stylish look. He walked with a slight limp and she wondered what was up with that. Not that she was interested, of course.
“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier,” the man said when he reached her table. He leaned down so she could hear him over the loud din. She caught a whiff of his cologne. Expensive. “I’m James. I was just at the meeting.”
She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I remember. Fifty bucks.”
“I didn’t catch your name.” He held his hand out.
She shook it, not bothering to hide her reluctance. “Stella.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Stella. Mind if I join you? There don’t seem to be any empty tables and-” He turned to look at the seat he’d just vacated, now occupied by an older man trying to pick up the two loud women. “It looks like I’ve lost my seat.”
Sheila looked around the room. He wasn’t lying, every single table was full except hers. Forcing a smile, she acquiesced.
“Don’t worry, I have no desire to talk about the meeting.” He sat down heavily in the rickety wooden chair. “In fact, we don’t have to talk at all if you don’t want to. I just need to get some food in me and I’ll be on my way.” He signaled the waitress.
Sheila felt bad. Was she being bitchy? Maybe a little small talk wouldn’t hurt.
“Where are you from?” She attempted a more natural smile. “I can’t place your accent, but it doesn’t sound like Ohio.”
Up close, James was handsome. Nice, even features. She wasn’t a fan of facial hair, but the goatee suited him, and something about his presence was very masculine. He sat with his legs apart, leaning away from her. It made her want to move closer. A small scar was under his eye, and she had a sudden urge to take off his glasses and run her finger over it. She forced the thought from her head.
James grinned and took a long sip of his beer. “You remembered. Damned accent gives me away every time.”
“Australia?”
“New Zealand.”
“A Kiwi. Very cool.” Sheila took a bite of her burger and lost a few more mushrooms. “Damn. This burger is good but so messy.”
The middle-aged waitress approached, harried, her bright red hair frozen to her head under what looked like three coats of cheap hairspray. “Another Sam Adams? Or something to eat?” She was addressing James, her voice hoarse from either too many years of smoking or too many years of shouting in loud bars. Probably both. “Make it quick, I’m on break in two minutes.”
“Hi, Jean,” James said, reading the name off her tag. He gave her a winning smile. “I can be quick, but I thought you gals liked a guy to take his time.”
Jean’s eyes widened in surprise. Finally, she burst out laughing. “Okay, you got me.”
James pointed to Sheila’s plate. “I’ll have what she’s having. And another beer.”
“Mushroom Swiss.” Jean scribbled on her little notepad. “Good call, it’s the tastiest thing in the joint. Except for you, maybe.” She winked at him. Still smiling, she said to Sheila, “Another Diet Coke for you?”
“Please, with lime,” Sheila replied, amused.
“Diet Coke with lime?” James said once the waitress had left. “You sure go for the hard stuff.”
“I don’t drink,” Sheila said, refraining from adding anymore.
“Ah.” His gaze moved to the large TV screen behind her, one of the many that were bolted to the walls. ESPN was showing football highlights, and Sheila couldn’t help but think that if Morris were in town, he’d be watching the exact same thing.
James didn’t seem particularly interested in conversation, but the silence felt awkward to Sheila.
“So, James.” She leaned in toward him, catching another whiff of his cologne. Without meaning to, she inhaled deeply. Damn, he smelled good. It was a little unsettling-she’d always been a sucker for great-smelling men. Morris always wore cologne when they were together. Come to think of it, something about James’s scent reminded her of her fiance. Assuming there was still a wedding, of course. “How long have you been in SAA? ”
James raised an eyebrow. “Thought we weren’t going to talk shop.”
Sheila smiled. “You said that, not me.”
“Fourteen months. What about you?”
“Longer than that.” She pushed her plate away. “Is it helping you so far?”
He started to answer but was interrupted by Jean.
“Thank you. That was quick,” he said, then winked at the older woman as she set down his food and beer. She winked back, a blush seeping into her wrinkles.
When she left, he said to Sheila, “I think so. Maybe not in the traditional sense. It hasn’t been easy. But I’m better than I was.”
“Better in what sense?”
“For starters, I no longer pay for sex.”
She wasn’t surprised. She figured it was something like that.
“I had a problem with prostitutes,” he continued, dumping ketchup onto his burger.
He had long fingers, artist’s fingers, and they reminded her of Ethan’s. She felt a tingle go up her spine, thinking about what fingers like that could do. Stop it.
“It pretty much ended my marriage,” he said.
“Not too many wives can handle that.” Sheila’s smile was sympathetic. “Good for you for getting help.”
“Can I be honest?” James munched on a fry. “I don’t think I would have stopped. Not even after Cheryl-that’s my ex-left me. It was the money that did me in. I was seeing two, three women a week who charged three hundred bucks a pop. I don’t make enough money to afford that indefinitely.”
Jean came back, paying particular attention to James. Sheila watched with amusement as the waitress batted her well-coated eyelashes, giggling like a schoolgirl. Apparently Sheila wasn’t the only one who found James attractive.
“Excuse me, Jean, I never got my Diet Coke with lime.” Sheila favored the waitress with her brightest smile.
Jean pursed her lips, clearly annoyed that Sheila had dared to remind her. “I told the bar. I’ll check on it. And then I’m definitely going on break, so make sure you’s don’t need anything else for a few minutes.” She flashed a smile at James before she stomped away.
“So what about you?” he asked. “What was your problem?”
Sheila waved a hand. “Oh, you know, the usual. Poor impulse control, sex with strangers, blackouts.”
“Pardon? Did you say blackouts? It’s hard to hear in here.” James leaned forward, his dark eyes on hers. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“They’re hard to explain,” Sheila said, then paused.
Why was she discussing this? What was it about strangers that made it so easy to talk about personal, painful things? Was it because they had no stake in it and weren’t emotionally invested in anything that happened to you?
“It’s like I become someone else,” she finally said. “The next day, I can’t remember where I was, who he was, or what we did.” She sipped her soda, mostly ice at this point, and craned her neck to see if Jean was coming with a fresh beverage.
“Do they still happen?” His intense gaze dropped to her lips for a split second before meeting her eyes again.
She felt self-conscious. She’d wiped her mouth while eating and was painfully aware of how washed out she looked without her favorite red lipstick. Not that it should matter whether James thought she looked good or not.
“I don’t engage in those types of activities anymore,” she said.
“So you’re celibate?”
Sheila sucked in a breath at the pointed question.
Instantly his face was troubled. “I’m sorry. Much too personal. Forget I asked.”
“It’s all right.” She licked her lips, fidgeting with her paper napkin. “Let’s just say it’s complicated.”
