An After-Hours Affair

“I can’t imagine Mitch-seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“That I deserved better than him.”

It was Emily’s turn to go silent. They both reflexively watched while a car pulled past them and turned into a spot near the diner’s front door. The car doors opened, and two teenagers hopped out.

Jenny was pretty sure she knew what Emily was thinking. It was what Jenny was thinking. It was what any reasonably intelligent adult would conclude.

“Yeah,” she voiced it out loud, her tone mocking. “He gave me the old, ‘it’s not you, it’s me, babe’ brush- off.”

“Ouch,” Emily whispered.

“I can’t believe I was a one-night stand. I’d have bet money against that ever happening. To me of all people. I’m not stupid, Em.”

“Of course you’re not stupid,” Emily staunchly defended. “I never would have guessed that Mitch of all people-”

“He’s a football star,” Jenny reminded her, feeling defeated. She wished she’d remembered that important fact last night. “He’s a celebrity, and the world is his oyster. I bet he does this kind of thing all the time.”

“But not with you.”

“He has now.”

Emily gestured with a spread palm. “But, you’re not… You know.”

“I am now.”

Emily thwacked her head against the seatback. “This is ridiculous.”

“I’m over it.”

“You are not.”

“I am. I have no choice. What you told me last night was spot-on. And I promised myself if this didn’t work out, I’d date other men. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Pining away over Mitch Hayward has gotten me exactly nowhere in the past, and it will get me exactly nowhere in the future. I refuse to do something so illogical.”

Emily sat up straighter, eyes narrowing, forehead creasing. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” Jenny had never been more serious in her life.

Emily smacked the dashboard. “Then let’s get going.”

“Where?”

“Take Bainbridge to Payton for Harper’s Boutique. You’re going to need a new wardrobe.”

Three

After an excruciatingly long day at work, followed by a grueling physiotherapy session for his injured shoulder, Mitch pulled his Corvette in front of the garage of his rented, split-level house. The pain in his shoulder was bad enough, but then there were some of Jenny’s words that he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind.

“We slipped up,” she’d said. “Hey, it happens.” As if it was the kind of thing that had happened to her in the past. As if anything like their lovemaking had ever happened to him.

Sure, he’d dated his share of women. He was on the road, in the public eye, invited to parties and publicity events where supermodels wanted to hobnob with athletes.

But it wasn’t the same thing. There had never been anything like his night-well, his half night-with Jenny.

He exited the cool car, using his left arm to push the door shut, cursing the fact that his shoulder wasn’t healing as quickly as he’d hoped. He knew he wasn’t eighteen anymore, but he was in top physical shape, and he’d done every single thing the doctors and physiotherapists had told him to do.

He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up to see Cole, who lived across the street, pacing his way down the driveway.

“Hey,” Cole greeted with a nod, striding forward. Living so close to one another, the two men spent many casual evenings in each other’s company.

“Hey,” Mitch returned, hitting the lock button on his key fob.

“Shoulder okay?”

“It will be. But my physio is a sadist.”

“Poor baby.”

Mitch grunted.

“Got a beer?” asked Cole.

“Sure,” Mitch answered as he started for the front door. He’d rather have a double shot of single malt. But he’d read studies that told him drinking alcohol to relieve pain was a dangerous path to start down. He wondered if it was as dangerous for emotional pain as it was for physical pain.

“You took Jenny home last night,” Cole stated as he followed behind.

“So?” Mitch’s tone came out uncharacteristically sharp. But the last thing he wanted to do was talk about Jenny. “Her car broke down.”

“I saw she left it in the TCC parking lot.”

Case closed. There was nothing unusual about Mitch offering Jenny a ride home. He didn’t owe anybody any explanation.

He inserted his key and swung open the front door. He retrieved his Royal Crier newspaper from the metal bracket beside his house, and grabbed a handful of mail from his mailbox. Then he tossed it all, along with the keys, onto the side table in his small foyer.

The house was cool and dark, and he breathed a sigh of relief at being home. Maybe he’d take some pain pills later tonight. He had a feeling it was going to be a challenge to get to sleep.

“I was on the phone with Abigail for an hour today,” he told Cole, changing the subject from Jenny and choosing something familiar and safe as he crossed the living room to open the blinds. The direct sunlight had passed over his house hours ago and would now be shining on the back deck.

“Does she know that Brad’s being threatened with blackmail?” Cole asked. Few people knew about the blackmail threats to Brad, but Cole was a trusted confidant of most TCC board members and had been brought into the loop.

Mitch shook his head. “Not yet. At least not that she mentioned. She has some strong opinions on the design for the new clubhouse.”

Brad and Abigail were locked in a bitter fight for the upcoming presidential election at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Mitch was pretty sure that Abigail would have spoken up if she knew that Brad was receiving vague, threatening notes that talked about exposing his “secret.”

“Whatever it is, it’s going to come out sooner or later.”

“I’m betting sooner.” Mitch opened the refrigerator and snagged two icy cold imported beers. “That’s the thing about secrets.”

“That’s the thing about secrets,” said Cole, an oblique look in his eyes as he accepted one of the chilled, green bottles. He twisted off the cap and tossed it into the trash.

Ignoring Cole’s dire tone, Mitch opened his own bottle and headed for the back deck. He settled into a padded chair beneath the shade of the awning, propping up his right arm to relieve the stress on his shoulder.

The deck provided a view across the seventh green of the Royal Golf Club. Two men were putting in the distance, while a foursome, two men and two women, made their way to the eighth tee. A breeze rippled the leaves on the perimeter oaks, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass.

Cole sat down. “Secrets,” he said, then took a swig.

“You got one that matters?” asked Mitch, trying to gauge his friend’s expression.

Cole smiled. “I think you do.”

Mitch squinted. “You know something I don’t?” Most of his life had been splashed across the national tabloids.