Scarlet Toys — S.M. Shade

Living on Violet Circle, a place that's less of a neighborhood and more of an insane asylum poured into the street, I thought I was prepared for anything. After you've seen a woman strip down at the laundry room to wash the clothes she's wearing, then saunter across the street naked, you've seen it all, right? How naïve I was. After the factory closed, leaving me and a good portion of the town unemployed, I took a job managing Scarlet Toys. I knew it wouldn't be a typical work environment, selling adult toys in a town more uptight than a constipated nun, but some things you just never see coming. Like the protesters covered in poison ivy, screaming about smut peddlers. Or a dancing dinosaur named Fappy. Or the allure of the man standing in the center of all the chaos. Wyatt Lawson, a six foot, four inch heap of muscle with a quick smile, ignited my interest in more than the available manager position. Like the missionary one. Or the rodeo. Maybe the side rider. What can I say? I'm an overachiever. Let's just hope he doesn't scare easily.