Chapter Six
Melissa
December 14, 2024, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
Saturday nights were always the best nights out if you were looking for a fun time that might last until the morning. My friends and I often went out together, but no one was available tonight. So here I was, alone. I chose an upscale bar tonight. Somewhere I felt safe to be at alone.
I was determined to rid myself of the memory of the man who haunted my dreams, both sleeping and awake. A man who, even if I knew how to find him, even if he lived in Oklahoma City, hell, even if he lived in Oklahoma, was someone I could never be with.
Sitting in the bar in my little black dress, my dark hair pulled up off my neck, I sipped at my wine. I wasn’t much of a drinker unless it was wine. I had developed a taste for red wine not long after I turned twenty-one. My best friend Haizley and I discovered this bar one night while we were out. It was our favorite. She was a rum and coke girl. She always said it was because of her simple Midwest upbringing.
I missed Haizley.
She had asked me to move to Nebraska with her when we graduated. I had asked her to stay here with me. We both walked away.
We were still close. We talked often on the phone. Sometimes on FaceTime so we didn’t forget what the other one looked like. It had only been two years since she went home, but sometimes it felt like a decade.
We’d had a lot in common when we met freshman year. Neither of us had any family left. I didn’t tell her mine was still alive, they just didn’t want me. I led her to believe that, like hers, mine had died off, leaving me alone.
It was easier than the truth. Haizley and I each had our secrets. Neither of us pressed the other to reveal things we weren’t comfortable with. It was why our friendship worked.
I did tell her about Travis. But still kept my secret about my distaste of motorcycles and what they represented to myself. She didn’t understand it and that was ok. We tried not to shrink each other.
“Hello.”
I was pulled back to the present by the deep voice at my ear. Turning to put a face to the sultry voice, I wasn’t disappointed by the man sitting on the stool next to me.
He was tall, with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Older, maybe pushing forty. His expensive suit fit him well, though it wasn’t tailor-made. If I had to guess, I would say he was a businessman. Maybe finance. Or an architect.
“Hello,” I responded, my voice quiet and shy.
I wasn’t shy.
My innocence had been taken a long time ago. I played the part well, though. Had perfected it during my childhood, so my brother would never learn the truth. He believed I was just a smart kid, always stuck in a book.
That was true until college.
When he walked away, I no longer needed to pretend to be something I wasn’t. I could be myself.
During my studies, I learned that it was ok to embrace who you were. I didn’t have to live my life for someone else. Especially when that person no longer wanted to be a part of my life.
“You here alone?” the man asked. His voice was smooth like silk, whereas Travis’ was rough, raspy. Travis had smelled a bit like tobacco, and I knew years of smoking had altered his voice. Not to mention he was just rough in general. His hands were calloused from hard work. Though I never asked him what he did. We never got that far.
I looked at the hands of the man next to me. His nails were manicured. His long, thin fingers didn’t show any imperfections. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any strength in them.
Travis had strong hands. He held me suspended off the ground while he fucked me. Would this man be able to hold me up? I was average size. Five feet six inches tall, about a hundred and fifty-five pounds. I had curves.
I wasn’t sure this man had what it took to make me forget the man I could never have. But I was willing to find out.
“Not anymore,” I cooed, as I turned my body to face his. Crossing one leg over the other, my dress rode up my thigh, and the man quickly dropped his eyes. I was a psychologist. I had studied body language extensively. I knew how to make a man want me and let him know I wanted him.
His gaze made a long, slow journey up my body until he once again focused on my eyes. The smile that spread across his smooth face told me he understood exactly what my body was telling him.
Travis didn’t have a smooth-shaven face. His beard was rough against my lips. I missed out on feeling it scrape against my inner thighs. Once I saw the motorcycle, all thoughts of continuing what we had done in the bathroom of the bar were gone.
And I ran.
“My name’s Harrison.”
Of course, he had a pretentious name. I imagined his last name was something similar to Wentworth, or MacMillan. Something just as pretentious. He was dripping with old money. Probably inherited his grandaddy’s firm and never really had to work for anything a day in his life.
He probably had a wife and kids at home. My eyes dropped to his hands again, looking for the telltale indent of a hidden wedding ring. He again read my intention, and I smiled when he held up his left hand.
“Divorced. Five years.”
“Good to know. Are you local?” I bit my lip, playing the part of the coy vixen. There wasn’t any reason for me to work so hard, but I enjoyed the game. Travis had played the game well. Played right into my hands, the same way this man was.
“I am. Have you ever heard of Fitzwilliam Investments?”
“I have,” I admitted.
“Harrison Fitzwilliam, at your service.”
Nailed it!
He would do. I hoped. Harry couldn’t be any more different from Travis if he tried. Let’s hope he could fuck well enough to bang out the memory of the hot biker I was trying to forget.
“Sounds impressive,” I lied. It wasn’t impressive. I had heard of Fitzwilliam Investments and in fact, knew Harry’s ex-wife.
When I received my doctorate, I was asked to sit on a charity board for children with special needs. I declined simply because I was still building my practice and didn’t want to take time and energy away from the patients I was trying to help.
Harry’s wife Suzanne had extended that invitation. She was also a bitch. When I declined, she threw my invitation back in my face, insinuating that my lack of charity would hinder what I was trying to build. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
I was the leading Child Psychologist in Oklahoma City. I had a waiting list of six to eight months. The only reason I had fitted Danika into my schedule when Zachary Marshall called was because he had told me she was a product of the Trick Pony.
I had never met Zach in person, but I had spoken to him many times over the phone since becoming a child therapist. He had sent patients my way in the past, and I trusted him not to waste my time. He was the reason I kept my schedule at half full and had a wait-list. I never wanted to turn away a patient he sent me.
“Not really. My great-grandfather started the firm back in the 1920s. It’s been passed down to the oldest son ever since. It was what I was born to do.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
Harry shrugged. His humble attitude surprised me. But then maybe he was playing his own game. Taking a sip from his glass before he answered, he pulled a laugh from me when he said, “I really wanted to be a rock star.”
“Can you sing?” I asked, enjoying the banter.
“Can’t carry a tune in a bucket. But I inherited my family’s knack for numbers so...” He trailed off, shrugging again before taking another drink, and I assessed a hint of longing in his sentence.
Knowing his wife, I assumed she was the reason for the divorce. Maybe I was bitter about the way she tried to blacklist me. Or maybe she just was a raging bitch and Harry had had enough.
“Will you pass it on to your son?”
“No boys, three daughters. But my middle girl. She’s my legacy. My oldest daughter is thirteen and just like her mother.” He shuddered, and I couldn’t help the smile. “My youngest is only seven, so there is still hope for her. But my middle girl, Lauren. She’s fucking smart. Smarter than me. And she loves coming to the office. She’s ten but wants to be there whenever she can. She loves learning what I do.”
“And will you pass it on to her? Even though she’s a girl?” His answer to my question would be the deciding factor as to whether or not I went home with him.
“Absolutely. Her gender has no bearing on her brain. Nor her drive. And she is fucking driven. When I was ten, I hated going to my dad’s office. My whole life, all I heard was ‘this will all be yours one day, son.’ Now all I hear is ‘this will all be mine.’ And she says it with so much excitement. No way would I keep her from her dream.”
Harry finished his glass, and when he motioned for the bartender, I placed my hand on his and offered, “Let’s get out of here.”
He pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw some bills on the bar. Buttoning his jacket, he held his elbow out to me, and I hooked my arm in his.
Harry led me to his car, and I sat down in the plush seat of his Porsche. I had to wonder just how much money he made if he was paying child support, and likely alimony, on a wife and three kids but could still afford a car like this.
Too bad I wasn’t a gold digging lush. Harry was ripe for the picking. I could easily wrap him around my finger, much like his wife probably did when they were dating. I felt a little guilty using Harry the way I was about to. But then, he was getting a great night of sex for his troubles. I just hoped I did too.
I woke with a start and looked around the dark room, confused about where I was. Looking at the sleeping man next to me, it all came rushing back.
The bar, Harry, trying to forget about Travis. Harry made a valiant effort. He was a great fuck, but just not good enough. At least he knew how to satisfy a woman, and I wasn’t leaving his bed rushing home to finish myself off. Harry had delivered.
Twice.
And while he was great, the sex wasn’t great enough to make me forget the man I couldn’t have.
Slipping out of bed, I gathered up my clothes and quietly stepped out into the hall. Using the guest bathroom, I quickly got dressed and ordered an Uber with my phone.
I contemplated waking Harry to say goodbye but decided against it. Like I said, he was ripe for the picking. I didn’t need him clinging to me, asking about another date. Though what we had wasn’t actually a date to begin with.
No, it was best to let sleeping men lie.
The sun was also still sleeping when I climbed into the car that waited outside to take me home. I needed to shower and take a nap before meeting my friends for brunch.