Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
My night is more than cocktails. Along with drinks, it’s quite busy with offers.
When I serve twelve tequila shots to a bachelorette party, the favor is returned in the form of an insulting two-hundred-dollar offer to strip.
I’m worth way more than two hundred bucks.
And if I were to strip, it wouldn’t be for money, but for fun and hopefully sex at the end.
What the fuck am I talking about? Oh, and no offense to any strippers who might be reading this.
Virginia has my mind all mucked up tonight.
She wants me to give her lessons in love.
I’m seriously the luckiest fucker to walk this planet.
Back to the offers . . . when I serve a merlot, an offer of a blow job comes back instead of a tip.
A bottle of tequila celebrating a girls’ night out is delivered and with hands that lean more on the pawing side they offer to take me home and ravage my body like, and I quote, “a dingo to a baby.” I tried to shake the disturbing thought from my brain, but when I couldn’t, I didn’t bother to answer. I just walked away.
I’m too tired to fend them off, so it’s time for me to go before I regret staying and doing something I’ll regret even more in the morning.
The guys can handle the last hour before closing.
The temps have dropped even lower than earlier and I didn’t bring my heavy jacket.
The two blocks I cover in the snow at a breakneck pace keeps the chill at bay.
The streets are quiet, which I like, and if I listen carefully, I can almost hear the snow falling.
I stop in front of my building and look up, closing my eyes, and listen.
Hardy, I want you. Her words from last night echo through the night and down my street in the wind.
Opening my eyes, snowflakes land on my lashes.
Lessons in seduction. “Woohoo!” I jump up, feeling like I just won the lottery.
Seduction. I’m the king of it. I cannot wait for Sunday night.
I punch in the building code. A little wining.
A little dining. A little romance and a lot of seduction. Now that is what I call a jackpot.
When I unlock my apartment, the place is dark, the only light coming from the streetlight at the corner of the block, which is too far to be a bother.
I toss my keys in the bowl and shut the door.
Standing in the middle of my living room, something new washes through me.
A feeling I’ve never felt living here. I brush it away and go about winding down.
It’s hard to do when you were wired thirty minutes prior.
I take a shower, hoping the warm water relaxes my muscles and my mind.
It does neither. Neither does Virginia. Speaking of muscles, Big Richard is hard.
Again. Wrapping my hand firmly around my cock, I start slow with images of that pink, my newest favorite color.
My speed picks up when we kiss—soft, plush, willing lips.
So close. So fucking close. Her lower lips even softer, wetter.
My fingers slide through and fuck her all over again . . . and I’m coming. Fuck me. Fuck.
My free hand is against the tile, my head under the shower spray, and I loosen my grip. God damn it. She’s going to be the death of me, and Big Richard. We’ll see who can survive the longest come Sunday night.
***
Wednesday. Check.
Thursday. Friday. Check. Check.
Saturday. Fuck.
I’m in no mood to be here. I pull at the noose around my neck and order another whiskey.
Neat. Stepping off to the side, but sticking close to the bar, my comfort zone, I survey the room.
That’s when I’m blindsided or maybe it’s more of a sideline tackle.
Either way, I didn’t see it coming. Or her, more specifically.
“Hardy Richard. It’s been too long.”
Not long enough. “Has it, Isabella?”
“You were always so funny.” It’s impressive how she manages to say that without smiling. Maybe the Botox has gone two layers deep, which is about as deep as Isabella Collins, formerly Isabella Treaton when I dated her, gets.
“My parents call it sarcasm. You might remember it got me in a lot of trouble.”
“You were always in a lot of trouble.” She touches my tie to straighten it, but I cover her hand and kindly remove it. “But what’s the fun in playing it safe? I like this burgundy tie. It’s so festive for the season.”
I ignore the compliment. They always come with ulterior motives that I’m not interested in getting involved in again. “As for playing it safe, you have a kid, and a husband who commutes from Connecticut. Do you also have a dog and a Mercedes?”
“A Cavalier King Charles, more specifically, and a Mercedes GLS SUV in Iridium Silver.”
“You don’t exactly walk on the wild side.”
“You think because you’re single, I’m still assuming by that bare ring finger, and you live in Brooklyn that you’re living the high life?”
“I didn’t say I was, but I’m living, experiencing, and I’m better off than I was four years ago.”
“Better off?” She appears reflective as she sips her champagne. When her light blue eyes hit mine, she asks, “We had some good times together, right?”
“We were alike in many ways, but we were terrible together.” God’s honest truth.
We were lucky the cops were never called during one of our blowout fights.
The woman knows how to use words that cut right to your core.
She also has always had a philandering problem.
That’s why it’s just better to avoid that catastrophe of locking oneself down to another altogether.
Then when you fuck around with someone, no one else gets hurt.
“I remember us so differently. Living in the city with great paying jobs right out of college. You had that great apartment with the view. So many good memories were made there.”
“Our family’s connections afforded us our degrees and careers. It was never what I wanted. I was working to protect the Richard name while destroying myself.”
“You didn’t seem unhappy.”
I finish my whiskey in one go. “I was drowning in my life, waking up every day wishing I was living another.”
Eyeing my empty glass, judgment creases her forehead as she raises an eyebrow. A motion I’m surprised she can still make. “You’re doing a good job now.”
“I have different reasons to drown out tonight.”
“You sound bitter, Hardy. It’s sad to see someone with so much potential throw it all away on a walk up in Brooklyn and a run down bar.”
I set my glass on the tray behind the bar and walk away.
It’s a bad habit I’ve developed. Once I turned twenty-eight, I ran out of patience for people who carry negativity around like the latest designer bag.
Isabella Collins is the queen of holding my past against me. She was always one for the low blow.
“Hardy?”
I stop walking, the exit is so close, but slips from my reach when I hear my mother’s voice. Plastering a big smile on my face, I turn around. “Mother. I was just looking for you.” Lies to appease.
Her face lights up. She’s actually a really good mom.
Isabella just has a way of souring a good mood.
I greet my mom with a kiss to her cheek and a hug.
She embraces me and then leans back to get a good look at me.
“Honey, you look so handsome in dark gray. Your suit fits you perfectly. Is this custom made? Though you’re too skinny living in the city.
It’s so competitive there. You should move back to Connecticut and let me feed you home cooked meals every night. ”
The suit is Gucci and tailored to me, but I know she’s more worried about my eating habits. Chuckling, I say, “I feel better when I’m fit.”
Wrapping her arm around my back, she leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m allowed to worry about my youngest. You don’t need anything else from me, so give me that. Okay?”
“Yes, Mother.”
This time she laughs. Loud enough that a few people look our way. She has always had a free spirit, not caring what others thought of her. What she doesn’t realize is that everyone adores her.
Virginia’s laugh rings through my ears and an image of her pops into my head. My mother whispers, “Are you seeing anyone?”
The woman has a second sense for when her kids meet someone worth seeing twice. “Nah.”
Her hands are clasped together in front of her mouth, a smile rivaling the Grand Canyon, and I actually see a mischievous delight dancing in her eyes.
That or I’ve been reading too many Playboy stories online.
That’s probably it. Yeah, yeah, I read it for the articles.
I get enough of the real thing in real life.
I don’t need pictures of women who’ve been photoshopped to get me off.
I’ve got enough offers and spank bank material in my head to do the job just fine.
Damn, I forgot I’m with my mom. I shudder, ridding the images now circulating around my brain, I say, “I haven’t seen Dad yet.”
“He’s here somewhere,” she replies, looking around the ballroom. “We’ve raised over five hundred thousand already.”
“Big donations.”
“Yes, the fundraiser is doing well. Can I bother you for a donation?”
“No bother. How much do you want?”
“Five thousand would be great. Ten would be better.”
I reach for my checkbook, pulling it from the inside pocket of my jacket. “Pen?” She hands one to me. I write out a check for the full amount hinted at and hand it to her.
“Thank you, Son. Now, go get something to eat before I have to force feed you some of my pot roast.”
“You don’t have to force-feed me your pot roast. I’d take it happily.”
“Maybe you can come for dinner on Sunday night?”
Sunday. Virginia. “I can’t Sunday, but maybe another one?”
A pat on the back is followed by a laugh. She says, “Yes, you’re welcome any Sunday, Son. Now go eat. The food is being served.”
I find my place card right next to Isabella, and I have a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t there originally.
I’m tempted to cut out early now that I’ve made my donation, but I haven’t seen my dad yet and the lecture I would get for not staying isn’t worth it.
I spy my parents sitting down five tables to the left front, closer to the stage.
“I thought you’d be gone by now, Hardy.”
Pulling my chair out just as a plate is set in front of me, I reply, “Thank you,” to the waiter, and to Isabella, “Soon.”
“You act like this is painful for you. Are you that much of a snob these days?”
I almost spit out the water I just drank. “Me? Wow, I’m not sure what to say to that.” Looking at the seat next to her, I ask, “Alone?”
“Unintended.”
“Matt always loved his work.”
She takes her glass and finishes the rest of her champagne. “Yes, he does.”
I sense her shift in mood, but she has a way of twisting things to turn them back on me and I’m not in the mood to justify my life to her anymore. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say, pushing back from the table. “I’m going to say hello to my dad.”
“Good seeing you, Hardy.”
When I look back at her, her eyes seem fixed on her plate, her fork in hand still on the table. “See you around, Isabella.”
I walk up behind my dad, and pat him on the shoulder. “Hey, Dad.”
He’s always been strict, not like my mom. They were definitely an opposites attract couple. Tonight he’s smiling and has a beer buzz by the looks of it. “Hardy, my boy.” He stands, setting his napkin down, and hugs me. “Good to see you, Son.”
“Good to see you, too. You look good.”
Wiggling back and forth, he tugs at his belt. “Well, the old man’s still got it.”
I hear my mom laugh. “Don’t encourage him, Hardy. He’s already a handful since he retired.”
“What? When did you retire?” I ask, shocked to hear my workaholic father has left his top priority in life.
“Last week. I didn’t make a big fuss to you kids. You have enough going on.”
“I always want to know what’s going on with you and this is big news. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Son,” he replies jollily. “Maybe I’ll come visit you at The Hideaway. We can have a drink.”
My dad’s never been there before. My mom has come by a few times before opening hours.
She approved but left before as she says, “The ladies show up to bed me.” Besides being grossed out that my mom even said, “bed me,” I quickly escorted her out to catch a cab because she’s right and no mom should have to witness their son in all his charming glory make the ladies swoon.
“Sure, Dad. Just let me know. Drinks are on me.”
“Sure thing.”
“I’m going to take off.” I shake his hand and hug my mom over her shoulder. “Good to see you.”
My dad, unlike his normal uptight self, says, “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
“Thank you for the donation,” my mom adds. “Love you.”
“Love you.” I snake through the tables and head out before I get stopped again. There are too many ghosts from my past at this charity event and I much prefer the dark brunette with green eyes haunting my thoughts.