Creep - Jennifer Hillier [9]
Sheila enjoyed the attention anyway, feeling rather celebratory, and watched as Luke deftly poured another martini for the sixtysomething man sitting three seats away. The older gentleman—a silver fox, as her students might have described him—was wearing a wedding band, but that hadn’t stopped him from trying to catch Sheila’s eye. He was appealing in a James Brolin kind of way, with maybe twenty extra pounds and a ruddiness to the cheeks. Not that she was interested. Those days were behind her, once and for all.
The new engagement ring flashed fire on her left hand. Sheila stared at it in that pretentious way women do when they’re looking at their diamonds or their manicures. She couldn’t help herself; it was a work of art. Morris had discreetly left the certificate of appraisal in the car when they’d stopped for gas the other day, and she’d peeked—a four-carat solitaire on a platinum, pavé-set diamond band, worth lots of zeros. She thought back to the night of the proposal and his earnest face when he handed her the blue Tiffany box. She’d stared at the ring in shock, and Morris had laughed and said, “You know me. Go big or go home.” That was Morris, always a Texan at heart.
“Is it real?” Silver Fox from three barstools down finally said, interrupting her thoughts. She looked over to see him grinning at her. He was chewing an olive, a toothpick dangling out the side of his mouth. “Or do you just wear it to keep the guys from hounding you?”
His voice was nasal and higher than Sheila expected. She didn’t answer.
“He must think the world of you to get you a rock that size,” the man said, trying again. “It’s blinding me from here.”
Sheila relented. “Thanks. We just got engaged.”
“Congratulations. Buy you a drink to celebrate?” Silver Fox’s body language told her he was ready to slide over at the slightest hint of interest. He downed the last of his martini and winked at her, his lips still working the toothpick.
Sheila glanced at his wedding ring. “Won’t your wife mind?”
“Not if you don’t tell her.”
“My fiancé would.”
“Not if you don’t tell him.” He grinned, the toothpick bobbing up and down between his unnaturally white teeth.
Sheila smiled sweetly. “Why don’t you tell him yourself. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Ah. I assumed you were in town on business.” Silver Fox’s tone was polite but his face had turned a shade ruddier. “Enjoy your evening.” He eased up from his barstool and strolled away, leaving a twenty for the bartender.
“Ouch,” Luke said, stuffing the bill into the pocket of his apron. “Guess he doesn’t take rejection well.”
“I thought I was pretty nice about it.” Sheila’s laugh was sheepish. “I feel sorry for his wife, wherever she may be. Tacky guy.”
“You’d be amazed how many tacky people come into this place. And God bless ’em,” Luke said with a grin. “I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent otherwise.”
He was polishing the inside of a wineglass with a clean white cloth, his biceps flexing as he turned the glass back and forth in a rhythmic motion. He was close enough for her to smell his musky cologne, and she suddenly imagined what Luke’s lips would feel like on her nipples.
She mentally slapped herself. “You must see everything working here.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Nothing surprises me anymore. What about you?”
Luke laughed, and something about it sounded forced, reminding her of Ethan. Her thoughts sobered instantly. He tapped her glass. “Another?”
He fixed her drink, then left to tend to a couple at the end of the bar who’d just arrived but already looked bored with each other. Not even Frank Sinatra over the loudspeakers could seem to cheer them up, and Sheila wondered how long they’d been married. As she watched Luke work, her thoughts turned to Ethan once again.
Three good years in Sex Addicts Anonymous and she’d slipped. With one of her students, no less. Christ. And not only that, she’d let it continue for three months. Father’s death or no, she’d fucked up, plain and simple.
She would never have thought she could treat