“What’s the point?” she asked the empty room.
Two women’s names rolled off his tongue when he wasn’t paying attention. When you catch a man off guard, you learn his secrets . . . or at least the things he doesn’t want you to know.
Avery knew what she was talking about when she labeled men as players that never fessed up to their lifestyle.
She’d joined the rank of players long before she married Bernie as a temporary bride and took a year and a half off while playing wife. All that pent-up energy exploded once the divorce was final.
Avery looked down at the sweatpants and oversize T-shirt she wore with a frown. It was Saturday night and what was she doing? Standing in the middle of her living room, pining over a man.
“Screw this.”
She dropped her phone on her couch and walked into her master suite. She opened the double doors to her walk-in closet and switched on the chandelier.
Shoes first. Four-inch Pradas that laced over her feet like sexy gloves. Black.
Leopard print, low-cut top with shoestring sleeves. No bra needed. Tight black mini.
Perfect.
She spent ten minutes freshening her makeup and five pushing her hair into a messy bun.
One more layer of red on her lips and she made a kissing motion in the mirror before tossing the lipstick into her clutch.
On her way to the door, she picked up her cell phone off the couch. She found a voice mail from Liam. Her finger hovered over the button to hear what he had to say, and she stopped.
It didn’t matter what he had to say, she didn’t want to hear it.
Tonight was about reminding herself why she had the perfect life.
Young, single . . . rich. She could have anyone she wanted.
Leaving her phone behind, she set her alarm, grabbed her keys, and walked out the door.
The Basement was a club where the music was so deafening you couldn’t hear yourself think. It was the perfect place to get lost in the crowd, dance with complete strangers, and never have to hold a conversation.
The line outside waiting to get in was halfway around the block. Avery stepped out of the courtesy car her complex offered and headed straight to the bouncer.
“Hello, Freddy.” She leaned in and gave the familiar man a kiss on the cheek.
“Avery. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Is it just you tonight? Or do I need to add a name to my list?”
“Just me.”
He winked and unchained the red rope, letting her pass.
Those standing in the front of the line glared.
Sound blared and the thump of the bass pulsed deep in her chest.
She missed this. Why had she stayed away for so long?
The bar was three people deep, but a drink was needed before she joined the grinding on the dance floor. In a tactic she’d used many times in the past, she found what appeared to be a single man sitting in a far corner and wiggled her way between him and the person on his left.
She smiled at him briefly and lifted her hand to get the bartender’s attention.
With her chest eye level with the stranger, he’d have to be gay not to notice or appreciate it.
The way his gaze took her in said he didn’t play for the other team.
He was older, by a good ten years, and out of place in a room filled with college kids or those who were just turning thirty.
“Hello.”
She smiled and leaned in so he could hear her. “Sorry, the bar is crazy over there. I hope you don’t mind me barging in.”
“Quite all right,” he shouted over the music.
Yeah, much older. No one in this crowd would say quite.
He said something she couldn’t hear, and she simply smiled and ignored the fact that he was staring at her chest. He wasn’t unattractive. Just not what she was looking for.
Her bar mate signaled for the bartender by reaching around the people on his right. “The lady would like a drink.”
“Vodka martini,” she shouted.
The bartender, much more her speed, didn’t look twice.
“Nice choice.”
She looked at his glass. “What are you drinking?”
He said something she didn’t catch. Avery didn’t ask that he repeat himself.
“Do you come here often?”
Could there be a worse line?
“I’ve been here a few times. You?”
“It’s a little loud.”
She nodded as the bartender slid her glass in front of her. As she reached for her purse, her admirer placed a hand on her arm. “I got it.”
With a toss of her chin over her shoulder that she’d learned in college, she smiled and leaned a little closer. “You’re too kind.”
“I’m Gary.”
“Avery.”
She took a sip of her drink and felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.
“Did you come here alone?”
“How can anyone be alone in a room full of this many people?” Each time she spoke to him, she leaned in so he could hear. Which kept his eyes glued to her shirt—he was probably hoping that something would pop out.
The DJ changed the song to one she liked.
“I’m an engineer . . . What do you do?”
This was not a conversation she wanted at the club.
“What?” She pretended not to understand him, and he shouted the question again.
Avery looked over the crowd of people and waved across the room like she knew someone.
When Gary turned to follow her gaze, she put more room between the two of them.
“I see a friend. Thanks for the drink.” And she was gone, swallowed by the dance floor and everyone on it. She lifted her drink above her head and moved to the other side. If Gary was watching her, he’d lose sight of her before she reached the hall to the bathrooms.
It wasn’t long before she downed her drink, left her glass on a side table, and joined the crazy. She circled her hips and let her legs do the talking. It didn’t take long to attract someone more her speed. Someone hot, firm, faceless, and young. This guy didn’t try to talk, they just danced. On the second song, she felt his hands on her hips. She didn’t dust him off but kept some distance to avoid being groped before knowing his name.
Not that she cared.
Four songs in, he tugged her arm toward the bar in the back of the club. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She looked him up and down.
“How about shots?” It would take a few shots.
“Oh, sexy. I like that.”
She hated cheap liquor, and after the second shot, she gave up trying to drink. But her buzz was decent enough to keep the night going.
The music grew louder, and the dance floor was a smash of bodies, making it impossible to dance without touching everyone around her.
Shot Man kept a hand on her while they danced, every once in a while dipping down her hip to her thigh. When she felt him dragging his hands under her skirt, she felt a chill.
Do I really want this?
A year ago she’d have already left with this guy. No strings, no names.
She dislodged his hand with a twist.
He took her gesture as a challenge and attempted to come at her from the other side while they danced.
This time she knew it wasn’t going to happen.
He was practically panting.
With hands on her shoulders, his lips touched her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I don’t think so.”
He stopped dancing, and the smile he’d been flirting with all night disappeared. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
He looked at her as if she’d grown warts. “Fuckin’ tease.”
Avery watched him walk away and took the other direction. She reached for her purse to see what the time was and realized she’d left her phone at home.
She made small talk with the women in line for th
e bathroom and realized it was after one. No wonder she was tired.
This wasn’t going to happen.
Picking up a nameless bed toy had lost its charm. Not that she couldn’t, she reminded herself. She should just go home and drink good liquor until she dropped.
Back into the crush of dancers, she squeezed through the club, ignoring several one-liners delivered by men standing in groups of other men. One reached out like he had the right and stopped her by holding on to her arm. “Hey, baby.”
She froze, looked at his hand and then into his face. “I’d let go if I were you.”
“C’mon. Sexy thing like you shouldn’t be leaving alone.”
His buddies laughed.
College kids. She’d be surprised if this one was even old enough to be in the club.
When he tugged her arm, Avery reacted.
Quick.
Decisive.
Don’t hold back.
She pushed in, twisted, found his gut with her elbow, and then brought the same elbow to his chin.
He let go with a curse.
The laughter from his buddies grew.
“Bitch.”
Avery squared her shoulders. Those close enough to see what happened gave her a wide path.
On shaky legs, Avery stepped outside and once again realized she didn’t have her cell phone to hire an Uber. She could walk home, but at that time of night, and dressed like she was, it wouldn’t be surprising if someone stopped her and asked how much.
The line at the door was still there, but the staff had changed.
She crossed the street in an effort to get a taxi headed in the direction of her complex. Two blocks up, she waited on the busy corner.
She shivered.
What was she doing?
Showing Liam. Only he wasn’t there to see her standing on the corner, waiting for a cab to drive by.
Someone in a passing car whistled.
Avery rolled her eyes.
At least she felt armed enough to ward off unwelcome hands. In fact, the adrenaline of doubling over the dude who grabbed her was higher than when Shot Man wanted to show her a good time.
Maybe next time she went out she’d skip the high heels and mini.
She wrapped her hands over her bare shoulders and looked around. The streets held a few die-hards returning to their cars or walking in and out of the open bars.
Avery stepped into the street and waved at a lone cab.
The short ride to her complex with a cabbie who obviously smoked, and either didn’t bathe or did so in garlic, reminded her never to leave home without her phone again.
She paused outside her complex and looked around.
The hair on her neck prickled.
No one was there.
Except James . . . the doorman.
“Good evening, Ms. Grant. Are you expecting any visitors tonight?”
She shook her head. “Have a nice evening,” she told him.
Avery removed her shoes in the elevator. From her front door, she beelined to her alarm panel and stopped the ringing. With a sigh, she flopped on the couch, realized she sat on her phone, and pulled it out from under her butt.
Liam’s message called out.
What would he say?
They were old girlfriends? Women who didn’t let go? Or maybe he’d be honest and say he had several out there. With his broad shoulders, sexy grin, and capable lips . . .
Avery pressed the button.
Liam’s voice was deep and clear even though the background was noisy. “Okay, you’re impulsive . . . and jump to conclusions. I get it. But before you delete this message, I want someone to say hi to you. Say hi, Cassandra.”
Avery was about to toss her phone against the wall. No way he was going to have a woman come to bat for him on a phone message.
“Hi.”
Avery’s heart jolted. A child. Liam was a dad?
“Tell Miss Avery who I am.” It sounded like he had the phone on speaker.
“Who is Miss Avery?”
“A friend. Who am I?”
The girl laughed, and Avery found herself smiling. “Uncle Liam.”
Oh, shit.
“And who is Michelle?”
“My mommy. Can we play more Skee-Ball now? I was winning.”
“Sure can.”
Avery rested her head in her hands. What an idiot.
“There you go, Miss Avery. Michelle is my sister and Cassandra is my niece. My Saturday night is being spent in a kids’ arcade, eating ice cream and french fries while I’m babysitting.”
“I’m not a baby, I’m five.”
“Call me” were Liam’s last words before he hung up.
Chapter Eleven
Liam woke to a text. It had come in at two in the morning.
I owe you an apology was all Avery said.
Yes, she did. He’d stayed up until after one, seriously contemplating calling her multiple times or dragging Cassandra out of bed and driving to Avery’s complex. He remembered the guy at the door and realized he wouldn’t be able to just waltz in. What if he did manage to make his way to her condo and she wasn’t alone?
That would suck.
It was Sunday, and Michelle was sleeping in. Cassandra was on the couch with the Disney Channel on low. It looked like Michelle had managed to pour a bowl of cereal before climbing back in bed. Whiskey sat next to Cassandra on the couch, hoping the girl would drop a Froot Loop or two.
“Good morning, Sweetpea.”
Messy hair, eyes glued to the TV. “Good morning.”
Straight to the kitchen, he worked his way around the coffeepot and opened the back door.
Whiskey shot around the corner and out to the yard.
The fog in his head started to lift with the first sip of coffee. Liam sat on the deck and watched the dog sniffing for the perfect place to pee.
He was contemplating how to respond to Avery’s two a.m. text when the woman he was thinking of called.
It was seven thirty in the morning.
“You’re up early for someone who was up so late.”
“I’m awake, not up.” Her voice was husky, like she was still lying in bed. The image that came to his mind was her head on a dozen pillows, with down comforters swallowing her whole. She wore silk in his fantasy. White silk to go with the pristine white sheets . . . a zillion thread count. Her barely there nightgown had strings for sleeves, and one was falling off her shoulder.
“Are you still there?” she asked.
“I am.” He brought his coffee cup to his lips and waited.
She paused.
He kept waiting.
“I’m sorry.”
He grinned. “Did that hurt?”
“Yes. It did.”
He sipped his coffee again.
“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I have no right to jump. Even if it were true, my reaction was juvenile and stupid.” She took a breath. “I am impulsive and juvenile, and I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box. I told you I was a bad bet and I—”
“Avery,” he interrupted.
“I’m on a roll, Liam. I’ve apologized maybe five times my whole life and actually meant it. Once was when I hit my neighbor’s cat when I was seventeen. Stupid thing ran out in front of my car. Still, the cat meant everything to my neighbor. Then to my college girlfriend when I caught her boyfriend cheating on her and I was the one that delivered the news. I kinda had to eat crow when I misread my girlfriend Trina’s fiancé. Although that wasn’t an apology, per se.”
Liam’s amusement caught in his throat. “Avery.”
“I’m sorry,” she said one last time.
“Apology accepted.”
She sighed into the phone. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Next time give me a chance to explain.”
“Really? You’re not going to drill me about it? Make me eat my words?”
Whiskey had unearthed a ball and now s
tood in front of Liam, slobbering all over his knees.
“You forced your own words down your throat. You don’t need me to add to them. But if you want to make it up to me . . .”
“There’s a catch.”
“Only if you want to make it up to me.”
His comment was met with silence.
“Okay, what?”
“A plus-one.”
“What?”
“Your choice . . . make me your plus-one to whatever you want. Dinner with friends, cocktail party. Work event . . . a distant relative’s wedding. I don’t care what.”
“Seriously?”
He liked the idea as it formed in his head. If he added her to a plus-one event, she would likely be uncomfortable and unhappy. If she added him, it placed the control in her court. Besides, his plus-one would consist of a family dinner, and he knew she didn’t want that.
“Anything. Uptown, downtown . . . don’t care.”
“I should bring you to high tea with my mother. That would take away your desire to be added to a guest list.”
“Mothers love me.”
“My mother doesn’t love anyone but maybe her hairdresser . . . or the doctor injecting Botox.”
“So your mother’s doing the Botox doctor, huh?”
“I wish. That would take the spike out of her ass.”
He laughed. “Dads love me, too.”
“My father hardly knows I’m alive, except to parrot my mother’s complaints about how I’m wasting my life. Trust me . . . a plus-one with my parents is like watching children’s television filled with repeating chants of life lessons I never wanted to learn.”
“No parent dinners, then. You choose the event.”
“You’re not letting this go.”
No, he wasn’t. “We have a deal?”
“You’re pushing me out of my comfort zone,” she told him.
“I know.” He pulled the ball from his dog’s mouth and tossed it across the yard. “Now that we’ve covered that, was there a reason you were calling yesterday, or did you just miss hearing my voice?”
“You’re full of yourself.”
“I’m self-assured. As are you.”
He liked her laugh.
“I was calling to ask you a favor.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Chasing Shadows (First Wives Book 3) Page 8
