“She gets jealous when I’m around the models, but I haven’t actually slept with anyone, so I’m not sure what her reaction would be.”
Carter was about to take another drag from his cigar, but he steadied his hand. “Hold up. You haven’t slept with anyone else in…two months?”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
“Con, that means you’re in a relationship.”
“No, it doesn’t. I told her I would sleep with other women. The opportunity just hasn’t come up because I’ve been so busy.”
“Uh-huh.”
I drank my scotch. “I don’t give a damn what you think, Carter.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you just admit what this really is?”
There was nothing to admit. I enjoyed Muse in many ways, and there was nothing wrong with that. The only reason I hadn’t fucked anyone was because it hadn’t come up. If I saw a sexy woman I wanted, I would have her. I’d take someone back to my apartment tonight if I wanted to. “Lay off, Carter.”
“Lay off, huh?” He snapped his fingers and got the attention of the women again.
They walked back to us, both brunettes and both curvy in all the right places. Either one could qualify to be one of the models on my runway. Both were beautiful, with pretty hair and glowing skin.
“Pick one.” Carter kept his eyes on me. “I’ll take the other.”
“I can get my own girl, asshole.”
“If not her, then pick whoever you want. Prove to me this woman doesn’t mean anything to you.”
“Why do you care, Carter?” Whether I liked the woman or not, it shouldn’t matter to him. We were friends and we were family. But my personal life shouldn’t be that interesting to him.
“I care because I don’t want you to lie to yourself. And you do that a lot.”
I hated to be overanalyzed, especially when the other person was right. “I’m not, Carter.”
He snapped his fingers again. “Then Cassandra is yours for the night. And Berenice is mine.”
* * *
Carter and I were close in age, so we’d always gotten along more like brothers than cousins. Our fathers weren’t just brothers, but best friends. I saw him every weekend, and we were inseparable for most of our childhood.
So picking up women together was pretty normal.
Cassandra was a stripper at a downtown club, and she told me about life working in bars. Her hands were usually on my body, and she snuck a kiss or two. She eventually scooted onto my lap.
Carter was lost in Berenice, his finger hooked into her thong at her hip. She ground against him as they kissed on the leather sofa.
I wanted to prove Carter wrong, but I realized it wasn’t so simple.
I wasn’t into this at all.
Right now, I should have a hard-on. A gorgeous woman was sitting on my lap, and the second I asked if she wanted to get out of there, she would say yes.
She was beautiful, sexy, and experienced. She’d do anything I asked. If I snapped my fingers, she’d be on her knees sucking me off.
But anytime I pictured the fantasy, Muse was the one on her knees.
She was the only one I wanted.
I wanted to prove a point, but it seemed childish to sleep with this woman when I didn’t even want to.
But I didn’t want Carter to be right.
And I certainly didn’t want to be wrong.
The sexiest woman in the world was waiting at home for me. She turned to me for strength and for protection. She kissed me like I was the only man she cared about. I was the only man she’d ever been with. Her pussy was untouched—except by me.
Now Cassandra started to kiss my neck and run her hand up my thigh. She was searching for my hard-on through my slacks.
But she wouldn’t find it.
My lack of arousal had nothing to do with this woman’s charms. The guilt was overwhelming. I felt like I was doing something wrong even though I wasn’t. Muse was waiting at home for me, still afraid of that nightmare she had. Until I was by her side, she wouldn’t truly feel safe from Knuckles.
And I was in a club, pretending to enjoy myself.
I couldn’t do this, not even to save face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just remembered I have to be somewhere.” I gently pushed her off my lap and rose to a stand.
Carter pulled his tongue out of the other woman’s mouth to give me a grin. “Looks like I proved my point.”
“I really do have to be somewhere.”
“I know,” he said smugly. “And we both know where.”
I walked out of the club and got into my car in the garage. Carter and I had talked about a few things, but nothing that really interested me. I didn’t even have the opportunity to ask about Knuckles because we were too busy talking about Muse.
I gripped the steering wheel on the drive home. My knuckles were turning white as the anger throbbed in the vein in my neck. Instead of spending the evening enjoying booze, cigars, and women, I was too busy feeling guilty. Sitting in that club was the last place I wanted to be. I wanted to go home, to be with the woman who was waiting for me.