Half Empty (First Wives #2)

“Me too,” the bartender added.

She popped a fry into her mouth and looked to find both men staring.

“Enjoy.” The barkeep walked away.

“I’ll take an order of those burgers our friend here is eating,” the stranger announced.

“Sorry, the kitchen just closed.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Midnight.”

Mr. Country, minus the pearl-snapped shirt, groaned.

“The room service menu has some premade sandwich wraps.”

“That sounds about as appetizing as a long walk in cold rain.”

Trina bit into her tiny burger and closed her eyes as the hot meal hit all the right spots.

When she opened them again, Mr. Country eyed her food almost as intently as he had watched her.

She blinked, looked at the two remaining sliders, the plate piled high with chicken wings, and a basket of french fries. “Fine,” she muttered as she slid the plate of sliders toward the stranger.

“You sure?” His eager smile reminded her of a six-year-old holding back excitement at the candy counter.

“If you don’t want it . . .”

He slid out of his seat and to the one right next to hers faster than she could blink.

He glanced over his shoulder and pulled his beer closer. “What’s your name, little lady?”

“Let me guess, Texas?” She’d been there long enough to hear the twang and tell some of the subtle differences in the dialect.

He lowered his voice. “Just outside of Austin.”

“I recently moved to Houston.”

“Is that right?” He picked up the tiny burger with his big hands. He glanced at her, then the burger, and laughed.

She took a second bite out of hers as he put the whole thing in his mouth in one swallow. It was amusing to watch him try to chew. It didn’t take long before he was washing it down with his beer.

“Did you taste it?”

“Mmmm.”

Shaking her head, she followed her bite with a fry.

Her companion’s stomach growled, and instead of waiting for his eyes to ogle her food, she pushed the plates between them.

He didn’t ask, he just helped himself.

“I’m Trina,” she offered.

“I’m in your debt, Trina. Seems I slept through dinner.”

“You and me both.”

“I’ll count it as a blessing, since I’ve met you.”

Trina lifted a hand as if saying No, thank you before digging into the chicken wings. “I’ll share my food, but I’m still not interested.” Attracted, but not willing to go there. The last thing she wanted to ask was if his wife knew he was burning the midnight oil in Miami.

“Shame, that.”

She chased the spicy wings with her wine. “What brings you to Miami, Mr. . . . ?” She left his name open, hoping he’d fill in the blank.

He was staring again.

“What?”

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

Trina stopped chewing long enough to look closer.

She shrugged. “No.”

He laughed under his breath, glanced behind him. “My name is Wade,” he whispered.

She lowered her voice. “Why are you whispering?”

He leaned closer. “Wade Thomas,” he said even lower.

She blinked again. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

Wade squared his shoulders and sat taller. “Well, I’ll be . . .”

The bartender approached. “Can I get you another wine?”

“Please, and I’ll take another. Put all this on my tab,” Wade said.

“No, no . . . that isn’t necessary.”

“I insist.”

She looked at the bartender. “He can buy my second glass of wine, but the rest is on my room.”

When Wade didn’t argue a second time, the bartender left to refill their drinks.

“That’s a second first,” Wade said.

“A second first?”

“First you flat-out turn me down. Now you refuse to let me buy the meal I’m eating.” He paused. “Oh, and you really have no idea who I am . . . I guess that makes it a third first.”

Trina finished off her wine. “Am I supposed to be following your train of thought?”

He laughed in a way that made her smile with the infectiousness of it.

“What brings you to Miami?” she asked.

Wade laughed harder. Too much more of that and she’d start to believe he had a screw or two loose.

“Did I say something funny?”

He shook his head. “No, no . . . Uh, work. What about you?”

“Working my way home from a vacation.”

He helped himself to a wing. “Oh? Where did you go?”

“Italy. Venice.”

“How was that?”

“Hot and filling.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“Oh, no . . . I loved it. I’d still be there if it wasn’t for my friends.”

Wade questioned her with his eyes.

“It’s our weekend to get together, and I was trying to avoid it. I love my friends, but I just needed some time alone. You know?”

He nodded as he chewed. “Do I ever.”

“I booked my flight to Miami hoping this tropical depression would ground flights.”

“Did it work?”

The bartender dropped off their round of drinks.

“I’m not sure. I planned on checking flights after I eat. Which I wanted to do hours ago, but the baby in the next room kept me up until I couldn’t keep my eyes open even if a bomb were going off.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah, I booked a quiet room on the top floor, but someone took the whole penthouse floor as their own.”

Wade stopped smiling.

“What?” she asked.

He looked away. “Nothing . . . So, what do you plan to do now?”

“Find a flight tomorrow . . . or maybe sleep in until it’s too late.”

“You really don’t want to see your friends.”

She thought about how their conversation would revolve around Fedor’s death the previous year, and how she should be seeking some testosterone in her life. Avery would remind her that she was too young to be alone, Lori would analyze her as if she were a psychologist instead of an attorney, and Shannon would passively agree to everything the others said until she found Trina alone. Then she’d talk sense and make Trina look a little too hard inside herself. Something she didn’t want to do. Not now, in any event.

She shook out of her thoughts to blue eyes peering close.

“Do you realize how much emotion you show on your face?” Wade asked, jaw slack.

Trina lifted her chin. “Guess I’ll have to work on that.”



They closed the bar and took their last round to the hotel lobby.

Wade had to admit he was a bit more than tipsy, and Trina wasn’t exactly sober. She’d tucked her feet under her on the lobby sofa as she described Venice in a way that made him want to visit.

“There isn’t one car?” he asked.

“No place for them. You only get around on foot or boat. Which is probably best to help counter the pasta you consume while you’re there.”

“So why did you pick Venice?”

Her eyes drifted away, something Wade had noticed happened a lot when she was lost in thought. A hint of sorrow quickly came and went, almost as if she caught herself. The smile she flashed felt forced. “I wanted isolation so I could study.”

“Study?”

She rattled off something that went completely over his head.

Her dark brown eyes glistened with her smile. “I’m learning Italian.”

Wade blew out a breath. “Oh, thank God. I thought maybe that last beer was one too many.”

“I like languages.”

“As in many?”

“A few.”

He was happy to speak English. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. Most Europeans are fluent in a minimum of two languages.”

“Are you from Europe?”

“No. Born and raised in Southern California. My grandparents on my mother’s side are from Mexico. Spanish was always spoken in our home.”

“So you speak Spanish as well?” He squirmed in his chair.

“Yup.”

“Now I’m feelin’ a bit inferior.”

“Language is my hidden talent,” she said.

“So how did you end up in Texas?”

Her gaze met his before she wrinkled her nose and gave a quick shake of her head. “It’s a long story.”

“Which is your way of saying Don’t pry.”

She stretched out her arms. “It’s my way of saying that we’ve had a pleasant conversation, and bringing up my recent move will change all that. I’d just as soon keep this light.”

Wade wasn’t expecting her reply. “Now you’ve piqued my interest.”