was my personal favorite of my stories. It took two years to write altogether, the longest I had ever worked on a single project. I finished it while I sat by my father’s deathbed.  

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it! Coming from someone who works with the FBI, I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Very much so, though enough of it isn’t quite right to convince me you’re not a serial killer, which is good.” 

I giggled. “What did I get wrong? Please, I’m always trying to improve. Maybe you can correct my mistakes.”

“Oh, and how would you like me to?”

“However you prefer. You’re the one with all the experience.” I added, “With the FBI, I mean.” 

“Hmm, that’s true. Perhaps I’ll read your wonderful story again and take some notes to give you.”

I bit my lip. “I’d love that.”

We chatted for two hours until they finally called his flight.

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Thanks for reading! 💛

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Chapter Two