Page 3 of His Holy Chaos

I weave through the crowd. I have nothing left to lose anyway. My heart is already shattered, the only way to get worse is if someone literally ripped it out of my chest.

I slide into the seat opposite him without invitation, propping my chin on my hand and flashing my best smile.

"Well, hello," I say, winking at Dave and him. "I heard you don’t like brats. Oh, well, it’s too damn bad you’re surrounded by us, isn’t it? I wonder how the hell you got yourself so easily cornered like that. Lack of self-preservation? Usually this is a sub thing, you know, masochism.”

His blue eyes travel from my face down to my hands, then back up again, taking inventory. I've been sized up by plenty of men in this club, but rarely like that, as if he’s defining my worth. It makes my skin prickle and my cheeks flush hot. A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. Up close, I can appreciate the details I missed from across the room. His hands are large, nails trimmed short. A heavy watch circles his left wrist, not flashy, but expensive. He has broad shoulders and probably is a regular at the gym.

“Funny how you think I’m the one cornered when all of you are begging for my attention.”

Oh. Wow, okay. He’s good at banter, and that’s my jam.

Dave clears his throat. "Ford, this is Jude. Jude, Ford."

Ford extends his hand across the table. "A pleasure."

I take it. "The pleasure's all mine.”

“Mhm, I bet. That’s how it usually goes with brats,” he answers, not losing eye contact. “So greedy. Never wanting to give anything back.”

I raise my eyebrows, surprised.

Dave makes a choked sound that might be laughter. "I should check in with Glynn about that thing. You two get acquainted." He slides from the booth. Dave is short and chubby, face shaved, receding hairline.

"Subtle," I mutter, watching him weave through the crowd toward the bar.

Ford shrugs, unapologetic. "Dave has many qualities. Subtlety isn't one of them."

"Sooooo," I stretch the word into multiple syllables, drumming my fingers against the tabletop. "Why would you come to literally Disneyland for brats when you claim not to like us? Did Dave drag you here or are you easily convinced despite your preferences? Maybe not much of a Dom, after all, wanting to please at the cost of your sanity?"

"This is the second time you’ve questioned my dominance. Is this all the game you got? I’m disappointed." Ford takes a sip from his glass. It’s definitely tea or juice, not alcohol. I go silent. That guy is good.

“I… I’m just out of practice, okay?!” I answer back, sounding like a kid on the verge of a tantrum, but he smirks, predatory.

“No questions here if you’re a brat or not. Definitely empty-headed like one.”

Now I laugh. “Oh, wow. Going for the kill, I see.”

“Oh, my sweet summer child. This is nothing. I don’t kill before I barely started playing with my food. But don’t worry about it. Your job is to be empty-headed and pretty, I will do the thinking for us.”

Now I am definitely in awe. I wasn’t expecting that from him. He looks so… put together. Conservative. Boring? Like a grownup who likes taxes and math.

“So you think I’m pretty?” it’s all I can say. He is hitting my degradation and dollification kinks just right.

“I wouldn’t be wasting my time with you if I didn’t,” he says, drinking more.

I know I’m pretty. I’ve recently gotten a buzz cut that made me look pretty badass like a gangster, then I bleached my hair white, and I have honey eyes. I know many people say they have honey eyes when they are only brown but mine are actually honey-colored. I’m a twink’s dream at 5’8”, and I hit the gym every day to keep myself lean but strong. My abs are important to me. Even though admitting that sounds lame.

“So shallow, Ford.” I feel like I just moved a chess piece in the right direction with that comment.

“Well, you know what they say, beauty is power. You caught my eye. But Dave also told me about your reputation when I asked who the blondie was. He said you used to be like a king here.”

“The king of brats. I like it. Would drink to it if Glynn hadn’t cut me off. Such flattery, I didn’t take you for the flattery kind, nor Dave for that matter.”

“I ought to give a little praise after calling you empty-headed,” he says, and I chuckle.

“You could call me much worse than that and I’d like it. But I’m a slut for praise as well.”

“Of course you are,” he says with that smirk.