by E. L. Todd
“Someday…but not anytime soon.”
“And how was it with the guy?”
“The sex?” I asked, surprised he’d ask.
“Yeah. Is having sex with a criminal different from with a law-abiding citizen?”
“In general, it was definitely more aggressive, but more passionate because he’s an Italian man with a sexy accent. But best sex I’ve ever had? Not necessarily. This was right after my divorce, so I was being reckless, more than usual, at least.”
His fingers rested under his chin as he leaned my way slightly and watched me. “Then, is the best sex you’ve ever had with a porn star?”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of bedding a professional…”
“Prince of Wales?”
I chuckled. “No. I asked him out, but he shot me down.”
He grinned. “Biggest mistake of his life.”
“Well, he’s married, so he made the right choice.”
“Ask out a lot of married guys?”
I knew how shitty it was to be cheated on, so I would never do that to another person. I’d had some really sexy guys come on to me, but their wedding rings were such a turn-off I wanted to throw up. “Never. Not my thing.”
“Me neither.”
I turned my gaze and looked across the yard, at the pink rose bushes under one of the oak trees.
He stared at me.
I could feel his look, so I shifted my gaze back to his.
His fingers brushed across his chin. “I’ve been with some incredible women, but you’re the best I’ve ever had.” He said the words simply, without a hint of hesitation, like my discomfort meant nothing to him.
I didn’t know what to say, so I stared back, my heart picking up in response to his words. He was the best I’d ever had too, but I refused to say it out loud. A part of me didn’t believe what he said, that it was just a line, but now that a relationship was off the table, there was no incentive to give me false praise.
“I’m not in the Italian mob and I’ve never held a gun, so I’m probably not the most exciting lover you’ve ever had—”
“Shut up, you know you are.”
He didn’t smile in triumph. His eyes remained serious, his fingers stilling against his chin. “Really?”
“Hands down.” I wasn’t sure why I told him that. I didn’t owe him anything. I could have kept that secret, but now that the gates were open, I shared everything with him, without hesitation.
“That’s quite the compliment.”
“Well, you’ve got a nice dick.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. “Wow, that’s an even better compliment.”
“People who say size doesn’t matter, that it’s all about the way you use it, are full of shit. Both matter—size and experience.” I held up two fingers. “You’ve got both.”
“This keeps getting better and better. No constructive criticism?”
It was perfect every single time. I missed it sometimes…all the time. “Nope. What about me?”
He released a quiet laugh. “No. You’re perfect.”
“If I was so perfect, my husband wouldn’t have cheated on me.” The bitterness escaped my voice when I’d meant to make a joke. But that pain was still there, right around my heart and lungs. I looked away, immediately regretting what I’d said the moment I said it. I hated being vulnerable, showing my weakness and handing out a map of my scars.
He stared at me and didn’t say anything.
I drank from my water and waited for the moment to dissipate on its own, fly away with the summer breeze.
“Your husband’s infidelity had nothing to do with you.” He spoke with a strong voice, making his simple statement resonate.
“You didn’t know our relationship.”
“Doesn’t matter. There are people out there who will always be unfaithful. It doesn’t matter how amazing their partner is. They can’t resist temptation, can’t stop chasing the next hot thing on the block. It might seem like they’re having a good time, but in reality, they’re eternally unhappy. Nothing is ever good enough.”
I turned back to him.
“So, feel bad for him. Not yourself.”
“I don’t feel bad for myself.” I wasn’t having a pity party.
“You’re still carrying some kind of guilt, like you were the reason the marriage failed.” He shook his head. “Trust me, it was him, not you.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
He gave me a slight smile. “I know about your dirty secret with the mafia. That’s gotta count for something.”
A small smile moved onto my lips.
“And I know you a lot better now as your friend than I did as your lover, and that’s been nice.”
It had been.
“Rose played me for a fool and took me for one hell of a ride. But that’s not on me. I’m a good man. I’m a good lover. I’m a good husband. I refuse to let her coldness break me.” He shook his head. “Sure, I have trust issues, but my confidence has never wavered. Neither should yours. Because I’ve had the luxury of having you—and you’re perfect.”
I looked away at his final comment, feeling warmth replace the pain that had gripped my chest a moment ago.
“Have you seen him since it ended?”
I shook my head. “After we signed the papers, we never saw each other again.”
“So, the divorce wasn’t messy?”
“He was the one with the money, but I didn’t want any of it. He got to keep the apartment and everything else, which was fine with me, because I would have just burned it down anyway.” Half of his assets belonged to me, but I didn’t want his wealth to be vindictive or greedy. I just wanted to start over, to make it on my own without looking back.
He stared at me with his fingers over his lips, his eyes dark.
“And I did.”
He nodded. “Yeah…you did.”
I didn’t want to talk about my ex anymore. We were at a beautiful home with an incredible view, so he shouldn’t be getting free rent through our conversation. “What kind of student were you?”
“Meaning?”
“Were you bright, or did you goof off all the time?”
He grinned. “Both.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I inherited my father’s and grandfather’s brilliance, but I was also a little shit who liked to stick my hand up the girls’ dresses and steal my dad’s car in the middle of the night.”
“I can’t picture you acting that way.”
“I mellowed out in college.”
“Except for the hand up the dresses part.”
He chuckled. “That’s only gotten worse as I’ve aged.”
“What about your mother?”
“I won’t sugarcoat it—she was a trophy wife. My dad was a rich guy who wanted a beautiful wife. But he definitely loved her. After she was gone, he never remarried or even tried to date. He always said she was his one and only.”
“That’s sweet…”
“Yeah.”
“She never did anything at the company?”
“No. Stay-at-home wife. Did yoga every day. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds nice.”
“I never heard her complain.” He drank from his glass and looked across the yard, his knuckles under his jaw.
“Why didn’t your sister take over the company?”
“I’m older than she is, and when my father passed away, it just made the most sense at the time.”
“But does she have greater ambitions?”
“I think so. She’s the head of distribution, so she has a big job. But stepping up to my position… I’m not sure if she would ever want the job.”
“Why?”
“She wants a family, and now that she’s got a serious guy in her life, it might happen sooner rather than later.”
“Women can have a family and run a company.”
“I know, but I’m not sure she wants to do both. She knows how many
hours I put in at home and on the weekends, so it makes my job much less desirable.”
“What about two CEOs?”
He considered the question.
“You split the work, so you both have more time.”
“Not a bad idea. But I’m sure she knows that’s an option and has never pursued it.”
“What do you mean, you’re sure she knows?”
He turned back to me. “I’ve never assumed the role because I’m the oldest or because I’m a man. I’ve always told her, if she ever wants the job, I’ll step down. The company belongs to both of us, not just me.”
God, could he be any hotter? He was so confident that he wasn’t intimidated by any event or any person. He had an open mind, not the least bit misogynistic. He didn’t think less of me for my affair with the mafia, didn’t care that I was so devoted to my job, which could be dangerous at times. He accepted me…exactly as I was.
“So, did your ex have a problem with your profession?”
“His name is Evan.” If he was going to keep coming up, might as well just use his name. “And yes, sometimes.”
“I read an article the other day that said the United States was one of the most dangerous countries for journalists. That three hundred of them had been killed doing their jobs just last year alone.” He dropped his hand from his jaw and stared at me, gauging my reaction to the fact that he’d just spat out at me.
“Yeah, that’s totally true,” I said simply. “We’ve had a few people pass away in my office.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, like that gave his heart a little jolt. “And you think you won’t be one of them?”
“No. I just don’t care if I am.”
He stilled even more, as if he couldn’t believe what I’d just said.
“My work is more important than my life. It’s bigger than me. I understood that the moment I started. People enlist in the armed forces, knowing there’s a chance they won’t come back. People run into fires to save other people’s lives even though they may lose theirs in the process. My job isn’t that heroic, but the truth is worth the risk.”
“But the statistical likelihood of something happening to you is much higher than either of those scenarios since there are far fewer journalists than soldiers and firefighters. And based on what I saw in the alleyway, you’ve had a lot of close calls.”
“I wouldn’t call them close calls.”
He didn’t express his anger, but his eyes showed it clearly. He was never easy to read, but right now, the words appeared on the page. He never showed his dislike for my job, but right now, he wasn’t a fan.
“I’ve taken so many self-defense classes, martial arts classes, I have a gun—”
“You have a gun?” he asked in surprise.
“And I know how to use it.”
He released a quiet sigh.
“I don’t like where this conversation is going, Dax.”
“Me neither.” He looked away. “I care about you, Carson. I’d be devastated if something happened to you.” He grabbed his water and drank the rest of it, wiping his mouth on the back of his forearm before he looked at the ocean.
My heart ached at his words. “If it ever does, just know I wouldn’t have changed anything.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, like that statement only made it worse. “Want to get some lunch? I’m starving.” He rose out of the chair and grabbed the glasses before he carried them back inside.
“Yeah…sure.”
Seven
Dax
Loud music played in the club, people dancing on the floor, bouncers hovering around the edges to make sure no one got out of hand. It was a new club in Manhattan and one that Clint had invested in.
I drank from my glass and looked across the room, staring at nothing in particular. The music was a cacophony to my ears, and despite the chaos of the noise and the crowd, it felt oddly quiet…because my thoughts were somewhere else.
Clint had his arm over the back of the couch, talking to a pretty brunette in a silver dress. Franco and Javier were doing much of the same, doing shots off tits and licking their lips. This lifestyle had been fulfilling in my twenties, but in my thirties, it started to feel stale. Every new club was like the one we’d been to before. Every woman in my bed was like the one I’d fucked the previous weekend. Every glass of scotch hit me less and less, because my tolerance had escalated over the past year.
Clint left his girl and fell into the empty spot beside me. “You’re a billionaire in the hottest club in Manhattan, and you look like the saddest motherfucker on the planet. What the fuck, Dax?”
“I’m not sad.”
“Mad?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
The answer was obvious. “Bored.”
He stared at me blankly for nearly a full minute. “You’re bored?”
I nodded.
He looked around then came back to me. “Then there’s something wrong with you because there’s plenty of liquor behind the bar, beautiful women to fuck… What the hell do you want?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“If you’re bored now, then you’re going to be really bored at your birthday party on Saturday.”
“Let me guess. Strip club?”
“Private strip club.”
Yes, that did sound boring.
Clint continued to study my face. “Talk to me.”
I shrugged.
“Let’s have some pussy girl talk because that’s obviously what you need.” He grabbed his drink.
“What about your girl?”
“She’ll wait.” He pointed between our eyes. “Let’s do this shit. Come on.”
“I’m just stressed out.”
“Something happen at Clydesdale?” he asked, his eyes turning serious when he thought my company was in jeopardy.
“No. Remember that woman I told you about?”
“You’re still on her?”
“Well, we’re friends.”
“But you broke up like an eternity ago. Why is she still on your mind?”
I wished she weren’t. “She’s doing an article about me, so we’ve been spending time together.”
“And?”
“I read an article that showed just how dangerous her profession is, and since she’s so fearless as it is, I’m afraid something will happen to her.”
“How is that your problem?”
I turned to him, my eyebrow raised. “Because I care about her…a lot.”
“Then tell her to get a different job.”
I shook my head. “Can’t.”
“Why?”
“I have no right to say that to her. And even if I did, she never would.”
“Then get over her.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Bullshit, you’ve tried. You’re spending all this time with her.”
“We’re friends.”
“Okay, but fucking someone would probably help. You’ve been celibate a long-ass time.”
Carson would never take me back, so I did need to move on. I hadn’t actually tried. If anything, I only became more invested in that woman. Being her friend gave me what I’d wanted when we were dating, this raw openness that allowed me to see past her beautiful exterior and to the catacombs of depth beneath.
He looked across the club, and his eyes settled on a target. “Look at that bombshell in the blue dress. Go fuck her.” He patted me on the shoulder.
“She’s not a dog in heat.”
“When she gets a look at you, she will be.”
She was a beautiful woman with long brown hair, long legs, and full lips—exactly my type. My sex life had been stale for almost a month, and I was anxious to get laid, even though my mind wanted other things. But I knew Carson was hooking up with guys, even if she didn’t say anything. That was what she did.
“Go, asshole. And don’t come back.” He pushed me out of the chair.
I straightened my jacket and shot him a glare.
“Fine, I’m going.”
“Good. Fuck her brains out.”
I walked into the room at the gym with the basketball court. Charlie was already there with Matt, drinking from their water bottles.
Carson was nowhere in sight.
“Hey, man.” I fist-bumped them both. “Where’s Carson?”
“At work. She’s coming straight here from the office.”
I took a seat beside Charlie, wondering if Carson had told him about Denise. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to spill the beans if he didn’t know anything. Definitely not my place to share that information.
“She told me your place is a major fuck pad.”
I was about to drink from my water, but I laughed instead. “What?” That sounded exactly like something she would say.
“I guess your folks’ place is super nice or something,” Charlie said.
She should see my place in the Hamptons.
“Yeah, but it’s not really a fuck pad.” My penthouse was closer to that description. “It’s where I grew up, so there wasn’t a lot of fucking going on, at least not from me.” I’d moved out when I left for college, and my sex life hadn’t been incredible at the time. Maybe my parents got it on, but I didn’t.
“What are you going to do with the place?” Charlie asked.
“Why?” I teased. “You want to bring a date there.”
“I mean…I wouldn’t say no to that.”
William walked inside, in gym shorts and a t-shirt. His towel was over his shoulder.
I raised my hand. “Over here.”
William spotted me and walked over. “So, this is the crew, huh?” He took a seat and shook my hand.
“Charlie, this is my friend William,” I said. “He’s gonna play with us today.”
“What’s up?” Charlie shook his head. “This is my friend, Matt.”
“Hey.” Matt waved from his spot on the other side of Charlie.
“Glad you could make it,” I said.
“I’m excited. But this isn’t a scenario where I have to let you win, right?”
“No,” I said with a chuckle.
“Good. Because I’m not gonna throw a game for anyone.”
We left our stuff behind and warmed up on the court since we were waiting for Carson. She almost never took the bench because she was one of the best players. I introduced William to the rest of the guys, and we passed the ball around.