I take a deep breath and focus on the men in the club. I don’t want to be the bitter divorcee, but I have the feeling it’s going to take some effort. I lower my head slightly and examine the men at the bar first. That’s the best place to find a sucker…er, gentleman to buy a lady a drink, and it’s easier to approach a man sitting at a bar. Plus it’s not as crowded, and I can examine them. Some attractive, some not. One on the far end has dark hair with grey sprinkled at his temples. He seems to be the best bet as far as being able to afford a few drinks. He’s wearing nice shoes, black pants, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I’ve always thought that was sexy.
On second thought, he’s not a very good choice. He’s drinking a bottle of water, and is way too good looking for me to successfully squeeze a drink out of if he’s sober. I move on to the next guy.
He’s a good possibility. Baggy T-shirt and jeans that are in serious need of a bigger waistband. His hair’s a bit unkempt and I get the feeling that even in what is probably his late thirties, he’s living in his mom’s basement. I discard him too. I can’t dupe someone I feel genuine sympathy for. It’s just wrong. I’d feel sorry for him and after enough alcohol, I’d probably end up letting him grope me in the parking lot just so he doesn’t realize I was using him for free drinks. No thanks. I’m not a big fan of feeling guilty or being groped by a stranger.
The next guy is not to my taste at all. Slim and blond, with soft features, he looks like a non-greasy version of Leonardo DiCaprio. He’s dressed nicely enough, but I can’t stand a man that would look prettier than me in a dress. With sudden inspiration, I realize that makes this guy a perfect target. He’s a safe bet because there’s absolutely no immediate physical attraction on my part, and I won’t know him long enough to develop any other kind of attraction. It’s a sure thing that I won’t end up going home with him, and I still don’t know if I’m looking for a one night stand. So for now, I need someone that’s not tempting.
I look closer, to make sure I can use him without the guilt. He’s wearing a polo shirt and khakis, which probably means he’s—at the very least—employed. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. No wedding band, and—Joy!—he has an empty martini glass by his elbow and a fresh one in his hand.
There’s a sucker born every minute and Sierra likes to say “If you find a sucker, lick it.” I won’t be licking him, but I will be using him shamelessly, at least for a few minutes. I nudge Sierra and see that she’s already noted my destination.
“Let’s get ’em, girl,” she whispers and gently pushes me toward the bar.
I grin at her and we sashay in his direction.
Chapter 2
Mr. Blond Babyface looks up as we sit on either side of him—a routine we perfected before I met Corey and dropped out of college.
“Ladies,” he murmurs.
We both smile at him and Sierra winks at me. I take the lead. His empty martini glass is in my way so I pick it up and move it, leaning over the bar to set it down. I know this will give him a fairly good view of the curve of my ass. Maybe he won’t notice it’s a bit saggy. But when I settle back on the barstool, his eyes haven’t wandered from his drink. I frown. This is a bad start.
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can get any words out, he beats me to the punch.
“I know what you’re doing girls, and you’re wasting your time.” He gives me a rueful smile before sipping his martini. “I’m as gay as they come.”
“Ah hell,” Sierra mutters.
He raises an eyebrow and smiles at her. “But if you’re willing to forego tag-teaming a man that actually wants to stare at your breasts, it would be my pleasure to buy you a drink and check out the scenery with you.” His fingers flutter on the stem of the glass and he spins it slowly, a frown creasing his brow. “It’s been forever since I had girlfriends,” he whispers. I’m not sure if he meant to say that.
Well. This turned out better than I would have thought. “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day,” I say with a smile. I turn to wave down a bartender and a thin, balding man approaches with a friendly smile.
“Dan, I didn’t know you were a switch hitter,” he says as he leans against the bar, smiling at Sierra and me in a very, very creepy way.
“Fuck off, Jim. These are my friends…” He looks back and forth at us, waiting for us to introduce ourselves.
“Luna,” I say, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the music that’s just picked up in volume.
“Sierra,” she calls from the other side.
“I’m Dan,” he says with a little smile. Looking back at the bartender, he raises his voice as well. “These ladies are drinking on me tonight.”
“All night?” The bartender frowns at him. “Dan, you…”
“Just shut up and get them a drink, Jim. You heard me.” His friendly young face hardens when he snaps at the bartender.
Jim shrugs and looks at me expectantly. I hesitate for only a moment before ordering. “Amaretto sour.”
“Redbull and vodka,” Sierra calls.
“Coming right up.” Jim walks away, though he doesn’t look happy about it.
Upon further reflection, I can’t let this man buy both of us drinks all night. That’s a bit much, especially when he’s not going to get anything out of it except maybe a conversation about shoes. What do gay men talk about anyway? I’ve never been friends with a gay man, though I’ve always thought it would be awesome to ask advice from a man with no sexual interest. But this guy will be a one-night-friend-stand, and I can’t in good conscience let him spend that much money on us.
“Look, Dan, I really appreciate the offer. But you don’t have to buy us drinks all night. Just one is really enough.”
Sierra pipes in, “Yeah, we can all three troll for suckers without spending you dry.”
He laughs and winks at me. “Don’t worry about it.” He spins on the barstool and sweeps his arm to encompass the entire room. “My stepbrother owns the bar, my father owns half of Mobile, and I’m just the shameful family secret they rain money on to keep in the closet.” He turns back to the bar and fingers the stem of his glass again, staring into the liquid with his eyes narrowed and lips thinned. “Order away, ladies. There’s more than enough green to go around.”
Almost drunk and completely bitter. Poor guy. Sierra and I lock eyes, stunned for a moment. Then her gaze hardens and softens somehow all at once and she wraps an arm around his shoulders to give him a half-hug. She’s not much for full hugs, even with the people she loves.
“I’m married to a white man,” she confesses softly. “We’re the biggest scandal west of the bay.”
He smiles up at her, a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s so fucking sad that I want to poke myself in the eyes. This is turning into a pity party, and I’ve already had one of those today. It’s making me grumpy and I get a little bitchy.
“So you’re just going to pay for two strangers to drink the entire night,” I ask suspiciously, voicing the concern that surely Sierra has too.
“Yeah.” He turns back to me and tilts his head slightly. “You look like you could use a night of drinking.”
I’m taken aback at that and not entirely certain what he means. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I try to keep the anger out of my voice. I’m pretty good at it after living with Corey for ten years, so the question comes out soft, quiet.
Dan tilts his head and mischief lights his eyes. I try not to smile at him. “Tan line on your left ring finger. Tiny smudge marks in your mascara like you’ve been crying. Sexy little black dress and fuck-me heels. Hitting up a random stranger for drinks.” He picks his martini up and tips it my way as if to toast me. “Somebody’s recently divorced and looking to drink the bastard away.” He sips his martini while I sputter, trying to figure out what to say.
Gay men suck. I can’t believe he read me so easily. Can anyone else tell? I look around in a small state of panic, avoiding the eyes of the
well-dressed man at the end who is glaring at us and talking to the bartender and the mommy’s boy who is just staring into his beer glass looking sad as shit.
As though reading my mind, Dan puts his drink down with a soft thunk and says, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Straight men won’t have any idea. You just look sensual and determined. They’ll be lining up in droves on the off-chance that they’ll get lucky.” He looks back at his drink and continues, “Don’t let them get lucky. Trust me, rebound sex doesn’t make it stop hurting. It just makes you feel easy and cheap.”
“That sounds like experience talking,” I blurt out before my brain-to-mouth filter has a chance to stop it.
He laughs. “That’s years of experience talking, sweetheart.”
“Dan, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dan freezes at the deep, resonating voice and looks up. I follow his gaze to see the nicely dressed man with grey temples from the end of the bar now standing behind it, glaring first at me then at Sierra. And holy shit, those eyes. They’re the lightest blue I’ve ever seen. I don’t know if it’s creepy or sexy.
Dan leans back and wraps an arm around each of us. “Ladies, allow me to introduce my older stepbrother, Gabe.”
The stepbrother is pissed, but I really can’t blame him. After all, it’s his bar and he thinks his brother is going to take advantage of his generosity. Although Dan insinuated they were rich, so…yeah, okay. If I had a rich stepfamily and owned a business, I’d still make them pay. Maybe that makes me a greedy, selfish bitch. So be it. Looks like I’m in good company.
“You’re not using your free drink pass on these two.” He growls at Dan, glaring at me while he speaks as though I’m a cockroach swimming around in his Fruit Loops. I want to stick my tongue out at him, and barely resist before he looks back at Dan. Maybe Sierra can squash his balls later. I giggle and he jerks his “I will crush you, bug” stare to me. I do stick my tongue out this time, just barely. My courage only goes so far.
I can’t be sure, but I think he might be fighting back a smile as he stares at me with those disconcerting eyes.
“Even if they convince me to bat for your team?” Dan asks, sugar sweet, pulling his brother’s attention away from me again.
“I don’t give a shit which team you bat for. I’m not footing the bill for all of your friends. If you want to spend your money on them, go ahead. But you’re not spending mine.” This last he punctuates by poking a finger into Dan’s face before jerking around and returning to his seat at the bar.
Dan sighs and drops his arms from around us. “Sorry about that. He’s a good guy, but kind of a dick about money.” He starts to say more, but cuts himself off with a wave at the bartender. The bartender puts our drinks down and leans forward slightly.
“You know I had to ask, Dan. Don’t get bitchy about it.”
Dan pushes his now-empty glass toward the bartender. “I never said they were drinking on the family pass. I said they were drinking on me, which means I’ll buy their drinks for the night. You know, Jim, for a bartender, you don’t listen for shit,” he finishes dryly.
Jim ignores him and smiles at Sierra. She snorts and looks away, muttering, “As if.”
I snicker, considering warning Jim about my ball-squishing suspicions. Then again, he might be the type to like his balls smashed. I pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering if the final step in my divorce is what’s making me think so much about crushing men’s balls. Surely, it is. I shouldn’t project my loathing for Corey on all men and their balls. At the very least, I don’t think Dan deserves it.
By the time I get my thoughts under control and pay attention, Jim the bartender is gone.
“So who’s your dad? You said he owns Mobile.” I want to kick Sierra when she asks. I want to know too, but I was going to wait for him to volunteer the information.
All right, that’s a lie. I knew Sierra would ask eventually which is why I bit my tongue. If she weren’t here, I would never have asked. I make an honest effort to keep my nose out of other people’s business. Less drama that way.
Dan swirls the liquid in his glass and sighs. “Sam Cottrell.”
I gulp audibly and Sierra mutters a shocked, “Holy shit.” Everyone for a thousand miles knows the Cottrell name. They’ve purchased every politician since the South lost the war, and don’t just own most of Mobile: they own most of the state of Alabama. No wonder Dan’s bitter and sad. He’s the gay son of the most conservative businessman in the South. And it appears his stepbrother, the stepson of said businessman, is making a foray into nightclubs. I bet that goes over like a turd in the punch bowl.
No wonder he’s drinking his troubles away. And God knows, he can afford to buy our drinks all night without blinking. He probably spends more money on toothpaste than he’ll spend on us in one night.
I won’t be protesting again. Now that I’ve decided that, I wave at the bartender to order a round of shots. Might as well get started, and follow Dan straight into drink-my-troubles-away-ville. I hear it’s nice there this time of year.
Chapter 3
The liquor flows easily, and far too quickly to be quite honest. Just two hours into my night, I have to slow down and start drinking water. Don’t get me wrong. The point of this excursion is to get trashed. But I haven’t had more than one glass of wine at a time in ten years, and I am now a cheap drunk. Even when I went drinking ten years ago, it was dependent on finding someone to buy my drink and bring it to me, since I was married before I reached twenty-one.
After Dan secures a booth for us around tequila shot number four, I figure out that it’s time to sober up so I can keep going. I stand and excuse myself from the corner booth Dan found when we started wobbling a little on the high barstools. He was wobbling way more than Sierra and I, but I’m not going to point that out to him. The room tilts a little when I stand too quickly and I grab the back of a nearby chair to keep the building attached to the earth. I end up using the chair—and the really sad looking mommy’s boy who has left the bar and is now in my support chair—for a couple of minutes before I can make my way to the bathroom.
He says something, but I brush it off. It’s rude, and I hate being rude. I’m a Southerner. It’s not in my nature to do anything but nod and smile, so I give him a little grin and say something about tequila and walking. His hopeful smile tells me it’s time to go whether I can walk steadily or not. I’m not interested, and it would be a complete bitch move to let him think otherwise.
I wander through the tables and by the bar on my way to the restroom. I hope it’s clean. God I hate filthy bathrooms. I’m a stickler for bathroom cleanliness. I will drive twenty miles out of the way to get to a clean restroom. It used to drive Corey insane when we’d take road trips. But fuck him anyway. If I want to drive to Montgomery to pee, that’s exactly what I’ll do, and he can’t say shit about it.
There’s no line and I’m once again shocked at the lack of women in here. There’s always a line for the women’s restroom. But this place really is more than 50 percent male. It’s unusual. Speaking of unusual, there’s a line for the men’s room and I giggle. Isn’t that just divine justice? One guy at the very end of the line keeps looking toward the door impatiently and holding his crotch. Pinch it off, asshole. An evil laugh bubbles up and I do nothing to contain it. Most of the men in line look at me oddly. They probably think I’m drunk, and…well, they’re almost right.
I push open the door and look around the restroom. For a bar, it’s remarkable. Nice and clean and fresh smelling. I do my business, wash my hands, and examine my make-up in the mirror. It looks fine, and with a little wave at myself I saunter outside, and laugh at the guy still holding himself and bouncing. I approach the bar slowly, concentrating on walking in a straight line. The booth looks a million miles away, and my mouth is dry as a bone. I need to stop and get some water before I head back. I make my way to the corner of the bar and climb onto the barstool, making an honest effort to do it in at least a semi-dign
ified manner without flashing the rest of Mobile.
I settle on the soft leather of the stool with a satisfied smile. I’m not falling-down-drunk, and after a couple bottles of water and another bathroom trip, I should be sober enough to pick up the pace.
“How do you know my brother?”
The voice is low, menacing, and directly beside me. I glance over and cringe a little. I didn’t realize I sat down next to Dan’s brother. Or did he sit down next to me? Crap on a cracker, I don’t know.
I blink a few times to get my thoughts back on track and respond, “I just met him tonight.” His eyes harden and he looks irritated. I try to explain, hoping to keep him from being a dick. “We sat down next to him and started talking.” I look away from his eyes, the pale, piercing blue a little unnerving. Like looking directly into the eyes of one of those dogs…what are they called? Oh yeah, a husky. It’s like they can see into my soul, sense my emotions, and see every thought I’ve ever had.
Sexy or creepy? Creepily sexy? Or maybe sexily creepy?
I wave at the bartender and ignore the man next to me while I wait. But it’s kind of hard to ignore him. He’s a big guy, probably more than six feet tall and broad across the shoulders. I wonder what he smells like. All the best books talk about a man’s smell and I’ve never really gotten it. Dad smells like…well, my dad, and Corey always smelled like sweat or beer. But this guy has probably never squeezed out sweat or drank anything cheaper than a well-aged single malt whiskey. I bet he smells good. I glance up and he’s looking over his opposite shoulder at Sierra and Dan. I’ll never have the nerve to get close enough to take a whiff, so if I’m going to, it’ll have to be while he’s focused on something else.
Luna Exposed Page 2