“A clean slate,” he said with a smile.
“Want one?” I asked.
He let go of my waist to stroke his chin, like he was deep in thought. “Let’s see. Do I want a second chance with the one who got away? I wonder, wonder, wonder.”
I swatted him. “I want a second chance with you. Let’s label it now—what’s happening between us. Let’s give ourselves another chance. Everything is out in the open, and we’re going to talk, to work things out, and to be honest.”
His expression turned serious. “Yes.”
He dropped a kiss to my lips that sent me soaring.
And I was damn near ready to tug him up to my place, but I had a meeting to go to that evening.
So I broke the kiss and suggested we see each other tomorrow.
“Like a date?”
“Like a starting over,” I said.
And that sounded like perfection.
* * *
I held tight to those words—what’s happening between us.
Labels or not, something was most definitely happening.
We were clearly dating again. I couldn’t even try to pretend it was anything but real, honest-to-goodness dating. As if we had just met and were so taken with each other we had to see each other as often as we could. And we’d agreed to dial back the physical, to take our time as we got to know each other again.
It was scary and amazingly fun at the same time.
The next day, I visited Edge in the morning with my assistant choreographer, Christine, to make notes on the space, since the layout of their Vegas venue was similar to the one in San Francisco. James showed us around, but Brent popped out of his office to say hello.
“Hey, Shay. Good to see you,” he said as he walked to the other end of the club. After we reviewed the plans for the show, Christine said she needed to return to the studio to rehearse the dancers, and James had other meetings to attend.
As I walked to the exit, Brent caught up with me. “Can I interest you in lunch?”
“Assume you can definitely interest me in lunch.”
“I assume that’s for the best,” he added.
“Yes, it is.”
Saying yes was easy. Saying yes felt right.
* * *
After we finished pho and chicken dumplings at an upscale Vietnamese restaurant on the Luxe’s property, he said he had a gift for me.
“You really don’t have to give me anything,” I replied as the waiter cleared our plates, even though inside I was delighted. I adored his zest for giving me sweet little things.
“I know, but truth be told, it’s not something I can control. My desire to give you gifts, that is.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans. “I come from a long line of gift-giving men. It’s in my blood, and it can’t be bred out of me.”
I laughed. “I would never want you to lose that trait, then.”
He handed me a small champagne-colored drawstring pouch. I’d never had much growing up, and I’d learned to live with that. But that’s not why Brent’s generosity had thrilled me so much when we first began to date—I loved his gifts because they were a reminder that he was thinking about me. And my mind was usually on him too.
With quick, eager fingers, I untied the bag and plucked out a pretty rose-gold bracelet. I gasped. It matched the silver one that I wore every day. Simple and stylish, it was just right for me.
“I noticed you started wearing bracelets,” he said as he stretched his arm across the back of the booth, looking so casual and confident, but also hopeful. He clearly wanted me to like his gift. “You never did before, but you do now, so I picked this out for you.”
“I love it,” I said softly, my gaze on him. “So much.”
His brown eyes sparkled at my response, and warmth rushed through me from knowing this simple give-and-take, this little back-and-forth, mattered. It was only lunch, but it was suddenly more.
I held out my wrist, letting him clasp the jewelry on me. Instantly, the moment shot me back in time to another night when he gave me jewelry. A ring.
The night he’d proposed, he’d taken me ice-skating. It was a sport I could still do well enough in spite of my injury. I’d shown off for him, gliding and spinning across the rink while he’d skated . . . well, the way most men who weren’t hockey players or professional skaters skated. Clumsily.
It hadn’t bothered him though. He’d laughed at his own clunkiness. And then, in a moment of magic, he’d proposed.
Amazing how, in spite of what I saw happen to my parents, I’d never had a single doubt about Brent. I had wanted to be his wife as much as I had wanted to dance—a pure, perfect, passionate love.
A dark thought landed in my mind. Had my mother felt that way when my father proposed to her?
When had Dora crossed the line from loving mother to killer wife? Was there a switch that had flipped in her, or had the possibility always been there, latent through the years? Did she start to change when she cheated on her husband with a well-liked local piano teacher?
I didn’t know when the shift happened for her.
And I never would.
But that was her past.
They were her mistakes.
Her life.
This, in the here and now, was mine.
The present was the only thing that mattered.
I focused on Brent, not on my checkered parents and the imprint their ruined marriage had left on my heart.
I ran my finger across the metal. I loved this bracelet because it was from the man I was getting to know all over again.
“What are you thinking?” he asked me, as I stared down at his gift.
I looked up, meeting his gaze. This was a chance to be open. “I was thinking of the time we went ice-skating, and you proposed,” I said, a little nervous to admit that. “When you told me that you loved me, that you’d love me always—I don’t think I’d ever been happier.”
“Me either.” His Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed. “When you said yes, everything seemed perfect.”
Seemed. We hadn’t known then where our future would go. But perhaps it was all leading back to this. This perfect now with this perfect man.
I grinned, wanting to lighten the mood as I remembered his cartoonlike fall to the ice just moments before he’d popped the question. “At first, I really worried you’d hurt yourself. I didn’t realize you were working your way onto one knee.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret—I did that on purpose.” He laughed. “Agile AF. That’s me.”
“I’ll make a sweatshirt for you with that title on it,” I said, and my nerves were dashed just like that. By the way we could talk like this.
“King Schmuck. Agile AF,” he said, like he was reciting his new name.
I shook my head. “News flash. You’re not King Schmuck. Not at all.”
He arched a brow, looking pleased. “I’ve clawed my way out of the King Schmuck cave?”
“I’d say you clawed your way out a while ago.”
He pumped a fist.
I moved to the other side of the table, ran my hand through his hair, and whispered, “Thank you for the bracelet.”
“It looks gorgeous on you,” he said, locking his eyes with mine.
I held out my wrist so we could both admire it. “I always loved your gifts, and I still do. Because they’re from you.”
“Good, then you can assume I’ll keep giving them.”
And that was a very good assumption to make.
23
Brent
The next day, I invited Shannon to the Thai restaurant at the Luxe. There was something so freeing, in a way, about the pattern we seemed to fall into with lunch. These moments in the middle of the workday, with a clear beginning and end, were perfect for getting to know her again. That was what we both seemed to crave.
After the food arrived, she jumped into questions. “Tell me more about leaving Late Night Antics. You said the show was canceled and the show’s creator had a huge
falling out with the network. Was that hard for you? You loved comedy so much, and you could easily have found another job in TV,” she said as she rested her chin in her hands and looked at me, a curious expression in those green eyes. There was no judgment in her tone. It was just a simple question, and one I’d been asked by many others when I’d announced I was leaving the show that I’d wound up hosting.
But still.
My fork froze in midair over the chicken pumpkin curry. “Was it hard?” I repeated, stalling for time.
She nodded. “You were so successful, so popular. It couldn’t have been easy.”
My muscles tensed, a visceral response to a topic I didn’t entirely want to get into with her. My work had driven us apart, and I was wary to discuss it, because I had loved it.
I feared that the full truth of that love would make me look bad.
Like the kind of guy she couldn’t lean on. The kind of guy who might turn away.
I stared at the golden Thai dragon on the wall, at the red embroidered jacket behind the hostess stand, then at the sea of busy tables and booths full of tourists, high rollers, and Vegas businessmen and -women doing deals at the Luxe.
I pulled my eyes away from the crowd and back to Shannon. Her long brown hair fell loosely around her face, so different from the short, fresh-faced style she’d had in college. She was different too. Tougher than she’d been back then, but softer as well. More vulnerable at times.
I could easily spin a quick tale about loving the nightclub business with my whole heart. But I wanted to show her that I’d changed—by giving her the full truth, warts and all.
I inhaled deeply and steeled myself. “Look, I could tell you I love nightclubs like crazy. But that wouldn’t be completely true. Yes, I’ve always craved the challenge of running a club. Yes, I do love Edge, and building it has been exciting, and I’ve enjoyed it. But absolutely I miss comedy at times.”
Her brow knit. “So why didn’t you stay in it? You could have worked on another show. I know the entertainment business is fickle, but you were well-liked. You could have found another gig, surely.”
She wasn’t wrong. I could have stayed in TV. I exhaled, because this was the part that was tougher to say, in case it reflected badly on me. “I could have. That’s true. But the timing seemed portentous. I didn’t want to wear out my welcome.”
She tilted her head. “How so?”
“I wanted to go out on top. I didn’t want anyone to cringe when I did my monologue. I didn’t want anyone to say, ‘His jokes are stale’ or ‘He’s phoning it in.’ So I made a choice to change careers.”
She nodded a few times, as if she was processing my decision. “I get it. You wanted to leave on your own terms. But why do you say that as if you think I won’t like it?”
I was going to have to spell it out, no matter how bad it made me look. “Because I was worried you’d think it proves I don’t stick around. That I just change my circumstances when I have the opportunity,” I said, the words tasting bitter. My own indictment.
She didn’t speak at first. I wanted to kick myself for having spoken so honestly.
“Does it mean that?” she asked, but her tone wasn’t cutting. It was earnest. “That you don’t stick around when things get tough?”
I shook my head several times for emphasis. “I don’t think so. I don’t regret choosing to walk away from the possibility of another show, but I think—at least, I hope—I’ve learned that what might be a good philosophy in business isn’t necessarily a good way to approach relationships. Just because I left one doesn’t mean I’ll leave the other.”
She flashed me a smile, and in it I felt exonerated. Not from the choice to step away but from the prospect that she was only going to see me as a certain type of guy.
“Change is good,” she said. “Isn’t that what we’re all trying to do? I know I am. I’m trying not to see people for the things they might do. I’m trying to believe in second chances and, as my grandma would say, focus my energy on that.”
“She’s the smartest woman I know. I agree with everything she says,” I said, slicing a hand through the air as if making a declaration, and Shannon laughed.
“But I noticed one thing about you hasn’t changed . . .” she said.
“Besides my stunning good looks, strapping build, and huge cock?”
She rolled her eyes and burst out laughing. “Yes, it is still large.”
“Let me know when you need another reminder.”
“Sure, whip it out right now, Brent,” she said, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Daring me. God, I loved this about her. She went toe to toe with me.
I lowered my hands to my crotch and pretended I was getting ready to unzip my jeans.
“Kidding! I’m kidding,” she said, and I stopped. Then she wiggled a brow. “And yes, I do want to revisit your cock soon. But what I was getting at is this.” She stretched to push up my shirtsleeve, her fingers tracing the sunburst on my forearm. My skin sizzled under her touch, and matters south of the border grew harder as she stroked the ink on my skin. She trailed her fingertips across the tribal bands. “You have the same ink you had in college. You never got any more?”
This question was easy as pie to answer. “I got them all with you. You came with me for the first one, and then the others, so it seemed wrong for me to get more without you.”
A smile seemed to tug at her lips, like she liked that answer a lot. “Did you want to get more? Was there something you had in mind?”
I fixed a studious look on my face, then said dryly, “A zebra.” I held out my arm, pushing my shirt up more, showing her the canvas I’d use, where my upper arm was free of ink. “Right here.”
She went along with it, jumping in. “That sounds perfect. You could even have the stripes go all the way around,” she said, tracing a pattern on my arm.
“The other option is a badass Pegasus. Breathing fire and all. You see, Shan, now that you’re back, all I want to do is just cover myself in ink. Coat myself in it.”
“You let me know when you’re ready to go under the needle. I’ll be there,” she said as she danced her fingertips up my arm, hitting the cuff of my shirt from where my sleeve was pushed up. She wrapped her arm around my biceps and squeezed, then let go of her grip.
But now it was time to answer her seriously. “But yes, someday I would like to get something again. If you wanted to come along with me.” The words came out vulnerable. They made me feel vulnerable. But they were true. “I always associated ink with you, babe. That’s why I stopped.”
She flashed a soft smile. “I mean it. If you want to get more, I’m there.”
“It’s a date,” I said, and the date we were on was pretty great today, so I reached for the bag I’d brought with me. It had been next to me in the booth, since this gift didn’t fit in my pocket. “I got you something else.”
I handed her the bag.
“Brent,” she said softly, but a smile spread across her face—that was reward alone. She dug into the shopping bag and took out a box, then opened the top. I cataloged her reaction. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with happiness, then she brought a hand to her chest and took out a pair of red leather shoes with a strap over the arch of the foot.
“You’re still a size seven, I presume?”
She nodded as she slipped off her black heels and tried on the new ones. “I can’t believe you got me shoes. I love shoes.”
“I know you do.” I leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “The shoes looked sexy, and you’re sexy, and I’d love to see you in them.”
She stretched out her leg across mine and modeled the new shoe, then spoke in a smoky whisper. “Do you like them?”
I groaned as I answered, “You know I do.”
“Do you want me to wear them on Saturday night? When you take me to Alvin Ailey?” Her tone was inviting, like a promise of what we might do this weekend.
What I desperately wanted to do.
/> “Yes.”
She leaned across the table, dropping her voice more. “And do you want to fuck me on Saturday night?”
I went up in flames. That was all I wanted. “Yes.”
“I want that too.”
All I could think about now was her in those shoes on Saturday, and what might happen later that night.
I was picturing it all too perfectly.
Too bad my phone rang and I had to think about Tanner when his name flashed across the screen. Perfect boner killer.
“Let me grab this for one minute,” I said to Shannon, then answered the call. “Hey, Tanner. What’s up?”
The man wasted no time with hellos. “Here’s the deal. You need to meet the leader of the neighborhood association. Let him know Mr. Vegas means business. That you won’t be bringing trouble to their block. Can you get to New York this weekend? I set up a meeting Sunday night.”
I cursed silently. Saturday night was Alvin Ailey. No way was I backing out of that. But I could catch an early Sunday morning flight. “I’ll be there in time for a seven p.m. dinner.”
“Fine. I’ll send you the details,” Tanner said in a gruff tone.
Quickly, I circled back to my conversation with him the last time I saw him, catching him up to speed. “Hey, I put in a few calls to the parks department in the city. I made a donation to have some of the parks in the area revitalized, like you suggested.”
“Good. Keep that shit up. You got a long row to hoe.”
Thanks for the reminder.
After I hung up, I gestured to the phone. “The neighborhood association in New York is being difficult about my plans to open a club there,” I said, telling her about the situation as I paid for lunch.
“Why? What’s the issue?” Shannon asked as we walked out of the restaurant.
“Hard as it may be to believe, I don’t think they like me.”
She scoffed. “They clearly have no taste.”
My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series Page 14
