The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [89]
Fresh meat arrived with her drink. He smiled at her, trying to be charming, but she wasn’t so drunk she couldn’t see the predatory intent behind his smile. She accepted the glass, leaning her slim hip negligently against the table and blatantly eyeing him since he was blatantly eyeing her.
He was tall, over six feet. Beneath his red baseball cap, tufts of dishwater-blond hair stuck out like straw. He had a mustache and stubbly beard, and the broad shoulders and muscled arms of a workingman. His stomach wasn’t flat anymore though. He’d been a stud once. Now he was going to seed.
“So what’s your game?” he asked with a wink.
“Eight ball,” she said coolly, “I’ll give you three-to-one odds. Betting starts at twenty.”
He crossed his arms so that his biceps bulged.
“You really that into pool?”
“You really think you can pick me up with one drink?”
His face reddened. She kept staring at him. Men couldn’t stand up to that stare. They all fled like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. Then they called her a bitch.
“All right,” he said, surprising her. “I’ll play. But I’ll warn you now, I’m better than what you’re used to.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She slammed back her whiskey and picked up the cue stick. Her gun was nestled beneath her arm, hidden by her jacket. She liked the feel of it there, comforting and cold.
They got down to business.
Do you miss me, Roger, do you think of me at all? Or am I just a cold bitch to you, one you married for Daddy’s connections? How can a cocktail waitress make you so damn happy?
She bent low and broke the balls with a fury. Two solids went in. She inhaled another cleansing gulp of tobacco and contemplated her next shot.
And you, Daddy? Why don’t you ever call my name? Wasn’t I a good daughter? Didn’t I do whatever you asked?
She sank three more, then scratched.
Her opponent took over with a swagger. She was unimpressed.
Then there’s you, J.T. Running off and ruining the family name. You’re nothing but a drunken loser and then you say I’m like you. I am nothing like you. I am strong.
Her opponent cleared the table. She looked at him, mildly shocked.
“Told you I knew what I was doing.”
“I suppose you did.”
He set down his cue stick while she counted out three twenties and handed them over. He shook his head.
“Haven’t you had enough foreplay? Aren’t you ready to get down to the real business?”
She contemplated acting outraged. She contemplated feigning ignorance. She set down the money and with a shrug of her shoulders said, “All right. What did you have in mind?”
“Come with me, darling. I’ll fuck your problems right out of your head.”
She stared at him. He was past his prime, but his arms were still lean and hard. He knew how to play pool and was more man than anything else that had walked into the room.
She should tell him no. She was the good daughter who’d only ever slept with Roger. She was the good agent who knew better than to leave with a strange man.
She said, “All right.”
She picked up her purse and accepted his heavy grip as he led her to the door.
“And you froze up every time I touched you, Marion!”
She still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her, that if she turned around now, she’d find one pair of eyes a bit too sharp, a bit too knowing.
She didn’t turn around.
Outside, the air was cool and crisp and her nostrils flared, almost offended by the sweetness after the reeking bar. The sky was pitch black, good for midnight doings.
Her stud led her to his truck. No one was around in the parking lot, but she wasn’t worried.
He held open the passenger door for her. She wasn’t sure if that was a positive sign or not. She didn’t ask where they were going, she didn’t contemplate the events at hand. She lit another cigarette and rolled down the window to smoke.
He drove to the middle of nowhere. Had he taken other women there before? Was he married and that’s why they didn’t go to his apartment? She didn’t care. None of it was her business. She was just along for the ride.
“No one comes out here,” he said, looking