Max passed him a napkin and kept talking. “I’ll remind you that any new relationship can create stress on your sobriety. Kink-based relationships, with those high emotional stakes, can be even more taxing. Add in the consensual non-consent and it’s…well. I don’t have to tell you how that can go sideways.”

Cade finished wiping his face and dropped the napkin on his empty plate. “No, you don’t.”

“Okay, then.”

Cade waited a beat. “And as my friend?”

“As your friend?” Max set his coffee cup down, his face creasing in a wide grin. “I think you’re a lucky son of a bitch.”

“Thanks,” Cade said with a short laugh, and rubbed a hand down his face. “I feel like I won the kink lottery.”

“No shit,” Max snickered, then sobered. “I really hope it works out, Cade.”

So do I, Cade thought, and picked up his coffee once again. So do I.

* * * *

Over the next four days, Cade went to meetings, visited job sites, went to more meetings, and did his best to make sure by the time he got back to his hotel room, he had just enough energy to check his emails, read Olivia’s goodnight text, and fall into bed.

Unfortunately, his emails usually included one from her, with another round of answers to the questions he’d sent her before he left town on Monday, so reading them was far from restful. And her goodnight texts just conjured up images of her lying in bed, and there was no way he was sleeping with that picture in his mind.

He did so many pushups in that hotel room he was surprised he didn’t leave handprints in the rug.

He could’ve jerked off, and probably should have, just to relieve some of the God-awful tension. But every time he started to, something held him back. He didn’t want his fist—he wanted her.

So he did pushups in his hotel room, and ran on the treadmill in the small fitness center, and did pullups in the bathroom doorway. He took cold showers that were woefully ineffective, and took every opportunity to swing a hammer at the job site. He went to meetings and he checked in with Max—who thought he should just jerk off already—and every day, he talked to Olivia.

They had a couple of phone conversations, but most of their communication happened over email and text. She was sending him the answers to his questions a handful at a time, and it was clear she was putting considerable thought into them. He checked his messages each night with a sense of giddy anticipation, and afterward usually did pushups until his arms were numb, then took a cold shower. He’d asked her to describe her ideal scenes, and her emails were like a customized porn loop in his mind.