Halftime Husband

by McCarthy, Erin

  Contemplating, I reached out and took the fresh martini the bartender was handing me. “Moonshine.”

  “Moonshine?” She laughed. “You’ve never even had moonshine. How would you know?”

  Her confidence amused me. “How do you know I’ve never had moonshine? I did grow up in the woods of Minnesota.”

  “And then Texas,” she said.

  I was surprised she remembered that from the carriage ride. It had just been a brief passing comment on my part. “Yes, I did.”

  “I concede. Maybe you have tried moonshine. I have not. So I can’t judge if it would be painful in the eye or not.”

  “Maybe there is no sliding scale. Maybe they all suck.”

  “Probably,” she agreed. She raised her glass. “Here’s to my mother, who must have said, ‘Dakota, stop screwing around, you’ll get hurt!’ at least one million times in my childhood. I should have listened more.”

  “To your mother.” I tapped my glass against hers. “And your complete inability to listen.”

  “Why would that be a good thing?” she asked, with a flirtatious smile.

  “Because if you obeyed, I wouldn’t have run into you tonight.”

  “Or me you.”

  A lean man wearing a pocket square approached Dakota. “I see you’ve recovered,” he said. “I’m leaving. I can’t take this.”

  The smile fell off her face. “Why? Are you okay?”

  The guy was definitely upset. He actually looked like he might cry those angry tears of frustration. His nostrils were flaring. “Kai is here. He didn’t mention that when he gave me these tickets. He had a guy with him. I’m just going to leave. I’m not feeling this.”

  “Sure, okay, I’m sorry, Elijah.” Dakota turned to me. “I’m sorry, I need to go.”

  That sucked. “Sure, of course. But can I have your number?” I reached to pull my phone out. I wasn’t letting her walk away this time.

  “You don’t have to leave,” her friend said. He turned to me. “I’m Elijah, by the way. Dakota’s friend who has the absolute worst taste in men and who is far too nice.”

  I noticed Dakota rolled her eyes a little at the last bit.

  “I’m Brandon.” I held my hand out. “Sorry you’re having a rough night.”

  Elijah shook my hand. “Have you ever looked at a person and wondered how someone you once loved is now so irritating on every single level?”

  That hit too close to home. My ex-wife made me feel that way. But I wasn’t about to reveal that, or slam Bridget that way. We’d both been responsible for ruining our marriage, though she’d made divorce and custody arrangements way harder than they had needed to be. All that was too personal though, so I made a joke out of it. “I think you’ve nailed my ex-wife’s feelings about me perfectly,” I said lightly.

  Elijah laughed. “So how do you and Dakota know each other and can you please stop her from doing insane things like riding a banister at a classy charity event?”

  “Hey!” Dakota said. “I don’t need an animal tamer.”

  The thought of trying to control her with a whip got me instantly hard. I cleared my throat. “We met on the elevator a couple of months ago.”

  “This is carriage rescue guy,” Dakota said to Elijah.

  Carriage rescue guy? Hell, I’d take it. It meant she’d talked to her friends about me.

  Elijah’s expression changed. “Ooooh, I see. You’re the big strong hero who kept our fair Dakota from the clutches of the evil Dante.”

  That seemed a little dramatic. A lot dramatic. “I’m one hundred percent certain she could have saved herself, but I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  He turned to Dakota and spoke as if I wasn’t standing right there. “Humble too. That’s hot.”

  I took a sip of my martini, welcoming the burn of the vodka.

  Dakota made a sound that seemed to indicate agreement, but then she sipped her champagne. I didn’t know what to say since suggesting she ditch her friend and hang out with me wasn’t really a polite option.

  Elijah had no such problem finding words. “I insist you stay with Brandon and have some fun,” he said. “Or I’ll never speak to you again.”

  That seemed harsh but I appreciated his efforts.

  Dakota didn’t look concerned. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay and have some fun yourself?”

  “Oh, yeah, this would be a great time for me. Third-wheeling to you and carriage rescue man while my ex canoodles with his hot Latin lover. That would be amazing for me.” Elijah put his hand up. “Bye. Call me tomorrow. Love you.” He turned to me. “Nice to meet you. Make sure she gets home okay and wear a condom.”

  I hoped his confidence had some truth behind it. “Nice to meet you too. And yes, I will make sure she gets home safely.”

  “And wear a condom. I need to hear you say it.”

  “Elijah,” Dakota scolded. “Leave him alone. He’s a decent guy, even if he doesn’t like parties, and you’re embarrassing him.”

  What she said was mostly accurate. I tried to be a decent guy. But I wasn’t embarrassed. I was just totally unsure how to respond. If I said yes, I would look like a douche. If I said no, I would look like a douche. Yep. I was rusty as fuck when it came to situations like this. I did want to have sex with her. Without question.

  “It takes a lot more than that for me to be embarrassed,” I said. “But I also know when to keep my fucking mouth shut. I was married.”

  Elijah laughed. “I like this one, D. You might be breaking your pattern.” He reached out, took her champagne glass, and drained it. He handed it back to her and squared his shoulders. “Only six steps to the door. I can do this.”

  With a dramatic arm lift, he walked up the stairs.

  “Sorry about that,” Dakota said. “He’s a dancer. We like to perform.”

  “No problem. Do you want another glass of champagne? A seat?” I used my big frame to shift toward the bar, claiming the space next to an open stool.

  “Thanks.” She slid onto the stool and crossed her legs, revealing skin all the way to her hip. “I’d love another glass since Elijah drank half of my first one.”

  I pictured my tongue trailing the path where that fabric split, all the way up to her inner thighs, where I would...

  “Are you here with friends?” she asked.

  I dragged my thoughts back to the present with monumental effort. “What?”

  “Am I keeping you from someone?”

  Nope. I was with my PA, who was neurotic on the best of days, and my assistant offensive coordinator, who I had known since college and I saw just about every damn day.

  Hell, no, she wasn’t keeping me from those assholes. Hands down, I’d rather spend time with her. “Just a couple of colleagues. We’re here for the charity event. Sort of a ‘pop in, pop out’ thing. Three of us were free on Valentine’s Day so we got handed the task.” I raised my hand to order her another glass.

  “I imagine you hate Valentine’s Day,” she said, giving me a slight smile. “It doesn’t seem like your thing, since you try so hard to be a grumpy guy.”

  I wasn’t sure what had given her that impression other than me admitting to not enjoying overblown social events, but it didn’t seem to be turning her off, so whatever. And she wasn’t wrong. “I do hate Valentine’s Day,” I said. “Romance should be spontaneous, not required. It’s like a threat.”

  “I’m mostly ambivalent about it.” She looked around. “What do you think makes this an anti-Valentine’s Day party like they billed it? I don’t see arrowless Cupids or petitions to cancel the holiday.”

  “There is a table in the back where you can put a hex on your ex,” I said. Not my thing, but I wasn’t judging. Breakups could be messy.

  “I don’t think anyone should be calling on voodoo to exact revenge. Whether it works or not, I have no clue, but I’m not messing around with stuff like that.” She waved her hand to emphasize her point. “Nope. Stay away from the voodoo.”<
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  “I’m not messing with voodoo either. That seems like a bad idea for a lot of reasons. By the way, what did Elijah mean about you breaking a pattern?” I asked, curious.

  “He isn’t the only one who historically has had bad taste in men.” She pointed to herself. “This girl can’t be trusted.”

  I eyed her. What did that really mean? “You only date assholes?”

  Not that it mattered. I couldn’t date her. I could have sex with her, but I couldn’t date her. My life was far too complicated with my job, traveling, my girls.

  “Apparently.” She accepted the glass of champagne from the bartender with a thank you.

  “Elijah clearly has faith in you.” I sipped my fresh martini.

  “Elijah has faith in you, not me,” she said wryly.

  That made me laugh. “I’m a total stranger to him.”

  “Exactly. Yet he still trusts you to make better decisions than me.”

  “Do you trust me?” I asked.

  Her eyebrows rose. She turned in the stool toward me and her knee bumped my leg. “Yes. Within reason.”

  “Then let’s get out of here. I’m shouting to be heard.”

  “We just got drinks,” she said, but it sounded like a weak protest. She was smiling as she said it.

  I lifted my drink, opened my throat, and took the dirty martini in one gulp, like a shot. I swallowed and shook my head a little. It burned, but it wasn’t too bad. “I’m finished with mine.”

  Dakota laughed. “That was impressive.”

  “I went to a lot of frat parties in college.”

  “I didn’t go to college.” She took her glass of champagne and tipped it over my empty martini glass. She poured the liquid straight down onto my abandoned olive and vodka dregs. “Oops. I spilled my drink.”

  Yeah. She made my cock hard. No fucking question about it.

  “What should we do about it?”

  “We can leave.” She opened her purse and started to pull out her credit card.

  I touched her wrist. “No. This is on me.”

  “Thank you.” Dakota tucked her card back in her purse. “So is this where you tell me you know a quiet place where we can get a drink and it turns out to be your apartment?”

  That would be cheesy as fuck, but I would have gone for it if it was an option.

  I shook my head. “No. My daughters are at home with the nanny. There is no drinking, or anything else, happening at my apartment tonight. I really meant a bar with less people, if such a place exists. Or a restaurant.” I glanced at my phone. “It’s only ten.”

  “You have daughters?” She sounded surprised.

  I nodded. “Two. They’re twelve and eight. I have full custody of them. Their mom lives in Florida.” I didn’t want to elaborate too much but I wasn’t going to avoid the subject either. This was my life. The girls were my priority.

  “Oh, I see. Do you have to be home at a certain time?”

  “No. The nanny lives with us. She’s not expecting me home until late.”

  “Do you have time to go to Harlem? Because I know a quiet place where we can get a drink and it’s my apartment.”

  That wasn’t exactly around the corner, but fuck if I cared. “I definitely have time to go to Harlem.”

  I tossed far too much money on the bar for our tab, making eye contact with the bartender and nodding as I slid the bills across the bar. I wanted out of there as soon as possible. “Are we good?” I asked him.

  His eyes widened. “Yep. We’re great. Have a good night, sir.”

  “Thanks, you too.” I moved away from the bar and offered Dakota a hand to help her off the stool. “Ready?”

  Dakota took my hand. “Very.”

  I led her toward the stairs, thinking running into her—or her running into me, technically—was the best coincidence I’d ever experienced. On the field or off.

  Her hand was smooth in mine as we walked. Neither of us let go. The night we had met, I had done the same. It had felt more innocent then, friendly. Now it felt weighty, heated, sexy.

  I had zero intention of finding Carson and Matt and telling them I was leaving. I didn’t want to hear their opinions. Carson would fret like my mother and Matt would razz me about potentially getting laid. I would just text them and let them know I’d left.

  Out on the sidewalk, I raised my hand for a taxi.

  Then impulsively, I bent down and kissed Dakota.

  Chapter Three

  Brandon had two daughters.

  That was unexpected. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I’d never given any thought to it.

  I let him pull me out of the bar, mulling this new reality over. He had full custody of them, too, so those two facts put together instantly made him about five hundred degrees hotter than the average thirty-something man. It made sense now. He was naturally protective, considerate. I could see him as a father.

  My thoughts had already been running into dirty territory before I had known about the single dad status, but now? I wanted to both drop an egg and do sexy, naughty things to him to show my appreciation for the total package of a man he clearly was.

  I was about to speak, give him a warning about the state of my apartment, which was micro in size and macro in untidiness. Lately, I’d been too unmotivated to clean.

  But before I could make apologies, he kissed me on the sidewalk.

  The first time we had kissed, it had been slow, easy, delicious. A goodbye, maybe, or more like in appreciation for a pleasant evening hanging out together. But nothing… invasive. Not raw or urgent or questing.

  This kiss was the latter and holy shit, did it feel amazing.

  His hand was in my hair, holding me firmly against him, and his mouth took mine with zero hesitation. I gasped, gripping on to his shirt for balance, and parted my lips for him. He was a big man, broad, muscular, and I liked having to tilt my head upwards to meet his touch. The wind whipped around us, a sharp February bite of cold, but I barely noticed as his tongue teased over mine. Desire rose inside me instantly, a hot demanding need.

  I shifted closer to him.

  He gripped me tighter.

  Our kiss became deeper, a precursor to where the rest of the night was going. There was no mistaking that kind of chemistry. I broke away, breathing elevated. “It’s freezing out here,” I said, rubbing my arms, and not wanting to let him know exactly how much that kiss had just turned me on.

  “You’re not wearing a coat again,” he said. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’ll catch your death of cold?” He turned and raised his hand for a taxi again, more purposefully this time.

  “I don’t listen to my mother, remember?” But then I remembered I actually had worn a coat. I was so eager to leave with Brandon, I’d completely forgotten about it. “In this case though, I just forgot it inside at the coat check.”

  Brandon smiled. “Here, get in the warm cab and I’ll get it.”

  A cab was pulling up and Brandon opened the door for me. I slid in, grateful for the blasting heat, while Brandon opened the front passenger door and had a word with the driver. Digging the ticket out of my purse, I handed it to him and watched him retreat into the bar. I wasn’t used to having men do things for me and it wasn’t a bad feeling. Lately, life had kicked the stuffing out of me, and I was tired. A little help and consideration didn’t go unnoticed and was really appreciated.

  “How’s your Valentine’s Day going?” the driver asked, making eye contact in the mirror. He had a thick Russian accent and didn’t sound even remotely friendly, despite the conversational question.

  “Better than expected,” I said. “How about you?”

  “Bah. Relationships are for idiots.”

  That was charming. “They’re not for everyone.” Clearly not this dude.

  “You guys married?” he asked.

  Did we look married? I didn’t think so. Brandon was at least ten years older than me, and I was overdressed compared to him. But who knew what the cynical cabbie saw wh
en he looked at us. “No. I barely know him.”

  His sour expression brightened up. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Sex. Just sex, sex, sex. That’s all that matters.”

  I was pretty sure that wasn’t all that mattered in life, but I wasn’t going to argue. For the night, sex was what mattered. In the overall grand scheme of life though, I was pretty sure love outranked sex.

  “Hmm,” I said, noncommittally, debating getting out of the cab. I didn’t want this guy killing my vibe. I didn’t want to think about the future, I didn’t want to have expectations, I just wanted to enjoy the night with a very sexy man.

  I decided to do just that. I pulled out my debit card, swiped it in the meter and said, “I’m going back in to find him, he's taking too long. Thanks, have a good night!”

  He may or may not have called me something rude in Russian as I exited the cab, I wasn’t sure, but I was approaching the door to the bar when Brandon came out, my coat in his hand.

  “Hey,” he said. “Got your coat.” He held it out for me to slip my arms in.

  I shrugged into it and said, “The cab driver was telling me relationships are stupid and how sex is all that matters and you know, I’d rather not discuss any of that with him.” I laughed. “Valentine’s Day makes people get philosophical in the worst way.”

  “Before I moved here, everyone assured me New Yorkers don’t like to chat in cabs or car services, and it’s a lie. Straight up, a lie. I’ve pretended to talk on the phone in the back seat and drivers still try to have a conversation with me.”

  “Right? Okay, next cab, we pretend like we’re in a fight so the driver doesn’t talk to us.”

  Brandon raised his hand and then eyed me. “What are we supposed to be fighting about?”

  “You drank too much and I’m worried you have whiskey dick.” I tried not to grin, knowing full well what his reaction—any man’s reaction—to that would be.

  “What? No way. Fuck that. Try again.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

  I glanced at his jeans. “Maybe.”