“Mr. Cole? What can I get for you and your guest?”
“Give us a couple of the signature martinis,” Brendan said. “Thank you.” Then he turned back to Tracy. “I want you to tell me what you think about this drink.”
“Sure,” she said, flattered again that he cared what she thought.
“So back to Shawn and Riley. Yeah, I agree, it is cool that they’re that into each other. But a man’s got to make a living, right? Can’t sit around staring into your wife’s eyes all day.”
“Now you’re exaggerating,” Tracy said laughing. “He still spends at least one week a month on the road. And she is pregnant. So I’m thinking there’s a little hater-ism in your commentary.”
Brendan grabbed his chest, as though she’d shot him in the heart. “Hater-ism? Me?”
“Yessir. I can hear it. And I recognize it, because I have occasional bouts of the same affliction myself.”
Brendan grinned at her. “Do you? You want that? All that crazy-out-of-your-mind type love?”
Tracy nodded slowly.
Brendan looked at her, his smile disappearing for a moment. “I don’t know if I want that,” he said quietly. “I mean, I want a partner and someday a family, but that shit they have? It’s . . . disruptive.”
Tracy burst out into surprised laughter. “I’ve never heard true love described in quite that way.”
“You know what I mean,” Brendan said. “You were there. You remember all that? I know there was a time there when I thought my boy had straight-up lost his mind. I mean, everything was about Riley.”
“She helped him grow up though, Brendan,” Tracy said. “He’s the man he was supposed to be, now.”
At that, Brendan leaned in closer as though studying her. “Damn,” he said. “Am I mistaken or do you actually admire who Shawn is today?”
Tracy shrugged. “He’s a good man who’s all about his woman. How can you not admire that?”
Brendan nodded. “True story.”
The bartender returned with their drinks in frosted martini glasses and Brendan held up his glass. Tracy followed suit.
“Let’s toast to the opening of Lounge Two-Twelve,” she said.
“And to you finding a good man who’s all about his woman,” Brendan added.
Tracy forced a smile at that last addition but drank to it anyway.
The club was stuffed to maximum capacity, everyone was enjoying it, and the launch was an undeniable success. Brendan circulated through the crowd, shaking hands, accepting congratulations and pretending to himself he wasn’t looking for Tracy again. When Shawn slipped out just after midnight, he’d made sure to let Brendan know he was leaving and asked him to tell Tracy and make sure she got home okay. So he’d gone in search of her and found her.
She was sitting in one of the alcoves with some dude who was leaning in close, ostensibly so she could hear him over the crowd and music. Brendan swallowed the flash of annoyance he felt and interrupted their conversation to deliver Shawn’s message. She looked up at him, her gaze as impassive as though he was a waiter coming to refresh her water glass, and took the news of Shawn’s departure with a nod and a shrug, smiling in assent when Brendan offered her a car home whenever she was ready. Then she looked at him with dismissal and returned her attention to her companion.
When she turned back to dude, there was something in her eyes, something he’d only seen before when they were in L.A. in that hotel room. He walked away shaking his head. She was planning to fuck that guy. He just knew it. He would bet everything he owned that she was going to wait a reasonable interval, probably come find him to say she didn’t need a car after all and then she was going to go fuck that guy. Not that it affected him either way, of course.
But damn. It was like that?
That was two and a half hours ago, and he hadn’t seen her since. Brendan had spent one of those hours in Meghan’s company, walking her through the club, showing her his office in the back and giving her the VIP treatment. She had a working weekend planned, so hadn’t been able to come earlier, nor to stick around, and Brendan was surprised how promptly after she left he became preoccupied once again with Tracy’s whereabouts. She looked good in that goddamn dress, and when she sat, you could see the length and shape of her caramel-toned legs. The dude she was sitting with hadn’t been able to keep his eyes on her face for more than five seconds before they would fall once again to her legs. And Brendan couldn’t say he blamed him. That damn dress was genius, really. It had a high collared neckline but plunged low at the arms, offering a tantalizing and fleeting peek at the sides and curve of her breasts. Enough of a peek to make you want to lean in closer, if you weren’t also distracted by how short the damn thing was.
Brendan shook his head and made his way towards the bar. What the hell was he doing, thinking about her breasts and legs anyway? Been there, done that. He’d seen them, and he knew they were spectacular. There was no reason to obsess about it. There were probably dozens of women here tonight who could give her a run for her money. Not that he had seen any of them.
And another thing, the dude she was sitting with? No way could ol’ boy hang the way he had that night. Five times minimum he had Tracy screaming her brains out. So if she wanted to go screw some okie-doke motherfucker in an off-the-rack suit, then that was her prerogative. Just as long as she was prepared to be mightily disappointed.
When none of the bartenders acknowledged him immediately Brendan raised his hands above his head—which made him impossible to miss—and clapped until the young woman who’d served him and Tracy earlier looked his way. When she came over with a smile, he leaned in so she could hear him loud and clear.
“When I step to the bar,” he said, “you better damn well stop what you’re doing and serve me first. You feel me?”
She pulled back and blinked in surprise at his tone and then nodded. “Yes sir, Mr. Cole.”
“Get me a scotch and soda.”
When she turned away to get it, Brendan shoved aside the fleeting embarrassment that he’d let his temper get the best of him like that. He never spoke to his staff that way; and he hated people who did. He would leave her a sizeable tip by way of apology, he decided. And what the hell was he so agitated about anyway? When she returned with his scotch and soda he slid her a fifty and she glanced at it in surprise before pocketing it and smiled briefly before returning to her other customers.
At just past two-thirty a.m., it was probably optimistic of him to expect that things would be winding down, but he was beginning to wish for a shower and his bed. That was how it started; soon enough he would be like Shawn, yearning only to get home, rub his wife’s pregnant belly and fall asleep in her embrace. But he had only just turned thirty-three and it seemed a little early in his estimation to throw in the towel on his free-wheeling lifestyle. There were still too many women yet to meet and bed.
That was the problem he was having now with Meghan. She never pushed or pressured, but he could tell she was looking for a commitment. Not an engagement, necessarily, but at least some indication that he could head in that direction, and the truth was, he just wasn’t sure. She wanted him to be a proper “boyfriend” who pledged monogamy and if all things went well, the ring, the wedding and the whole nine. She was just past thirty herself and told him that while she’d come close a couple of times, she’d never wanted to marry anyone she dated.
The undeniable implication behind her words was that he might be different. Thinking about that shit made Brendan’s head ache. Maybe in a couple months, he would revisit where he was with her. The monogamy thing would be a pill, but he could swallow it for the right woman. The question was whether Meghan was that woman.
Just then, as if conjured up by the Devil himself, Tracy walked by. She was scanning the room, searching the crowd. Leaning as he was on the bar, Brendan doubted she would spot him in the crowd, so he stood and headed toward her. Catching sight of him, she smiled.
“Hey,” she said, putting a hand on
his arm. “I won’t be needing that car after all.”
Of course she wouldn’t.
Brendan looked at her coolly for a moment. “Yeah?” he said. “Why not?”
Tracy hesitated for a moment.
He knew it! She really was going home with that corny-looking, Men’s Wearhouse-suit-wearing, short-ass, grinning motherfucker. And here he thought she had some semblance of taste.
“I’m all set,” she said.
“I believe that’s what they call a non-responsive answer,” Brendan said.
Tracy folded her arms. “Actually, it’s very much responsive. You asked why I didn’t need the ride and I said I was all set.”
“Who with?” Brendan asked.
“That’s none of your business, Brendan,” she snapped.
“No need to turn into a raging bitch with me, Tracy. I told Shawn I’d see you safely home and that’s all I’m trying to do.”
And to his surprise, she bought his little righteous indignation act because she looked a little humbled and swallowed hard.
“Okay, well, you can tell Shawn I ran into an old friend. And anyway, I’ll probably talk to Riley tomorrow morning so he’ll get all the assurance he needs that I didn’t wind up in a ditch somewhere.”
Brendan smirked. Old friend his ass. A new friend was more like it.
“Okay, Tracy. Thanks for coming out. See you around.”
He turned his back on her and headed to the bar. Though he couldn’t see her, he sensed that it took her a moment to walk away.
Chapter Five
She almost scalded herself getting into the damn shower. Tracy cursed under her breath and grabbed her loofah, working up a strong lather and scrubbing her skin until it burned. She let the water course through her hair even though it ruined the expensive salon job she’d gotten for the club opening. It took her a long time to feel clean again. At least he was getting dressed and would be gone by now, and she could sleep. Bringing him back to her house had been a lapse in judgment, but one she intended never to repeat.
She wasn’t even sure what brought the whole thing on. Who was she kidding? Brendan. That’s what brought it on. He was so . . . nice to her and so utterly uninterested in her all of a sudden. Sure, he’d walked her in, got her a drink and chatted with her a little. And then he toasted to her future husband and walked away to go survey his little party, not giving her a second thought. A little later on she’d seen him standing across the room with his arm about someone’s waist and when she squinted and looked closer, she realized it was Meghan.
Not his girlfriend? Sure. Right. From where she stood, Tracy thought they looked like a very cozy little couple. Meghan was wearing a perfectly ordinary black cocktail dress and yet Brendan’s eyes as he looked at her couldn’t have been more bright and admiring had she been Miss Universe. Oh, but that was Brendan’s special talent; he knew how to make a girl feel special, she thought bitterly.
She grew even more bitter when she recalled that she shouldn’t still be thinking about him when he had never meant more to her than just a friend. And more than that, she’d allowed herself to bring home some guy she might never otherwise consider, just to salve her wounded ego. The moment when she unclothed herself to a new man was always the best moment—that instant when their eyes opened wide because they couldn’t believe their good fortune that a woman such as herself could want to be naked with them. Even the great-looking men reacted that way.
The problem was that it was almost always downhill from there. They went quickly from feeling lucky to having a lewd look on their faces, as though thinking about all the really nasty things they wanted to do to her. That was about where she generally lost interest in the proceedings. They touched her and she would drift off someplace far away in her mind, moving through the motions, moaning on cue, sometimes faking orgasm to get it over with. A few men were skilled lovers and brought her back to the present and she participated actively, because at the end of the day, she really, truly did enjoy sex. If it was good sex. But those occasions were few and far between. Most of the time, sex made her feel empty unless she took total charge of it as she had done tonight. But even forcing all her favorite positions hadn’t worked, because she was preoccupied.
Brendan, the one night they’d been together, hadn’t made her feel empty; and not only because he filled her up with his considerable, er . . . girth. He had treated her body not as a playground, the way most men did, but as a temple at which he wanted to worship. He’d looked at her and touched her face a lot, and sometimes when they’d kissed, she felt his smile against her lips. Charming, even in the middle of the act of lovemaking. And he’d done what none of the men ever had, no matter how awed they seemed by her: he told her she was beautiful. And not only when he was looking at her, but when he was inside her so it felt like he meant more than her physical appearance, like maybe he was referring to her very essence.
But what the hell was she thinking about that for?
It was just the one night and there was a good chance she was idealizing it. Besides, now he clearly had no interest in her whatsoever.
Tracy stepped out of the shower and toweled dry, pulling on the sweats and t-shirt hanging on the back of her bathroom door, and using a tie for her wet hair. She sighed, feeling a vague soreness between her legs. She hadn’t been ready when he entered her the first time but he didn’t care. He was half-drunk himself and clearly could not have cared less about her pleasure; which was probably fair since she didn’t give much of a shit about his. Not that he hadn’t gotten any; he seemed to enjoy himself just fine and she was the one left wanting and feeling like a human trash receptacle afterward.
She pushed open the bathroom door and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the form spread across her bed. He was partially dressed, wearing his undershirt, dress pants and socks, and looked to have fallen asleep. Tracy’s shoulders sagged.
Oh hell no. She was not having this joker sleep in her bed. As it was, it was past four a.m. and if she let this go on, she would have to face him in the light of day. No. Way. In. Hell.
Tracy approached the bed and reached out, nudging him on the shoulder. He turned in his sleep and grunted but did not wake up, so she nudged harder. This time he opened his eyes, slowly, lazily.
“What?” His tone was immediately resentful.
“You were getting dressed,” she said. “I guess you drifted off.”
“I’ll be gone in a minute,” he said belligerently. And then he shut his eyes again.
“Hey!” she said sharply. “You cannot sleep here.”
This time his eyes stayed open. He looked her over with naked hostility, but said nothing. Tracy felt pinpricks of alarm on the back of her neck, considering for the first time that this was a man she did not really know, that she was alone with him in her locked townhouse, and that there was some pretty significant sound-proofing between her walls and those of her neighbors.
“I’m expecting a friend for brunch,” she lied, trying to keep her voice light. “I really need to get some rest.”
As she spoke, she walked over to her closet, she hoped casually, and slid her feet into her Keds. In her mind’s eye, she recalled that her keys were downstairs in the foyer.
“If you need to get some rest, why’re you putting your shoes on?” he challenged.
“I have to grab some things at the store,” she said.
Her voice sounded less steady now, less confident. She was afraid to look directly at him, apprehensive about what she might see.
“At this hour?”
He was standing now, sliding his own feet into his loafers. Tracy watched him out of her peripheral vision.
“The bakery opens in less than an hour.”
“Lying bitches, man,” he said, his voice cold.
Tracy froze. The fact that he said bitches, plural, somehow made it much creepier. She wasn’t even an individual to him, just a type of woman; a type he did not like very much, though he was willing enough to fuck t
hat type of woman.
Thinking about his relentless charm at the lounge, it was apparent that his animus only reared its head once he was done with you in bed. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to know that men who equated sex with anger were not exactly poster children for good mental health.
A chill traveled down the Tracy’s spine.
“Look, Kevin . . .”
“Kelvin!” he snapped.
“Kelvin,” she said. “I just need to . . .”
He shrugged on his shirt and brushed by her and out of the bedroom. Then seeming to think of a better idea, he stopped and grabbed her face in his hand, squeezing her cheeks painfully.
“You’re a fucking whore,” he said between his teeth, his face inches away from hers. And then perversely, he planted one last, kiss on her lips, his sour tongue pressing into her mouth.
Tracy’s eyes were shut, and when he released her, she froze in place waiting for what might come next. Hearing him descend the wood stairs, she opened her eyes and turned to make sure that when he opened the inner and outer doors, he actually walked down the steps and into the street. When she was sure he had, she ran downstairs and bolted the doors with trembling fingers and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Damn it! She couldn’t seem to stop shaking! Her first impulse was to call Riley, but it wasn’t even morning. She would be asleep and if Shawn answered he would be beyond angry that she called and woke his pregnant wife up. And she didn’t want to admit what had happened, not to him and maybe not even to Riley who she’d promised she wasn’t doing this anymore. The near-anonymous pick-ups and hook-ups had stopped, she’d promised her months ago. And they had, for awhile. Until tonight.
And when Riley had expressed concern about what —and who—she might be exposing herself to, Tracy had insisted, I’m safe; of course I’m safe. I make sure of that. But she’d been lying. What she was referring to was using condoms—which she always did—when she knew that Riley meant much more than that. She wanted to know that Tracy was physically safe, and this little episode proved once and for all that in that regard she was becoming somewhat reckless.
Unsuitable Men Page 6