Rhett

“He didn’t deserve you.” I slide my drink toward Allison because she needs it more than I do and the bartender’s a little slower than usual delivering the goods tonight.

She cups the crystal tumbler in both hands, her sleeves pulled down to her fingertips. Taking a drink, she tries her hardest not to make a face, but she can’t help it. I don’t blame her. Shit’s strong; an acquired taste. But after the burn will be the sweetest escape she’ll ever know, even if it’s only temporary.

“All the good ones are taken.” She lifts her glasses to dab at the corner of her eye with the edge of her sleeve. Allison dresses like it’s autumn no matter what the time of year may be. But she’s a small girl and she’s always cold, so I don’t give her any shit for it.

“That’s not true,” I say. “You just haven’t met him yet.”

Her baby blues mist over, and she smiles. “You’re sweet to say that, Rhett. I know you’re just saying the things people are supposed to say in situations like this.”

Releasing a breath, my shoulders slump. “I’m sorry. I suck at this. I really do.”

“And you’re dealing with your own stuff,” she says, her voice tapering to a whisper. “You don’t have to do this. We can leave after this drink.”

“No,” I say. “Stay here. Drink as much as you want—on me. And call in sick tomorrow.”

She laughs, though her eyes are still glassy. “Rhett, I can’t call in sick.”

“Why not? I’m your boss, and I say you can. Hell, take the whole fucking week if you want.”

I glance at the bartender who shows no signs of heading in our direction anytime soon. This one’s different from my usual guy, then again, I don’t typically come here in the middle of the week.

I lift a hand, trying to casually garner his attention, but his gaze skirts over the heads of the Japanese businessmen he’s trying to serve and lands on a couple of women coming through the doorway.

“No fucking way,” I mutter.

Allison rotates in her seat, craning her neck to see what I’m staring at. “Oh. It’s that girl from this morning.”

“Yeah.” I rub my palm along my five o’clock shadow. “Yeah, that’s her. Never would’ve pegged her for a stalker.”

“Is she stalking you though? She hasn’t even looked over here. I don’t think she’s even scanned the room. And she’s with someone,” Allison says, always my squeaky voice of reason.

“That’s what they do,” I say. “The good stalkers are so good they don’t look like they’re stalking.”

“Hmm.” She isn’t buying it.

The bartender finally approaches, and I feel like I haven’t seen him in years. I order a whiskey sour and a lemon drop martini for Allison because on her best of days, she’s a little ray of sunshine, and she could use something uplifting at this point.

“I should probably stop after this,” she says when he returns with her martini glass.

“The night is young, Al,” I say, eyes focused across the bar to where Ayla seems to be elbow deep in some kind of fascinating conversation.

Allison’s right. Ayla hasn’t so much as glanced in this direction. Not once. Not even for a fraction of a splinter of a second.

There’s a restlessness stirring inside me. I can’t sit here and pretend she isn’t over there. I can’t sit here and pretend like her taste isn’t still on my tongue and that her perfume hasn’t been on my skin all day or that I haven’t been replaying our morning fuck session over and over in my head. I even stroked it while thinking of her this afternoon when my cock wouldn’t stop throbbing every time I passed the kitchen island.

“Are you going to say hi?” Allison interrupts my dirty, dirty mind.

I bite my lower lip, giving it good pause. “Probably not.”

“Why not?”

Oh, Allison. So young. So naïve. She has no idea how this works.

“If I say hi to her ...” I let my sentence dissolve. I can’t explain this to Allison. She’s been my PA for three years now, and we’ve never once discussed my sex life. Besides, I’m not sure I can give her a PG-13 rundown of the way this works. If I stop what I’m doing and say hi to Ayla, then that would mean we’re officially acquaintances, and I don’t want to be her acquaintance. I want to be some random guy she fucked on some random weekday. “It’s complicated, Allison.”

I take a drink of my whiskey, letting my eyes linger in Ayla’s direction. Her friend is quite animated, swooshing her arms through the air when she talks and widening her eyes. It must be exhausting listening to her tell a story, but there’s Ayla, tuned in like a champ.

God bless her.

Allison swivels in her seat, facing me as she licks sugar off the rim of her martini glass. “This is really good, by the way.”

“Glad you like it.”

I steal a quick glance over Allison’s shoulder because apparently I’m incapable of restraining myself tonight, only this time I’m met with two sets of curious eyes.

I’ve been spotted.

Ayla shifts in her seat, her eyes moving to the back of Allison’s head, then to me, then the drink in her hand. Her friend gives me a dirty look.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

It’s not like I’m dating Ayla. And it’s not like I’m here with some chick despite the fact that that’s exactly what it looks like.

“Boss, I’m going to use the ladies’ room,” Allison squeaks, hopping down from the seat. “Be right back.”

Ayla and her friend watch Allison leave, and then Ayla angles her body so I can’t see her face anymore. Is she pissed? And more importantly, why does it bother me?

Exhaling, I take another sip of whiskey and gather my composure. I have nothing to prove, and I don’t owe her a damn thing, but I wouldn’t mind walking out of here tonight with the same amount of integrity I showed up with.

I’m not a man whore. Maybe I was a few years back, when I was a rookie in the NHL and a multi-million-dollar contract landed in my lap, making me feel like the king of the world for a good six months.

But not anymore.

I decide to finish my drink and go say hello. It’s the proper thing to do now that I’ve been spotted.

I’m working on my last sip when there’s a sharp tap on my right shoulder.

“You going to say hello, or you just going to sit here like you didn’t just totally eye fuck me while your date is in the ladies’ room?” Ayla asks.

I hate that she beat me to it.

Once again, I look like the pathetic one here.

“Eye fucking? Is that what you kids are calling it these days?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes, swatting my arm. “I could have sworn you were glaring. I had no idea you were trying to be sexy.”

“Anyway.” She eyes the restroom sign, like she’s expecting Allison to emerge any moment. “Just wanted to be the bigger person and come and say hi.”

“Don’t commend yourself just yet. I was about to make my way over there. Wanted to finish my drink first.”

“Mm, hm.” She fights a smile, and I expect her to give me shit about my “date” any second now, and I’m going to take great pleasure in proving her wrong. “Alrighty, take care now.”

Ayla gives a quick wave before returning to her friend, and they seem to pick up their conversation exactly where they left off. They aren’t pointing or looking at me or pretending not to talk about me when it’s clear they are.

I’m completely off her radar.

She couldn’t care less.

I’m not an insecure man by any stretch of the imagination. I’m not a man who generally gives a shit about what other people think or a man who judges his sexual prowess on how many girls can’t keep their hands off him in any given month. But I’ll be damned if my ego isn’t slightly bruised right now.

Was that ... was that a pity fuck this morning?

I drag my hands through my hair. Jesus. I bet she knows who I am. I bet she knows all about what happened. And I bet she only fucked me because she felt bad for me.

“Everything okay?” Allison is back. Her eyes are a little less glazed, her spirit a little brighter as evidenced by the slow smile on her face. “These drinks are starting to kick in. Guess this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

“Allison, give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

“Of course.” She offers a gracious smile and lifts her glass to her mouth.

Within seconds I’m halfway across the bar, laser focused on my target.