Damn. This was no way to live.
He kicked off his shoes and tugged on the gloves, still damp from the night before. The first few jabs at the bag burst from him in a blur. Several more, slower and more measured, followed. The familiar squeak of the chain filled the barn. Dust floated up from the floor. Dan continued to pound the bag.
“Figured I’d find you back here. I came prepared this time.” Matthew stepped out of the shadow, holding up a small cigar, its end glowing orange in the muted rays of the lowering sun.
Dan called a greeting as he continued to jab and hook. The spicy tobacco scent drifted over, mingling with the dust and sweat.
Matthew stepped around the bag. “Want to come down to our place for dinner? We’re grilling steaks. I know you don’t want to say no to that.”
Dan connected with his left enough to make the bag jump. “I’m probably not the best company right now.” He pummeled with his right.
“When have I ever listened when you said that?”
Dan jabbed the swinging bag a few more times then pulled it to his chest and leaned into it. He didn’t want to ask about how things were with Tara. It was obvious from the look on his friend’s face that the two of them were doing great. It wasn’t jealousy twisting his gut into knots, just a freshly aching awareness that their kind of love existed. And that he wanted it.
So he turned to the safer topic. Work. “You should be pissed since it looks like Josh’s bullshit promotion is going to stick. The way Olivia took advantage of her position to get that asshole into the job you should have had—”
“You can’t fix everything in my life, Dan.” Matthew puffed on this cigar, blew the smoke up and then settled his gaze on Dan’s.
The subtle acknowledgment of thanks lifted a bit of the unease crawling through Dan.
Matthew blew a puff of smoke upward, then smiled. “Look on the bright side. If I had gotten the promotion, I would’ve had to work for her. Now I can apply for a spot in a different department. I hear community relations is looking for someone.”
Matthew moved over to a stool by the wall and continued puffing, a cloud of expensive smoke forming around him. Dan started swinging again, alternating his arms until he fell into a soothing rhythm. After another burst, he slowed and then stopped. “Is this your new thing, coming over here and bugging me?”
Matthew pretended to ignore him, instead puffing on the fine tobacco. “You know this is the only place I get to smoke. Stop ruining it.”
Dan turned and went back to battering the bag, using his fists and the rhythm of his body to numb the restlessness in his mind.
“You know you can’t move forward until you let the past go.”
Dan dropped his hands. “You’re a mind reader now? You’re reading my mind and giving me advice?”
Matthew offered him a cryptic smile. “I’m giving myself advice. I let go of the fact that I should have gotten that promotion and now something else will come up. Same thing with Tara. I can’t hang on to what happened. I can only think about the future.” He took another puff and leaned back to study the glowing tip of his cigar. “But for you, I’ll add this extra piece of wisdom. If you know what you want to be a part of, then you should start being a part of it. Not run from it.”
He smirked. “Fuck you, Matthew.”
“Does that mean you’re coming over for steaks?”
Dan laughed. “Maybe.”
* * * * *
Hours later, after sharing steaks with Matthew and Tara on their balcony, Dan circled through the lot of Tigers, passing empty parking spaces and watching the crowd at the door. Each time he reached the lot exit, he’d pause, look from the street to the red carpet. Then he’d ease off the gas and roll through the lot again.
Finally, he gave in and parked.
Minutes later he was passing through the door, as he had so many other times before. But unlike those nights, he wasn’t on the prowl. He was only there to avoid being alone. He’d sit and watch—only. Dan said no thanks to a spot near the stage and instead headed for the bar and asked for a beer.
Sasha Kozlow spotted him and bustled over, waving to a hostess as she made her way. “Come, darling, you must let me put you closer to the stage.”
“No. But thanks.” He kissed her on the cheek.
“Daniel. I should be angry with you for not saying hello last time you were here.”
He shrugged. “I thought I was here on business. I was distracted.”
“Distracted? My girls are ugly to you now?” Sasha guided the hostess she’d called over to stand beside her. “You were one of my very best customers, Daniel. We all miss you.”
Dan looked the woman over, letting his gaze linger on the sheer shorts hugging her hips. From the top of her blonde head to the soles of her platform heels, she was come-fuck-me perfect. “You’re gorgeous,” he said to her. “Thanks for coming over.”
“But not who you’re looking for?” Sasha asked, after Dan shifted his gaze so quickly to the woman’s face.
“No.” He took a swallow of his beer, then added, “I’m not looking for anyone in particular.”
“Very well then.” Sasha tapped the woman on the hip and pointed to a pair of men in a far corner who were much too deep in conversation. “See if you can stir them up, darling.” The hostess offered a breathy goodbye and strutted off, weaving her way between the tables while the stage lights rolled across her flawless body.
“I’ve seen that look before.” Sasha waved to the bartender, told him to take care of Dan’s beer, and then took Dan’s elbow and tugged him off the barstool. “Come with me. We will talk.”
She wasn’t a woman to argue with. And he was intrigued, so he followed her away from the bar, through the tables running alongside the stages, all the way to the back of the club.
They passed through a doorway into a narrow hallway lined with autographed photos. Picture after picture showed celebrities circled by beautiful girls. Some of the girls were topless while others were wearing exotic beaded bras or feather boas. In one of them, Dan recognized Billy Stephens, the tattooed lead singer of Tattered Heart. In another she recognized Tom McMillan, a quarterback his friends always complained about. The pictures told stories of exquisite female sexuality and success, but not of love, dedication or commitment.
Sasha led him into a room, closed the door behind them. “Sit, please.” She indicated one of the two burgundy, plush, velvet chairs across from a delicate wooden desk. Dan sat in one and she joined him in the opposite chair.
It only took two simple questions from Sasha to get Dan started. He’d been holding everything in for so long, that the events of the past couple weeks poured out. He told her everything—the promotion, his sense of responsibility for Matthew, his desire to see Tara returned to the bed of the man she loved. Then, finished with the question he still had yet to answer. Had he done the right thing?
“Yes, of course you did. Many men perform that service for couples.” Sasha uncrossed her legs and smoothed out the hem of her trim skirt. “You did a good thing, Daniel. Helping your friends.”
He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and shifted in his chair. True, it had felt right then, but now he was even more restless than before.
“Not many men have that kind of strength.” She smiled. “That big of a heart.”
She got up and went to the desk where she pulled a card from the top drawer then came back around and offered it to Dan.
The printing on the card included a single name, Abigail, an address on the beach, south of LA, and a phone number. He turned it over. Cuckold Beach was written in pencil on the back.
“Do something with that heart. For now, Daniel, be there for others.”
He held up the card. “That’s what this is?”
She nodded. “When you call her, tell her I gave you the card. And be sure to let her know I said you’d be a perfect addition to her beach house guest list. She’ll know what all that means.”
Dan sl
id his finger along the edge of the card, remembering what Matthew had said about being a part of something in order to be closer to what you want. It had sounded like garbage at the time but suddenly it made some sense. That night when Matthew had come for his wife, Dan had felt whole for the first time in a long, long time. If bringing couples closer could make him feel that way again, the choice was obvious.
Sasha sat back down and crossed her legs. “You will call her.”
Dan smiled as he slipped the card into his shirt pocket and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. “Goodbye, Sasha.”
“Goodbye, Daniel.”
He left the room, strolling back through the hall then out the doors of Tigers for the very last time.
About Isabelle Drake
Thrill-seeking risk takers, heroes with the dark past, sexy locales, untamed women! Isabelle Drake writes stories featuring men and women who aren't afraid to go after what they want. An avid traveler, she'll go just about anywhere—at least once—to meet people and get story ideas.
Isabelle welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Wicked Pink
ISBN 9781419992209
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Wicked Pink Copyright © 2015 Isabelle Drake
Edited by Shannon Combs
Cover design by Victoria Miller
Photography by by Maksim Šmeljov, Sergej Meitalov
Electronic book publication May 2015
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