She sipped her vodka.  “Bitch, you pay me to spend time with you, you pay me to do what you say, and, usually, you pay me to make you drinks.  Just because you’re not paying me for making these drinks, don’t think tonight means something it doesn’t.  And fuck, I’m not sleeping with you, even if you pay me.  Okay?”

I grinned and raised my drink at her.  “Don’t try to make out you don’t care.  I know you love me, too.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, yeah.”  Looking at her watch, she said, “It’s nearly four am.  You do realise I’m sleeping over, don’t you?”

“Is that what you say to all your dates?”

“You’re on the couch, babe.  I’m taking the bed.  Don’t get excited.”

“Why is it that approximately twelve hours after getting my heart fucked, I feel happy?”

She laughed.  “One, you’ve got me, and you know that makes you a lucky bitch.  And two, you’ve had enough alcohol to drown that hurt.  In about five hours, your head and your heart are gonna be screaming at you in pain.”

“Shit,” I muttered.

Her face grew serious, and she leaned on the bar, and gave me her full attention.  “You do know he is interested, right?”

My heart raced at the thought.  “I know he is, but I don’t think he’s even close to admitting it to himself.”

“Oh no, babe, he’s admitted it to himself.  I saw that in his face the night I spoke to him about you.  But something’s holding him back and that’s what you have to figure out if you’re ever going to get him to take the next step.”

“I don’t know how to do that if he won’t see me or even talk to me.”  I hated feeling like a whiny bitch.  I didn’t do this shit.  If a guy wasn’t interested, I moved the fuck on, but Donovan had me all tied up in fucking knots.  And he was the only one who could free me.

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s a matter of sitting back and waiting now.  You’ve let him know how you feel, so he’s got all the information he needs to know you’ll be here for him when he’s ready.  He’s just got to wade through his shit first.”

“Yeah, well, I hope he doesn’t take too long to do that.”

She winked at me.  “You and me both.  You’re a cranky bitch when you’re not getting any.”

“Fuck you.”

She burst out laughing and I couldn’t help but laugh with her.

Thank god for good friends.

Chapter Fourteen

Blade

I stared at my computer screen, not seeing anything as the words all ran together.

Seven days since I’ve seen her.

I pushed my chair back and stood.  The need to escape the suffocation of my office had taken over, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything.  I reached for my car keys, shut the laptop and strode out to find Merrick.

He looked up from his desk when I entered his office.  “You leaving?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Your headache back?”

I shook my head.  “No, thank fuck.  I just need to get out.”

“Maybe you should take a couple of days off,” he suggested.

Christ, that was the last thing I needed.  Time to think?  Fuck no.

“No, I’ll be back in the morning.  Besides, we need to finalise some things on the bid for the Hurley job and I want to get that done tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I drove straight home even though the pull to Layla’s bar had me in its grip.  After our phone call two days ago, I’d emptied a bottle of scotch and fought the desire to go to her.  She thought she wanted me but if she knew how deep my darkness ran, she’d run a fucking mile.  I refused to let her start something that could only end in ruin.

When I pulled into my street, I was surprised to see a woman leaning against a car parked in my driveway.  I took in the tight jeans, knee-high black boots, the black singlet with a skull on the front and boobs on display.

Fuck.

Sharon Cole.

This couldn’t be good.

I parked my car next to hers and got out.  She watched me with trepidation.  My gaze shifted to the bruise on her cheek.

Fucking Marcus.

Walking to her, I said, “Sharon.”

“Blade.”

I opened my palms in question.  “We’ve never spoken.  Why now?”

She jerked her head towards the house.  “Can we go inside?”

I put my hand out indicating for her to lead the way.  As I followed her, I couldn’t help but think about the differences between Sharon and my mother.  From what I could work out, Marcus had chosen completely different women to spend his life with.  Sharon appeared to be a very confident, ballsy woman who didn’t mind putting herself on display.  My mother, on the other hand, struggled with self-confidence, doubted herself at all turns and hid herself away.  Such extremes.

We made it into my lounge room and I asked her the question again.  “What’s going on?”

A nervous energy surrounded her.  “Is your mother seeing my husband again?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“I think that either has changed or will change.”

I weighed my options before settling on one.  “I don’t believe it will change, but not because Marcus isn’t pushing for it.”