The Darkness - Jason Pinter [87]
whatever predicament they were in, it was most certainly
of their own doing.
Morgan's tongue tasted nothing, and he laughed, realizing he'd finished his beer several minutes ago.
For the last few months, Morgan Isaacs had spent his
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nights on the couch, sitting alone, tipping back beers and
watching basketball games with teams he didn't give a
rat's ass about. The nights usually did not end until around
three o'clock in the morning, when, tired of infomercials
and out of snacks, Morgan would pass out on his sofa,
covered in a thin blanket, where he would sleep until the
sun woke him up midday.
It was a sad, dreary existence, but Morgan felt to some
extent that this was his penance, a punishment for not
living up to the promise he'd seen in himself.
How could he be a confident boyfriend--or lover at
all--with no income? How could he buy a girl a drink
knowing that he was three months behind on his credit
card payments? How could he buy his buddies a round
when there was a chance the card would be declined?
None of that existed anymore.
Morgan's first paycheck would give him more than financial breathing room. It would give him his life back.
Morgan picked up his cell phone, scrolled through
his address book until he found her name. And then
Morgan smiled. Svetlana. When in doubt, go with the
Russian model.
Svetlana was beautiful and nearly six feet in heels,
with jet-black hair, legs that were longer than a New York
City lamppost, and a body that would make Putin himself
kneel and beg for mercy.
She was a tough one. Her father was a doctor, and he'd
been killed recently or something, and Svetlana refused
to ever discuss it. Not that Morgan minded; if anything
he preferred that they keep their relationship as uncomplicated as possible.
The sex was freaking mind-blowing, and damned if he
didn't miss that the most. And now that he could treat her
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again like he did in the old days (well, at least he was
getting there), he felt that sizzle, that confidence that had
been robbed from him all coming back.
He dialed the number and held it to his ear, praying
that she wasn't somewhere without service or, God help
him, with another man. If she was, Morgan might just
have to kill him.
"Who is this?" the female voice said on the other end.
It wasn't said with any sort of real curiosity, but with
anger because she knew exactly who was calling.
"It's me, babe," Morgan said. "What are you doing
right now?"
"What am I doing?" she said. God, he loved that
accent. "I am sitting on my ass because my worthless
friend Sabina decided to go on a date with some lawyer.
So I was about to open a bottle of wine when you called.
Why the hell are you calling, Morgan?"
"What are you wearing?" he said.
"What am I wearing? What the hell is wrong with
you? Why does that matter?"
"Because I want you to pick out your hottest outfit
right this minute, put it on and meet me at the Kitten Club
in half an hour."
"And why would I do that?" she asked, her hesitancy
melting.
"Because I'm back, sweetheart, and I'm going to get
us both wasted and then I'm going to make you thank
God you were born a woman."
"Morgan?" she said.
"Yeah?"
"I'll be there in fifteen."
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She didn't remember the drive taking this long. Maybe
because last time, time was of the essence. Or maybe last
time there was an excitement about seeing her daughter
for the first time in months.
As the yellow lines sped past in a blur, as the trees on
I-95 merged into one long emerald line, Paulina thought
about those days nearly twenty years ago when she first
held Abigail in her arms. She was so tiny, so fragile, and
Paulina remembered breast-feeding her, thinking that this
small person was dependent on her for love, for life. And
though she'd never wanted that feeling to die, it had done
just that a long time ago.
Paulina had never wanted to be one of those corporate
mothers who took a week off for maternity leave, was
back in the office like nothing had ever happened