“No. She kissed Robert,” he tells me, scrunching up his face. “Like, gross.”
I laugh. Oh, high school angst. There’s nothing like it.
“Looks like you’re on track to make the postseason.”
“Looks that way,” I reply, rubbing my stubble on my chin. I wear a slight beard (more like stubble) year-round. It suits me. “I’ll send tickets, if we make it all the way.”
He looks straight at me. “For the whole team?”
I give him a big smile. “I’ll try.” I don’t want to get his hopes up. But I should be able to swing that.
“Sweet! I gotta go, Dad. Talk later!” he tells me, ending the video chat.
All done, I head to the shower. I need to rinse off, then it’s almost time for the team dinner. After that, the night is all mine.
The team dinner takes almost an hour and a half. The guys are a bit subdued after their loss earlier today. As with anything in life, you win some and lose some. But, unlike life, baseball is make-it-or-break-it. We need another win to solidify our place in the postseason race. And we can do that with tomorrow’s game. After we win, we’re back home for five days to end the season.
Team dinner over, I sit at the hotel bar sipping a top-shelf whiskey as I contemplate life. I think about what Adam said on the plane. It’s been over a year since my divorce. I haven’t put myself out there since. When my divorce was finalized, I was numb. I threw back a few drinks and moved the fuck on. I didn’t mourn the end of my marriage. I just moved on with my life. That’s all I could do. But now that I’ve fallen into a routine of sorts, my life finally in order again, maybe Adam is right. Maybe I need to open myself back up again. I’ve been closed off ever since my divorce. But, what’s the point? I’m still gone all the time because of my career. And there’s also the fact that I’m not looking for anything more right now.
Wait a minute... I don’t have to hop back into a relationship right away. Or even marriage for that matter. I’m single and free to do whatever I want. Epiphany over, I’m about to finish my drink when the woman I can’t seem to forget sits down at the other end of the bar.
Layla
After my dinner meeting with potential investors, I take a cab back to the hotel. It’s early yet, not even 9:00 p.m. The dinner meeting went well, but was boring as hell. Most of these types of meetings are. But, it’s part of the job. I’m just glad it’s over with. When I left, the investors seemed happy and confident. I have no doubt they’ll invest in my latest venture. It’s just a matter of time.
My mind is all business. But when I enter the hotel, I notice a man at the bar. And not just any man. This man is easily in his forties, with dark brown hair that’s graying at the temples. I normally wouldn’t give him or any other man another thought, but the man was clearly in peak shape. His lean body spoke to the level of his physical fitness. My body, crying out for something I haven’t given it in such a long time, sits up and takes notice.
And the clincher? The man’s voice. The low drawl, smooth as silk, went straight to my lady parts. When he checked in at the front desk, talking with the woman working behind the counter, not only was his voice smooth and sultry, he was polite, too. That’s another thing about men these days—they don’t know how to be polite. They also don’t know how to treat a woman. Especially a woman they feel threatened by. Which, unfortunately, I’ve done by just being me.
I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am today—a CEO who’s a self-made millionaire. I’m driven, yet kind. I just happen to have the drive to make something of myself. I won’t stop until I’m satisfied and it will be many years until I’m satisfied with making new startup companies. I live for the hard work and the satisfaction of seeing my businesses succeed and then be sold off for millions. I am who I am, and if men simply can’t handle it, they can take a flying leap.
The hot forty-something man is alone, sipping a drink, watching the television behind the bar. He looks relaxed. Speaking of relaxing, I could use a drink to unwind after the long and successful day.
Heading to the hotel bar, I make it a point to sit down at the opposite end. Slipping into a seat, I order a drink.
“Pinot Noir, please,” I tell the bartender.
The bartender nods and walks off.
I silence my phone, slipping it back into my purse. I’m taking a break from work for a little bit tonight. I’ve earned it.
“Open a tab?” the bartender asks
“Please,” I reply, sliding the glass of wine toward me.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, moving on to help the next person at the bar. Sipping my wine, I watch the baseball game on the TV, feeling the stress of the day slowly slip away. No doubt the wine helps with that.
Stealthily as possible, I glance at the man at the other end of the bar. By the looks of it, he’s nursing whatever he’s drinking. I go back to watching the game when I feel the heat of someone’s eyes on me. I don’t have to look—I already know who it is: the hot, older stud at the other end of the bar. The time for subtlety is over. Glancing his way, my eyes meet his. And—oh, wow!—they are a gorgeous shade of light green, standing out against his deeply tanned skin. He’s got a chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones, topped off by long, dark lashes. I’m admiring him when he gestures to me. I don’t automatically see it, as I’m too busy ogling him. Snapping out of it, I point to myself and mouth, “Me?”
“Yes, you,” he mouths.
I nod and grab my purse and wine. Ladylike as possible, I slide from the barstool and make my way over to him.
“Hi, I’m Gabe.”
“Hi, I’m Layla,” I reply, taking down the rest of my wine.
“So what brings you here tonight?” he asks me, as I slide onto the barstool beside him.
