A.J. Kinsey knew he was never meant to love until he meets the one woman he'll break all the Cheaters Club rules for...even if it leaves him broken.
written by @MarriedtoArod
Updates on Fridays
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I don't know what I expected. Did I think I'd roll up in Soho, find Madeleine's condominium complex from the one picture I saw, and knock on her front door?
Genius, A.J., pure genius.
But I don't give up. As we drive through Tribeca and into Soho, I scan the streets hoping a familiar building front will strike a memory. Nothing. The cabbie drops me off in the middle of Houston Street, and after a brisk walk, I get a table at Republique—one of those quaint French restaurants where they don't believe in lighting. Every table has a miniature lamp like that'll be enough for me to read the menu. I'd use my phone's light if it didn't make me look like the one asshole there to kill the ambiance.
The maître d' seats me at a table in the back corner—small, round, one chair—obviously reserved for elderly bachelors, the lonely, and the dateless. I fall into the latter category, but I'm no stranger to the classification. It has a calming effect, safe, carefree.
A waiter greets me, and I'm reminded of J.P. In fact every table is serviced by some old guy in a suit. So I decide to go all out on the Club's dime—bottle of good French wine, mussels cooked in white wine, and a soufflé for dessert. The place is pretty chill. I guess not too many dates on a weekday night. The service is slow, but the food—worth every cent I put on the plastic, courtesy of my employment.
I sit back and drink my last glass of wine. I'm a guy who isn't much for planning, and if I were, I'd screw it up with my live-in-the-now mentality. Right now, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. And I could use a plan. After I hung up on Elizabeth, she didn't call me back. Do I want her to? No. I'm not going there, and I don't need a reason to be a dick to her. I'll call her when I figure it out.
At the bar across the room, a woman in a black spaghetti strap dress watches me. Hell, she's been eye-fucking me all night. Every look, every time her tongue licks the rim of her glass, or the wine touches her lips is one notch closer to climax. I could take her in the hallway by the kitchen doors and have her limp in my arms in a matter of seconds, but I'm not in the mood. Not tonight.
Then my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach into my jacket for the sleek black mobile J.P. gave to me. 'Unknown' dances across the screen in white letters. No doubt it's the Club, but it'll be easier and more entertaining to piss off Holden than deal with Hot-for-A.J. waiting at the bar to pounce. With the check paid, I slam back the rest of my wine like a three-dollar-you-call-it drink special because I'm classy like that and head for the door.
"Yeah." I answer without a glance to the minx—she's probably soaked her panties straight through.
"What are you wearing?" A female voice tinkles through the earpiece.
"What?"
Then a giggle. "It's Marissa."
"Hey gorgeous, what do I owe this surprise?" Whatever she and Holden's got going on is between them—it's not going to stop me from flirting with her. Or getting her into bed.
