Free Shattered: by Janet Nissenson

I shoot from the hip, hate bullshit, won’t tolerate lies or dishonesty. And I especially despise playing games. At least outside of the bedroom.”
    Some inner, unnamed little demon taunted her to reply teasingly, “Now, that’s the second time tonight you’ve mentioned – ah, bedroom games. You’re not one of those guys who’s into kink, are you? Because even though I’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance, I generally reserve that for playing sports. Outdoor sports.”
    Nick laughed heartily, clearly amused. “And what does a twenty-two year old Stanford grad know about kink, honey? You must have lived in a very different sort of residence hall than I did.”
    She ran an index finger very deliberately around the rim of her glass before taking a small sip. “Actually, what I know about kink I learned back in high school. But not in the way you might be thinking.”
    He pulled his chair in closer, resting his elbows on the table. “Now, this is getting very, very interesting. I knew there was a lot more to you than what I’m guessing you let most people see. So tell me, Angel. Exactly what do you know about kink and how did you acquire this so-called knowledge?”
    Angela grinned. “Nothing first hand, if that’s what you’re thinking. God, I never even dated in high school. Except for a very awkward arranged date for my senior prom.”
    Nick returned her smile, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. “Now that I have a very difficult time believing. Especially if you had all of this beautiful hair back then -” he picked up a long, silky strand and sifted it through his fingers. “Not to mention these long, gorgeous legs.”
    She couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped her lips as he very unexpectedly slid a hand up beneath the hem of her skirt to caress a silk covered thigh.
    “I, ah, had both,” she managed to reply somewhat breathlessly. “I was also five eleven and taller than almost every guy in class. For a long time the only one who was taller was this huge geek who wore oversized glasses and kept walking into walls.”
    He chuckled. “I’m assuming that all changed for you once you got to Stanford. But that’s another story. Let’s get back to the original topic, shall we?”
    She nodded, finishing her drink. Nick signaled to a cocktail waitress for refills, pointedly ignoring the woman’s very interested, inviting smile.
    Angela took a sip of her fresh drink before continuing. “I played soccer in high school, as well as volleyball and basketball. It was – well, let’s just say I looked for excuses to stay away from home as much as possible. Sports were one way I had of escaping – stuff. Anyway, one of my soccer teammates – Erika Lyman – her house became the unofficial after-practice gathering place on Friday nights. Especially since her parents always went out then.”
    “Any particular reason why it was always her place?”
    “Sure.” She took another swig of her drink. “The Lymans had a huge estate out in Pebble Beach – pool, tennis courts, gym, game room, you name it. Plus the fridge was always overloaded and the bar stocked with nothing but top shelf stuff. And then of course there was the locked room. The one Erika’s parents had no idea she’d copied a key for.”
    Nick’s eyes were twinkling with mischief. “Go on. What was behind this locked door?”
    Angela glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping, before leaning in a little closer and murmuring softly, “I guess you could call it their – ah, adults only game room. Only this one didn’t have an Xbox or a foosball table inside. More like shackles, floggers, paddles, chains, and a whole lot of X-rated DVD’s.”
    “Ah.” He nodded in understanding. “ That kind of game room. So tell me, Angel, were you shocked when you saw this little playroom for the first time?”
    She lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. “I’m not sure if shocked is the most accurate description. I think when Erika