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“Oh, sorry. I am. You must be Brian?” He’s the complete opposite to Mace. Where Mace may be an attorney at one of the hottest firms in Vegas, he still has that rugged bad boy appearance, constantly sporting a five-o’clock shadow even though he shaved an hour earlier, tattoos littering both arms, solid muscle that when he wraps his arms around you, it leaves you feeling safe, loved, and secure in every aspect of life.
“I am. I gave the hostess my name, and she said our table should be ready in a few minutes. Would you like another while we wait?” Brian asks as he shakes my hand, settling in beside me, light to Mace’s darkness. Where my ex-husband has dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a mischievousness beneath the darkness that he holds close to the vest, Brian is not like that. He’s got light blond hair, blue eyes, pale skin tone, a lightness in his voice, and the thick black-framed glasses are a walking contradiction to everything I’ve known.
“I’d love to say I could hold my own by having another drink, but it’s probably best I wait to eat something first.” The soft chuckle in his tone, the smile he gives so freely… If I were a woman who was ready to look for a man, future step daddy material, Brian might be it. As it stands, I’m not ready, nor am I prepared to open this chapter in my book, not yet at least.
“I can appreciate the honesty. I’m going to order something, if you don’t mind, though,” he replies, grabbing his wallet out of his khaki pants, another thing Mace would never wear. Dark suits for work? Yes. At home, he was a lived-in Levi’s kind of man, top button undone, shirtless, and with one look, one sweep of his tongue across his lower lip, I knew what he was thinking. Longing takes over my body, and I clench my thighs when I think about the ways Mace would make good on his promise. No matter where we were, he’d make it happen, even if that meant he didn’t come. I always came first, until I didn’t.
“Not at all.” The Diet Coke and Tito’s vodka wasn’t really hitting the spot like it usually would. It could be because my nerves are shot or that I’m not in the right atmosphere, but a few sips in, and I was pushing it away, knowing tonight wasn’t going to be the night to have a couple of drinks. It’s probably for the better, since I’d probably have to order a ride home or ask Brian for a ride, which I would never do. That would be giving him not only my address but my son’s, and getting into a car with a virtual stranger even if your mother-in-law knows them is breaking a rule every woman should follow.
“Piña Colada, please,” Brian asks the bartender. I’m trying not to judge, but I think I drink stronger stuff than he does, and I can’t help but compare him to Mace once again. The fruity concoction is one I’d order while on vacation at a beach or near the water. Mace would never order something like that. He’s more of a whisky on the rocks person, sometimes adding Coke to the mix, other times an orange or a lemon peel when we went the rare night out.
“I know it’s fruity, but I’m not big on tasting a drink full of liquor,” Brian admits after ordering his drink. I smile because I’m really not sure what else to say.
“That’s okay. You know what you like.” I shrug nonchalantly.
“Without a doubt.” He winks and adds an upturn of his lips. My stomach drops. No, it does more than that. It plummets. This is too fast, too soon. Something is screaming deep inside of me to find a reason to leave. Brian may be a nice guy, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and sadly, that will never be the man sitting beside me. “I can’t.” The words don’t finish coming out because there, not even ten feet away, stands a man wearing a black suit, the shirt the exact same color, no tie, button undone at his throat, hands in his pockets, eyes laser-focused on me. And wouldn’t you know it? The guy staring back at me is none other than the man who completely obliterated my heart.
FOUR
Mace
It tooka shit ton of swindling to get here; one look from my mom had me breaking down, telling her what happened earlier today and the plan I have not only for my career but for my family as well. Unfortunately, I’m not going to be telling Tyra that first and foremost. It sucked, but it had to be done. Telling your mom what a royal fuck-up you’ve been at not just a husband but a parent as well was tough to swallow. It also allowed me to get things off my chest. Somewhere along the way, my plans were skewered—thinking money solves every problem known to man, the upgraded house I was adamant about us moving into two years ago. And try as I might, I begged Tyra to take it, allowing her to buy me out at a fraction of the cost. She said no, leaving me stuck with the massive five-bedroom, three-bathroom house in a gated community with a community pool. That changed today, too. I sold the house for over fifty percent more of what we paid for it and found a small one-bedroom apartment for Von and me on my weekends, hoping like hell I won’t need it in the long run.
Tyra clocks me almost immediately, not that I was trying too hard at making my presence a secret. She’s fast on her feet, leaving the shit-for-brains guy who ordered a fruity cocktail at an upscale bar. I bet he’s the type who would offer to go Dutch, leaving Tyra to her own bill. Fuck me, some men can be worthless.
“Is Von okay?” are the first words out of her mouth as she quickly grabs her purse, not saying a word to the dude staring after her. The schmuck isn’t even attempting to figure out why Tyra is leaving him high and dry. He’s just sitting there.
“Von’s okay. When I left my parents’, he was sound asleep.” The television tuned to his favorite show was playing in the background. Not a cartoon; that would be too boring for our boy. He prefers to watch science experiments, trying to pinpoint where the issue lies and figuring out the right technique before the host does.
“Then why are you here?” Tyra asks, confused, rightfully so. We’ve been divorced for eleven months, nineteen days, and eight hours. Even when I was being the biggest prick on the planet, I knew down to the moment when our divorce was final, when I waived my rights to be there, knowing that I couldn’t watch her go through with it, secretly hoping that she’d call a halt to it, but I was the issue. It was never Tyra; it was all me.
“I need to talk to you.” The admission leaves me, not giving a fuck that we’re in a busy restaurant, the music low and sultry, the two of us blocking the way to the bar. My hand touches her forearm, sliding down until it locks around her wrist, bringing her closer without any hesitation if it means she won’t get pumped into from the side.
“Mace, surely, this could have waited.” Tyra steps back. My other hand comes around her lower back, not allowing her to leave my presence. The way she takes a sharp breath, our bodies plastered against one another, I’m sure she can feel what she’s doing to my uncontrollable body. My damn dick has a mind of its own when it comes to Tyra Ayala. She never went back to her maiden name. I knew from my time at the law firm some women never did, wanting to keep their married last name because it was their children’s given name, or there were a few who we’re so adamant about keeping the last time as a fuck-you to their now ex-partner. It didn’t take me long to realize family law wasn’t my area of expertise and I didn’t want any part of that, entertainment being more along the lines of my wheelhouse. Too bad that ship sailed once I got my head screwed on right, realizing too late that in order to have a career and a family, one would have to sit on the back burner. Which leads me here, running after my ex-wife, ready to make shit right, and hopefully leaving this clown in the dust.
“Excuse me, Tyra, are you okay?” The dude comes up behind her. My fingers flex along the curve of her lower back, digging in. A slight whimper leaves her before she clears her throat to respond.
“Yes, give me just a few moments, Brian, and I’ll meet you back at the bar.” I don’t allow her to turn around, making it awkward with how she acknowledges him. I don’t say a word. If I do, I know myself, it won’t end on a nice note.
“You’re sure?” Brian asks again.
“I am.” The nod and small smile must work because he gives me a sardonic look yet does what Tyra suggests, proving he’s not worth the time of day.
“Come with me.” I bend down, my lips whispering into the shell of her ear, pushing my luck because she may be putty beneath my hands, but I know Tyra; she’s not going down without a fight.
“Please release me. If this is about Von, lead the way. If not, it’s time for me to get back to Brian.” My own mother set her up on a date with Brian the accountant. He’s never been married, has no children, and while he looks good on paper, my father’s words come full circle—he’s not an Ayala, and he’ll never be good enough for his daughter-in-law.
“It’s not about Von. It’s about us,” I reply. My teeth nip at the lobe of her ear, pressing my luck further.
“There’s no us, Mace. There hasn’t been for a year.” The slight tremble of her body gives her away. She’s not as immune to me as she’d like to pretend to be.
“Eleven months, nineteen days, and eight hours,” I amend. Her eyes catch mine as I remove my mouth from the woman I’m hoping sees that I’m trying to make things right.
“I can’t do this, not right now, maybe not ever.” She shakes her head, and this time when she takes a step back, I allow it. I figured this would be a long shot; that doesn’t mean a seed hasn’t been planted, one that I know she wanted more than a year ago.
“One more night, Tyra, that’s all I’m asking.” The hesitation is no longer there, a victory I’m going to take as a win, even if it means getting on my knees to make things right between us.
FIVE
