Chapter 1 

“Jesus Christ!” A wiry man with perfect, tawny hair guffawed. Tumbler in hand, Steve Taylor gaped across the table in a crowded café. After another full-throated laugh escaped him, he rocked back in his chair, tilting a drink to his lips. “Caleb, you’re such a fucking asshole!”

Grin on his face, Caleb van Dienst scanned the midtown eatery’s sunlit polished gray steel interior. Dull, borderline stupid, the faces of the patrons drawn to the laughter were of no interest to him. Instead, he looked through its windows at the busy city street. As a slender silhouette moved closer, he shifted his gaze.

Right as she passed them, a cute blonde server with nice legs and a perfect ass flicked vivid emerald eyes at Steve. Focused on his drink, the other man didn’t notice. Of course, he wouldn’t.

However, when she glanced at Caleb, he winked. As he inspected her sleek figure in a short black skirt and chest-hugging blouse, his grin widened. Despite crimson flaring along sharp cheekbones and the cutest jiggle of perky little titties, she turned away.

“Bah, probably a lez,” Caleb muttered.

“Yeah, sure,” said the third man at the table. Burly and redheaded, Terry Woods snorted. In his large, freckled hand was an almost empty martini glass. His third. “So, what happened? ‘She was the one.’ Thought you loved her.”

“What can I say?” Caleb raked fingers through thick, dark hair. “I’m God’s—”

“—gift to women,” Terry finished, his green eyes glinting. “Yeah, yeah, we know.”

A chuckle escaped Caleb. Blessed with great genes, he was “tall, dark and handsome.” Not his words, but those of the many women he’d dated, fucked, or both dated and fucked. However, in addition to the gifts courtesy of his parents, he put in the hard work. Many long hours in the gym, sweating his ass off. Miles of running roads and trails. Plus, swimming.

So, yeah, he was ‘hot.’ Again, not his word, but that of others. Not that he minded the compliments. They fueled him in the dark times. 

It also helped to be born rich. A trust fund baby, Caleb, was lucky. Although again, he worked harder than others, earning more…okay, to feed his appetite. Fast cars, faster women. Nice things, nicer women.

Like his dad, he had a penchant for the new, the shiny, or simply the different. Another chuckle left him as he peered at the pair of laughing friends. They couldn’t afford new, shiny, or different. Which meant an undercurrent of jealousy slunk within their voices.

Because, yeah, Caleb owned a brand-new Bugatti Chiron. The Super Sport. Why the fuck not? He lived in a swanky, well-furnished—not by him—downtown penthouse apartment. It sported an impressive balcony and an even more impressive hot/fuck tub.

Then there was a nice chalet in Colorado. Both another expansive fuck tub and a massive heart-shaped bed. Perfect for parties, orgies, whatever. Oh, and the quaint loft in Paris. No fuck tub, but the views got little clits all warm and buzzing. The latter two he’d inherited from his dad, but the apartment—he’d earned that.

Their rivalry extended to his exploits with the fairer sex. Out before the starting gun, Terry married within seconds of graduating high school. Then there was Steve. Well, he hunted, but never caught. Not a finisher. A damned good wingman, taking one for the team more times than Caleb could count. But he had no guts. And no guts meant no glory. Or pussy. Witness the hot blonde waitress. Typical Steve, focused on the wrong things at the wrong time.

“So, what happened?” Terry asked, while doing that annoying ‘twirl his wedding ring’ thing.

Whether he did it to taunt him or not, it got under Caleb’s skin. However, he forced a grin. After all, it was Terry’s only opportunity to flex. He’d begun doing it more often. A nervous tremor flickered deep within Caleb. Had he found out?

“No, really. That Beth was the ‘sure thing.’ Your words.” With a wobbly lift of his hand, Terry finished the rest of a martini and grinned. 

After a long sigh, Caleb sipped. The others leaned closer, awaiting his answer. One glance into Terry’s glassy eyes and the flicker vanished. Nah, he didn’t know. If he had, Terry wouldn’t be able to hold his gaze. The grin on Caleb’s face broadened as he lowered his tumbler.

“The bitch cheated on me.” Before he could add anything, both “buddies” erupted into louder laughter.

At Terry’s echoing guffaws, curious looks again shot to them from the surrounding tables. Meanwhile, struggling to breathe, Steve slapped a hand on the table and set his shaky glass down. 

“Now that’s rich, man.” Terry managed, before laughing once more. “She cheated on you?”

Such amusement. Yet, they had a point. Of course, she’d cheated. Why wouldn’t she? Caleb had. Because, well, he almost always ended up leaving women for newer, shinier, and different ones. After a shrug, he joined in the laughter, even as an annoying ache twinged in his core.

A magical smile would slip onto his face as he walked through the apartment, all Beth’s scents swarming his nostrils. Delicate perfume, expensive soap, and the fruitiest shampoo. The curve of her slim waist fit his hands. The shiver of her tongue prodding his chin just before she came. She’d murmur into his ear while sleeping snuggled tight to him. Oh, and she made the most amazing breakfasts.

 He’d been so sure. She was the one. Until—she wasn’t. Well, he knew how to fix that; his eyes swept the nearby tables.

And stopped. 

A seated woman was watching him. Although sound became muffled and the room blurred, his pulse stayed even.

New. Shiny as fuck. Check. And check. Also, smoking hot. In a daring scoop-necked, thin, pastel blue blouse and a short black leather skirt, the sapphire-eyed angel possessed the toned legs of a dancer.

Like Terry, she was twirling a wedding band. Except hers was diamond-studded, glittering while rolling between blood-red nails. But Caleb didn’t care. Not at all. She could twirl whatever the fuck she wanted. He wanted to twirl her entire screaming, pulsating body. 

After catching her eyes, he widened his grin. Although her cheeks reddened, she held his gaze.

Oh, hell yeah. Without an ounce of subtlety, he inspected her lithe frame. Hmm, a nice slice of well-sculpted, tight rebound pussy would help him get over Beth. As she remained motionless under his scan, the blonde’s blue eyes sparkled.

“Mmm, oh, my. Not shy at all,” Caleb murmured.

Well, he needed different. Beth had been a challenge. A lot of wasted energy. Plus, time. Oh, and money. The bitch liked both fine clothes and the finest coke, and….

That annoying twinge deep in his core pulled a sharp inhale from him. Yeah, he’d been dumb enough to love her. Except that was the past, but the future, though… Trousers straining, he shifted in his seat.

This different, shiny, new woman was fucking drop-dead gorgeous. Sure, there was a lucky-as-fuck husband somewhere—somewhere else. Long lashes flickered and her eyes, still locked on his, gleamed.

When she ran the tip of her tongue over glossy red lips, he gulped. With a jolt, he returned to her blouse. Taut over an ample chest, it was the same color as his Bugatti. The Super Sport. God, with a tight chassis like hers…. Yeah, she could fuck forever.

“So whatcha gonna do now, ‘Mighty Cock?’” 

Steve’s amused voice snapped his reverie, and Caleb turned to him with a smile. Instead of speaking, he lifted the drink.

“Really, man?” Steve’s eyebrows raised as he scanned the blonde, inspecting her ring. “Already? Wow, another one lined up. You fucking man whore.”

As Steve laughed, Caleb chuckled over the rim. Although Terry joined in, his fingers swiveled the gold circlet on his finger faster. After catching the man’s hooded expression, Caleb nodded, despite his chest tightening and blood cooling. Terry must’ve found out. Perhaps traced his wife’s desperate phone calls?

“Ever thought about therapy?” Terry said. At first, Caleb started a derisive snort, but fell silent at the man’s stark visage. “Nah, I’m serious. You go through women like water. It’s gonna be the death of you.”

Even as his chest loosened—wedding ring-spinning Terry remained ignorant—Caleb pursed his lips. With a sigh escaping him, his muscles relaxed, and he managed another broad smile.

“Why should I?” Caleb replied, again lifting his glass. “Cry to some hot, brainy chick about…dunno, what? How sad I am? My mother dying when I was a kid? That a lengthy line of coke was smeared across her face as they wheeled her nude body from some guy’s apartment?”

Though he chuckled, it wasn’t a cheerful sound, and Caleb’s heart stumbled at the memory of his father’s drawn, stunned expression. Not at his mom being naked in a stranger’s home. Nah, dad had been there as well. But that she was gone.

Meh, she’d been gone a long time. Dad had adjusted. Was okay. More than okay. For that matter, Caleb was….

Neither Terry nor the suddenly quiet Steve said anything as he tilted the glass. After staring at the remaining booze, he forced a tight smile.

“No. No, thank you. Dad and I are doing just fine.” His eyes moved to the blonde, still looking at the trio. No, at him, alone. “Besides, I prefer my kind of therapy. It’s way more fun.” After draining the drink, he slapped the empty tumbler down. “Alright, boys.” As he shoved backward from the table, the chair screeched on the tile floor. At the sound echoing across the café, heads turned, which he wanted. “Time to get back to work.”

“Yes, sir.” With a groan, Steve gulped the last of his drink and staggered upward. “Mister boss man, sir.”

After surging to his feet, Caleb steadied Steve’s wobbling slender frame with one hand and buttoned a dark blue suit jacket with the other. Once standing, Terry swept crumbs from a skewed tie and wrinkled shirt before heading for the exit. 

After a quick shake of his head, Caleb gestured for Steve to move ahead of him. The tawny-haired man said nothing before lumbering for the door. No, Steve hadn’t noticed. But Caleb damn sure had.

Eyes glittering in the sunlight, the woman was still there, watching him. When he nodded to her, those blue pools twinkled while scanning him from head to toe. As he glanced after his disappearing companions, a shiver wriggled along his spine.

Under the sway of her gravity, or beauty, or newness, he veered toward the blonde’s table. Once closer, he spared a peek at her wedding ring. Large round white diamond, elegant setting. Yep, somebody loved her. Yet her eyes remained on him as he continued to approach.

“Besides, who the fuck cares who loves her?” he murmured under his breath.

After Beth, all Caleb wanted—needed—was a fresh slice of pie. Pussy pie. Grin fastened to his face, he slipped a hand inside his jacket to retrieve a business card. With the blonde tracking his motion, he placed the card before her on the white tablecloth.

“I want you,” he said.

At his hand’s slow rise, there was no recoil. His fingertip grazed a smooth, warm cheek, and when she pressed into his palm, his pulse raced. Despite noting his glance into her blouse, she remained motionless.

Black lace. Intricate. Pretty flowers. Under translucent pastel blue.

Yeah, she had to be advertising. Gotta be expensive, too. Still could be fun. After flashing her his best pussy-soaking smile, he pulled away and strode to the exit.

With a heavy breath to clear his head of her perfume, he stepped onto the noisy sidewalk. A few quick steps and he’d caught up to Steve and Terry heading for their office tower.

No, for his office tower.

Well, his company owned the top half of it. He stifled a laugh; from behind, they resembled Laurel and Hardy. Thin Steve was shorter than the taller and square-built Terry. Growl building deep in his chest, he glanced back at the café door.

A hot wife like that. Yeah, she had to be working a side gig. A lot of married women had a couple of jobs in the city. The ones they did in the day, and the others they pursued in the evening, an hour at a time. The latter to make the real money.

Except Caleb had never paid for sex. He didn’t need to.

“Hmm, would a hottie like that bother calling?” he murmured before snorting.

While sliding his arms over his friends’ shoulders, he was silent once more. But if she did call? A sporty fuck-machine chassis like hers. Maybe he would pay. A lot. A bonus, even.

And, if not, he’d find somebody else.

There was always somebody else.

Later that night, Caleb padded across his apartment. Fresh from a steamy shower, he ran a towel over his hair while heading to the bar. Yeah, it was one of those nights. 

After snatching a hefty crystal goblet, he poured a brandy. A lot of brandy. With a grunt, he tossed the towel to a white leather couch. While taking a lengthy sip, he headed for the open glass balcony doors. 

Once outside, he exhaled over the glass’s twinkling rim. Chilly, the night breeze swirling around his naked form raised goosebumps. While dragging long fingers through his hair, a heavier sigh slipped from him.

“Therapy?” he whispered to the sparkling downtown towers.

He didn’t need therapy. After lifting the glass to his lips once more, he clambered up onto the flat top of the balcony’s guardrail. Toes clamping its icy metal edge, he swept the cityscape below, and another exhale sent misty vapor off on the wind. 

When his other fist lowered to skim his lengthening shaft, a surge of pleasure rippled through him. Clean shaven, just as mommy preferred. The abrupt surge of both sadness and arousal left him gasping; she’d so loved shaving him. Okay, not actually, but a boy could fantasize, right?

Nah, there was nothing awkward about her death. Sure, he’d spared his friends the details. As his fingers slipped over his sleek ball sack, his lips fluttered. A gentle squeeze brought mom’s loving smile back to him. Again, when he was younger, he’d had such naughty dreams. Ones in which she’d take both aching balls into her mouth at the same time, before doing a lot more.

“Hm-mmm, I miss you, mommy,” he murmured.

When his fist tightened, a sigh left his shaking lips. No, Terry and Steve didn’t need to know everything his dad had shared. His mother had been sniffing cocaine off a man’s cock. Another guy’s tie had been loose around her neck. There’d been almost as much cum dripping off her as had oozed from her—everywhere.

Caleb shuddered as the first full stroke brought his rod to its full length. Already the tip was taut and gleaming in the dimness. In a forceful gust, a slender thread twisted away. Like a spider’s gossamer, its glittery length wound skyward. No therapist would understand that. Besides, even if they did, what could they say?

Talented and dedicated, his mother had earned good money. His father hadn’t minded. Hell, when Caleb was old enough, dear old dad admitted to being balls deep inside another woman while talking to the police on the phone. Nope, no therapy. Other than pussy therapy.

“Oh, fuck!” Fist tight and stroking faster, he staggered forward.

Toes squeaking on the cold metal, he managed a long gulp of brandy. In a distant apartment, a man reclined on a couch. Tiny blue dress snug to impressive curves, a lady settled beside him.

“A blonde. Hmm, the one from the café?” he murmured, gripping behind his cock’s swollen crown. “Nah, her hair had been longer.”

When his mother’s glossy eyes appeared, his heart raced. That smile she’d always worn in his fantasies as her hand skimmed his bald shaft. Her gentle, sweeping fingers. The slow, spreading press of her soft lips on his tip.

As he teetered in space, his fist, a slippery vice, stroked even faster.

“Oh. Oh, fuck!” He bucked forward, teeth gritted while swaying out over the darkness. With a groan, he fixed his gaze on the seated woman as his shaft flexed, flinging a twisted rope of pearlescence into the night. “That’s it. Take it, you filthy whore! Take it all!”

Nah, he was fine. Fuck therapy. Another lengthy jet sparkled into the nighttime gusts. As a stronger breeze swept him, he took a long, last drink. Just as he flashed a tight grin at the couple, she leaned for a kiss. And the final, lengthy white spiral gushed from his cock.

“Maybe café woman cut her hair?” He gulped as the woman’s red nails clamped the man’s head. “Nah.”

Again, fuck therapy. Besides, what added value was in it? Caleb had his own therapy.

“That’s right, you horny little cunt,” he muttered as she toppled onto the guy, driving him flat on the couch. “Fuck him hard.”

After a final squeeze to force the remnants of his seed out into the wind, he hopped down with a wobble. Once inside, he staggered across the apartment, dropped the glass somewhere near a bedside table, and launched himself across chilly, white silk sheets.

“Nope, I’m just fine,” he mumbled. A dribble of brandy-tinged saliva slipped from his lips. “Hmm, why hasn’t that fucking hot café whore called? They always…. The blonde bitch’ll call…” he murmured before blackness took him.

Chapter 2 

For the hundredth time, Daisy scanned the business card. Its bold, golden lettering glittered from the top of an old dresser. Of mismatched wood, the bureau was scuffed, as were the other furnishings she’d found at a thrift store. Heart heavy, she abandoned the card.

“Almost two months…” her voice faded.

In an icy rage, Dan had abandoned her. Some days, it seemed more like two decades. Others…. She glanced at the card once more. Had he left only the previous day?

A lengthy exhale escaped her as she tugged a ridiculously tiny, black-and-green plaid pleated skirt over sleek thighs. After shifting it to cover T-back panties, she tucked in a taut white button-down blouse. With a quick swirl of honey blonde hair, she forced a grin as the thin material highlighted a black bra. Sheer, its cups displayed the darkened shadows of rounded areolas if you looked close enough.

And with her, people tended to look plenty close.

At first glance, the waitressing job didn’t offer much pay. However, the tips were excellent. With a quieter sigh, she undid a button. Then another. A peek of lace. Perfect.

Even though it was a dive bar, Daisy needed to pay rent. Gone was the gorgeous apartment. Before storming from her life, Dan paid only the first month. Perhaps she should phone again and ask….

“Nuh-uh,” she murmured while applying thick red lipstick.

At one time, he may have cared, but no more. Well, as far as she knew, since he’d never answered her calls. So, no, he didn’t care anymore. 

“World’s shortest marriage.”

While twirling her fingers, she inspected the glittering diamond on the wedding ring. Yes, she continued to wear it. Technically, they were still married.

However, a sudden surge swept through her, and after grabbing her purse, she scooped the business card into it. A final quick check of her makeup and she headed out into a dimming evening sky.

Once at “The Dancing Hoot,” a brick-faced roadside structure, she paused at the entrance. It was her ritual. Head rolling on her shoulders, she scanned both ways along the dusty road, then checked the parking lot, still empty as it was early. 

No sign of Dan. Not that he knew where she worked, but rituals didn’t have to be logical.

At last, she sighed and shoved through the entrance. Her five-inch heels click-clacked across rough-hewn, dark plank flooring. Despite helping bring in tips, the shoes killed her feet.

As she weaved between glossy round tables and chairs, a quieter sigh left her. After catching her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, she slowed.

Sad eyes. Lonely eyes. The crowd would be there soon, though. With a shaky grin, she eased a lost curl behind an ear.

“Okay, depressed, but cute,” she whispered before pursing her shiny crimson lips to blow a kiss.

After a heavy breath, the grin faded. Cute enough for tips, but not her husband.

Chest tight, she checked the red faux-leather booths along dark-wooden paneled walls. Condiments were already in place, and napkins refilled. Yep, Shelly was working again. Amongst many exceptional qualities, the woman, a Hoot veteran, was efficient.

While shoving a chair closer to a table, she peered into the poolroom at the rear. It was also prepared.

After a quick nod, she scanned the rest of the main room. The small dance floor was glossy and free of the usual litter. She smiled at a little corner stage, housing a decent enough speaker set-up. And most important of all, the array of wide-screen TVs suspended from the ceiling and lining the walls were on and tuned to the same channel.

It was supposed to be a big game night. Which meant big tips. At her tightening nipples scraping the bra cups, she rolled her lips.

“Mmm, big tips.” She giggled. “Down girls.”

As soon as she opened a battered green wooden door, the quiet giggle faded. Everyone called the tiny space “The Server Room.” Stupid joke. The only computer was the one the owner, Geoff, used in his office to do the books.

A nice enough guy, he was gay. Between him and the bouncers, also playing for the other team, they kept them, his servers, as safe as possible. At times, things could get pretty raunchy.

“Hi, Shelly.”

After pulling the door closed, she smiled at an olive-skinned woman tugging a bra strap free of her sleeve. Shoulder length, wavy dark hair swept her shoulders. Despite her being in her mid-30s, once unrestrained, her boobs hardly dropped at all.

For the past two months, Shelly had been her only saving grace. Along with brutal honesty and street smarts, she also possessed a body to die for. Impressive chest, tiny waist, and long legs leading to a perfect round derriere. While both women were adult enough to admit twinges of jealousy, Daisy was happy to have her as a distraction when they worked together.

“Going for the big money tonight, sweetie?” Shelly asked while dragging the bra from the other sleeve and shoving its thin purple satin into her locker.

“Big? Uh, no. Not, um, yet,” Daisy whispered while stowing her purse in another locker.

Her first night working at the Hoot, Daisy had been in the ladies’ room when Shelly dragged an older heavy-set man inside. With no hesitation, she’d dropped to her knees, her black pumps scratching across the shiny brown tile. 

After tugging the man’s cock free, she’d leaned forward. The entire room had blurred when her wide lips slurped, then sunk, engulfing the fleshy tube. Soon enough, those dark tresses were bobbing. Between his ever-louder groans and Shelly’s moaning as her other hand slid under her skirt to rub, Daisy couldn’t tear her gaze away.

In seconds, the man was grunting. After her shiny fingers shoved a wad of cash into her panties, Shelly had wiped a loose white trail from her chin. She’d flashed the widest grin at Daisy before following him from the room. It had taken a long time for Daisy’s heartbeat to slow.

Although she never asked specifics, it was clear Geoff managed to keep “The Dancing Hoot” straddling the line between a popular bar and something more. Much more. Which was fine. It paid well, and he pushed none of the servers to do anything beyond their comfort zones.

Shelly, though. Did she even have a limit?

“Didn’t catch that, Daisy.” Eyes twinkling, the other woman grinned. “Big game tonight. Lotta drunken, horny boys.”

After tugging her top free of the skirt, Shelly was retying it to bare a flat stomach and enhance a very popular deep cleavage. As Daisy scanned the thick dark stems peeking under the sheer white material, another bubble of jealousy wandered within her. Shelly was always, hmm, playful. Even playfully pushy at times.

“Huh?” She turned to her locker. “Sorry, I was lost there.”

“I said, you gonna go for bigger tips tonight, sweetie?” Shelly nodded at Daisy’s chest.

“Oh, yeah. That, sure.”

After unfastening her bra, she removed it. The scraping of lace along hard nipples kept tingles racing through her as she hung it on a hook. Once her translucent white blouse was also untucked and re-tied beneath her chest, she exhaled. It was tight, like Shelly’s, but without the amazing effect the woman’s larger breasts managed. Time for bolt-ons?

“Nah,” she mumbled.

With a slow shake of her head, she undid the top and tied it even tighter.

Better.

Which was as far as she’d gone since….

Well, since that stupid party after the highway. Because, surprise, both Skink and Cheeser were married. Oh, she’d gotten drunk and a little high. Also had some fun. But to what end?

Dan disappearing. That was the end.

Ever since, she hadn’t…. She wouldn’t do the same things as Shelly. And the grinning, always-happy woman did a lot. As became clear later that first night. Besides the woman’s quickie blowjobs, Daisy covered for her so she could fuck another customer.

Shelly’s husband, Bob, knew. Three kids in private school. Mortgage and two car payments. Plus, best of all, Shelly added with a wink, he encouraged her. Also, as soon as she got home, they fucked like rabbits while she described, in copious detail, how the extra money had been earned. He’d been adamant about only one rule: she must come home to him. Every night. No exceptions.

Shelly possessed a rule of her own. “Suck their dicks, yes. But no kissing.”

God, had Daisy kissed them—Cheeser and Skink? She’d definitely sucked both lengthy, purple-black poles, but… As hard as she tried, the memories wouldn’t sharpen.

At last, with a quiet sigh, she glanced at Shelly. The buxom, dark-haired beauty was applying fresh lipstick over already-coated pursed lips. Yeah, she was gonna make big bucks.

After collecting her hair, Daisy shaped it into a high ponytail. Long and straight, the golden-blonde tresses tickled her lower back as she turned in the mirror, checking the skirt. Just enough under-butt showing.

Why couldn’t Dan have been closer to Bob? On the highway, when she’d performed, his smile, though shaky, said he was enjoying it. Had even played with them. Which meant they could continue. She gulped. Except, he’d not been so thrilled at being Cheeser and Skink’s boytoy. 

However, his silence meant she’d be permitted to—be herself. Once more, he would enjoy watching. Or at least she’d fuck him like a rabbit while telling him all about it.

Heck, right after they arrived, she’d gone shopping for the apartment. For their apartment. The expensive, well-appointed one he’d found to keep her happy. Life had been wonderful. She’d been a good wife, kept no secrets.

While riding him, she’d told Dan about the bus trip home from shopping. How she’d been in a green sweater and baggy slacks, nothing sexy at all. When a guy seated on a facing bench had motioned for her to spread her legs, she’d eased her feet wider on the dirty rubber floor. The guy’s eyes had widened at the wet spot. Oh, and he’d flashed the warmest smile as her fingers eased aside the waistband to give him a better view of its source.

Dan hadn’t raged. Nope. He had only groaned, rolling her onto her back. Her nails had clawed at his arms as he thrust harder and faster into her. Even when whispering that she’d have let the man fuck her—nothing. Not a word of anger from him. Instead, he pounded her into a screaming wreck atop the creaking bed.

Afterwards, he remained the same Dan. Just as silent as when they’d first arrived. Her loving husband. How was she to know…. Well, that he wasn’t happy. He’d said nothing.

Until he had.

While following Shelly out to wipe glittery pyramids of glasses atop the bar, Daisy sighed. The taut material over ever-tightening nipples sent slivers of heat deep inside her frame. No, she’d stick to letting eyes, and hands, wander over her. That made her plenty of extra tips without…. Without resorting to what Shelly did.

Because when Shelly got home, there was somebody with whom to share her adventures. Daisy only had a plant. A fucking leafy-green plant that Dan brought from the office. He said it needed more light. A bit of love. He’d worked on it that first week.

The plant.

Not her.

That last week.

When she’d decided to attend the party, despite Dan announcing he wouldn’t accompany her, he’d grown quieter. If that was even possible. Still, there’d been no hint of anger from him. He’d not put his foot down. Nor had he said anything while watching her dress. When she pecked him on his trembling cheek, he only murmured for her to “be careful.”

Also, that he loved her.

Dan was gone when she returned.

Only a note remained on the kitchen counter, next to the already prepared coffee pot, because that was the type of man he was. Since then, there’d been no answers to her messages. He’d only called once. Something about an upcoming overseas business trip and would work on their divorce upon his return.

“Sweetie? That’s the same glass.” After tapping her on the shoulder, Shelly handed her a different one. “Lot on your mind today. What’s going on? Dan back?”

“Um, no. I, uh, don’t think so.” She wiped the glass and lifted another. “At least, I haven’t heard from him.”

“He’s a damned fool, letting a treasure like you go,” Shelly scoffed. “Seems to me he just needed to communicate more.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that.” With a sad grin, she reached across to grab one more glass. “Here’s the thing, Shel. You and Bob, you discuss everything and have since you first met. Dan and I, not so much. He never knew…all the things I’d done. He was shocked, more so than me that, um…. Well, I kinda still wanted to do those things.

“And I wanted to do them for him, Shel.” A shudder tore through her. She slapped down the glass to stare at the woman. “I mean, with him. Or, like you, tell him about it. Him. My husband. Nobody else. Now he’s gone.” She held back a sob before muttering, “I’m all alone, Shel. And so fucking lonely.”

“Well, sorry, sweetie. Perhaps…. You know, he’ll come to his senses.” Shelly flashed her a hopeful grin. “After all, it ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings, right?”

“Doubt it,” she replied before snatching another glass. While wiping it, she looked across the empty dark room to a silent, shiny chrome and yellow jukebox.

“Okay. So, then….” Shelly ran her cloth over the polished wooden bar top. “Something else is eatin’ you. What’s got you distracted today?”

After a long exhale, Daisy pulled the business card from a pouch in her tiny apron and placed it on the glossy surface. As Shelly scanned it, her eyes widened.

Chapter 3 

“Where’d you get that?” Shelly tapped the business card with a shaky fingernail. It was bubble-gum pink, to match her lipstick.

“At lunch. Last week. Just treating myself, doing a little shopping downtown.” She nodded at the card. “That guy was with a couple of buddies. He dropped it on my table.”

“And?” Shelly’s shiny eyes gazed at her, deep enough to spark a nervous shudder.

“And”—she sucked in air before words tumbled from her lips—“um, he had the softest fingers.”

“Oh, do tell.” The other server tittered before tapping the card once more. “You know who this is?” When Daisy shook her head, Shelly snatched the small rectangle with its shiny gold lettering from the bar and passed it to her. “Put it away, sweetie. Forget about it. Not sure you need him in your life.”

“Why?”

“Mighty Cock van Dienst is the city’s number one perpetually eligible fuck machine of an asshole bachelor, that’s why.” She paused to scan Daisy’s frame before chuckling. “And you… Well, Sweet-tits, you fit the bill. He’d have you naked and panting like a two-bit whore in seconds. Before tossing you, the latest in a long line of women, to the curb in the morning. Done and done.”

“Done and done,” Daisy repeated in a whisper.