Page 61

I frowned, peering at him in confusion. “Why not?”

He glanced over my shoulder before returning his gaze to me. “Your ex just walked in with a woman on his arm. She’s, uh, wearing a very tight black dress that looks like it’s made from PVC or something.”

Going against his advice, I peered about until I spotted Zach and Mairéad walking into the bar arm in arm. Mairéad was a stunning woman with long black hair and icy blue eyes, petite but with curves. I’d encountered her and Zach a few times over the years, and she was always very nice. Like usual, he was dressed in normal jeans and a shirt, while she was in some Dita Von Teese style get up that clung to her body like a second skin. It was all a part of the fetish world, and Zach had longed for me to dress that way when we were together, but it just wasn’t me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d tried. Unfortunately, my version of fetish wear was a mini skirt, some knee-high boots and a nice top. Zach had always been disappointed in my attempts, so I’d eventually stopped trying at all. Now, he had Mairéad, and it was clear she lived up to all his expectations. If he could’ve created the perfect woman from pure imagination, it would be her. She even wore a choker-style necklace with a little lock in the centre. If I were a betting woman, I’d say the key to that lock was slotted safely in the arse pocket of Zach’s jeans.

I should’ve felt jealous, but I didn’t. All I felt was relief that I was no longer the woman on his arm. A woman who needed to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. It was a lifestyle I’d never truly been interested in, and it was honestly nice to see how well suited they were. Everyone deserved to find the person that fit them, and Zach had found that in Mairéad.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked, looking genuinely worried that I might burst into tears or something.

I smiled. “I’m fine. Zach and I broke up six years ago, so it’s not fresh. The woman he’s with is Mairéad. She runs an alternative clothing store, hence the outfit. They met a couple of months after our breakup and have been together ever since.”

Tristan winced. “How long were you with him?”

“Almost seven years,” I replied, and if it weren’t for all the drinks I’d had, I probably wouldn’t have told him that, but alcohol gave me loose lips.

Tristan’s eyes flared. “Seven years? And you never married?”

I shook my head. “We were poorly matched. It just took me a long time to realise it.”

“So you ended it?”

“Yes. It was for the best. I’m so much happier being single. And I know people always say that, but in my case, it’s actually true. Zach had a lot of things about him that weren’t for me, but I tried to force myself into that shape for him. I barely recognised myself in the end. I’d become miserable and didn’t even realise it. The breakup was the best thing for both of us.”

“Do you think he sees it that way?”

I shot him a puzzled look. “Have you seen his new girlfriend? Of course, he does. He won the flippin’ lottery with Mairéad. I mean, Zach’s an attractive guy, but she’s a smoke show. He’d never have a woman like her if it weren’t for …” I cut myself off before I told my boss about my ex-boyfriend’s Dom fetish and the woman he’d replaced me with being a perfect submissive.

“If it weren’t for what?” Tristan asked, looking entirely too interested in what I had to say.

I cleared my throat and looked to see if any of the bar staff were free yet, but they were still busy taking other people’s orders. “Let’s just say they have a shared interest that I never had a taste for.”

Tristan stared at me for a long moment, like he was swirling the statement around in his head trying to decide what it meant. Then he looked to Zach and Mairéad where they’d joined a group of friends nearby. He studied them for several beats, noticing how Mairéad sat perched on Zach’s lap, his hand around the back of her neck, thumb stroking the edge of her choker, before returning his attention to me. The friends they were with all had a similar edgy, tattooed, Rockabilly style. One guy had a bridge piercing, which was basically a bar going directly through the top of his nose.

“Is it an alternative lifestyle thing?” Tristan asked.

I laughed. “You could say that.”

“Are they polyamorous? I’ve heard that’s becoming more commonplace.”

“Oh gosh, no. The opposite.”

My answer seemed to confuse him, and his puzzled frown was kind of cute. He returned his attention to my ex and his girlfriend. I placed my hand on his arm. “Will you quit staring at them if I tell you?” I asked, amused by how perplexed he was trying to figure it out. Tristan was a man of the world who obviously knew about sex, but there was something disarmingly charming about how lost he was with this subject.

He looked back to me and nodded, and I let out a tired sigh. Zach’s fetish wasn’t a secret around these parts. In fact, there was a BDSM community that he was a part of and they held regular meet ups throughout the year. A lot of people knew that Zach was a proud member. The range of interests could vary, though they all bonded over the fact that their sexual proclivities were outside the “norm.” Zach was what you might call a classic Dom, with some interest in sadomasochism. This meant his sexual partner needed to be completely submissive and also be open to some pain during foreplay. Nothing extreme but also not what I enjoyed at all.

To be honest, thinking back, I was astounded that I’d stayed with him for so long, but then, I’d always longed for security, and Zach gave me that to some extent. In the process, I’d messed my own head up so much that I now had zero interest in a sexual partner. I just wanted peace and quiet, no expectations to be more, to satisfy someone else’s needs while constantly falling short.

“Did you see her choker?” I asked, and Tristan nodded again, keeping to his promise of not looking at them anymore as he focused his attention only on me. “It’s a part of a sexual fetish in BDSM. It means she belongs to Zach. She’s his submissive, and only he has the key to the lock.”

Tristan was quiet, and I almost chuckled. He blinked several times, not saying a word.

“What can I get for you two?” a bartender asked, finally coming to take our order. I realised I’d been at the bar for so long that Samara had abandoned our two-person table to go join Lou and the others at the big table.

“I’ll take two Malibu and Cokes,” I said before looking to Tristan, who was still lost for words. “And he’ll take something strong. Maybe a glass of whiskey?”

Finally coming to his senses, Tristan cleared his throat. “Teelings if you have it.”