“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be, not for me, anyway. It’s not like Carla and I had some great love affair. But our kids deserved better. I feel horrible every day that I failed them.”

“You didn’t fail them, Mack.” She put a hand on my leg. “Sometimes marriages don’t work out. It wasn’t your fault.”

I’d heard the same from my sister, from Woods, from my parents … but I couldn’t convince myself of it. Rationally I knew it wasn’t fair for Carla to blame me for the divorce, but her words had a way of eating at me deep down. Maybe I hadn’t loved her the way I was supposed to. Maybe I didn’t know how.

Frannie swirled the amber liquid in her glass. “The girls don’t talk about their mother much.”

I shook my head. “Not anymore. They missed her a lot at first, but since she’s only seen them a couple times since, the separation anxiety has eased. I’m sure somewhere in each of them is a gaping wound and a permanent fear of abandonment, but day to day they seem okay.”

“That’s a credit to you,” Frannie said.

“And their therapist.” I threw back some more whiskey. “I’ll be paying those bills for years to come. Millie’s been asking some tough questions lately, wondering if her mother even loves her.”

Frannie gasped. “What did you say?”

“I said yes, and I think that’s the truth, but fuck if I know what’s in Carla’s head.” I took another big swallow and ran a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Frannie. I didn’t mean to unload all that on you.”

“Hey,” she insisted, putting a hand on my leg again. “I want you to unload on me. You can tell me anything.”

I smiled at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a mess, and some of her eye makeup from earlier was smudged under her eyes, but it didn’t matter. She still made my heart beat faster. And the way she was sitting there so patiently while I dumped out all my emotional garbage, the way she gave me all of her attention and said all the right things … it made me feel validated and understood in a way I hadn’t in a long, long time. I did feel like I could tell her anything.

But I’d had enough talking.

“Thanks,” I said. “But you know what? Nights like this are going to be few and far between, possibly nonexistent, and I don’t want to waste any more of it complaining about my ex. Tell me about you.”

Light danced in her eyes and she lifted her shoulders. “What do you want to know?”

“Hmmm.” I took one last sip of whiskey and set the empty glass on the table before reaching for hers too. “Mostly I want to know why you’re not closer to me right now.”

She giggled, letting me put her drink aside and pull her onto my lap the way she’d been the other night, straddling my thighs. My shirt was unbuttoned and she immediately put her hands on my chest. God, it felt good to be touched that way. I’d forgotten how good.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now I want to know why you’re still wearing so many clothes.”

She grinned devilishly before unzipping the sweatshirt she wore and tossing it aside. Then she hesitated, glancing at the fire, which was the only source of light in the room. At first I didn’t understand why, but when she tugged the little white tank over her head, I noticed the scar on her chest.

Immediately I reached out and traced the long, ragged, dark pink line that ran down her sternum, between her breasts. “Does it hurt?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“What was the surgery for?”

“I was born with a congenital heart defect called a bicuspid aortic valve. I had several surgeries as a baby to repair the valve, and eventually one to replace it when I was ten.”

“That sounds scary.” I looked up at her with concern, placing my hands on the sides of her ribs. “You’re okay now?”

“I’m totally fine. The worst that happens is I can get tired easily, and I have to watch my cholesterol. I have a slightly elevated risk of an aneurysm or heart failure. But I’m very good about paying attention to my body, and I eat right and exercise, and take all my meds and keep all my doctor appointments like a good little girl.”

“Good.” I looked at the scar again, and she sighed.

“I know it’s really ugly, but I’ve made my peace with it.”

I met her eyes. “Every inch of you is beautiful. Inside and out.”

“That’s how I feel about you too,” she whispered.

Pulling her closer, I fastened my mouth to one perfect pink nipple, teasing the tip with my tongue. She threaded her hands into my hair and moaned softly, arching her back. My dick was hard again in no time.

Lucky for me, she was just as hungry for more as I was, and she ditched her pants and yanked mine down inside a minute. I couldn’t even speak as she sheathed my cock with her fist and moved it up and down, then licked her fingers and touched herself in a way that made my chin hit my chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whispered, glad this was round two or else I’d have come all over myself in seconds.

She lowered herself onto me slowly, her eyes shut, her mouth open. I put my hands on her hips and fought the urge to buck up beneath her. When I was buried inside her, she opened her eyes and looked at me as she started to move.

At that moment, I didn’t care about the age difference or whose daughter she was or how I was going to add her to the chaotic mess that was my life. All I knew was how good it felt to be with her this way, to see the desire in her eyes, to watch her come apart above me, to be the man she saw when she looked at me, not the one I saw when I looked at myself.

We went a little slower this time—probably because I let her set the pace for once. She didn’t race to the finish line, but the gradual buildup was just as intense, and the climax an even sweeter reward, our bodies pulsing together in perfect harmony.

When it was over, she fell forward, her head on my shoulder, her chest heaving against mine. I wrapped my arms around her and inhaled the scent of her soft wavy hair.

“Mack,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have to go home tonight?”

I thought for a moment, realizing quickly that I didn’t want this fantasy to end so soon. Tonight, I was just a man going after what I wanted. What I needed. What felt good. When I walked out of here, it was back to real life. Who knew when I’d have this chance again? The truth was, I had no clue how this was going to work—how I would balance being who I needed to be with who I wanted to be. Maybe I was just setting myself up for another failure. Maybe it was stupid to think I could make this work. Maybe in a week she’d realize that feeling like somebody to me wasn’t worth the trouble and she’d move on.

But tonight … tonight could be ours.

“No,” I told her. “I could stay here with you.”

She picked up her head. “Do you want to stay here with me?”

“Yes,” I said, pressing my lips to hers. “I do.”

Frannie

I had to work the next morning, although I’d never been more tempted to call in sick. We’d been up half the night. I was exhausted and sore and so hungry I could have eaten a bear. But I was giddy too—when I woke up, the first thing I did was look at the man sleeping next to me to make sure last night hadn’t been a dream.