Sweet Sinful Nights

She tilted her head to the side. “How so?”

He launched into the backstory of his show. “My show had record ratings. It was the biggest show on cable. It was beating broadcast some nights. It was the kind of gig most entertainers would’ve held onto forever. For years. It was the type of job you’d ordinarily have to pull someone away from kicking and screaming.” An image of the Hollywood trade articles on his departure popped into his head. The entertainment industry and the viewers had been shocked that he left after only three years. “But I wanted to go out on top. I didn’t want anyone to cringe when I did my monologue. I didn’t want anyone to say, his jokes are stale, or, he’s phoning it in.”

She nodded a few times, as if she was processing his decision. “I get it. You wanted to leave on your own terms. But why would it bother me?”

Okay, he was just going to have to spell it out, no matter how bad it made him look. “Because I was worried you’d think it proves I don’t stick around. That when the going gets tough, I pack up and get out of Dodge. That I leave before things can turn difficult,” he said, the words tasting bitter. His own indictment of himself.

She didn’t speak at first. In her silence he wanted to kick himself for having spoken so honestly. Maybe he should have given her his canned line—I was ready for a new challenge.

“Does it mean that?” she asked, but her tone wasn’t cutting. It was earnest. “That you don’t stick around when things get tough?”

He shook his head several times for emphasis. “I don’t think so. I don’t regret leaving the show, but I think—at least I hope—that I’ve learned that what might be a good philosophy in business isn’t necessarily a good way to approach relationships.”

She flashed him a sliver of a smile, and in it he felt exonerated. Not from the choice to step down, but from the prospect that she was only going to see him as a certain type of guy. He felt like he’d shed some of the bad reputation that might prevent her from trusting him again.

“I’m glad you’re being honest with me now, and that you’re changing,” she said. “We all are, aren’t we? Changing? I know I am. I’m trying not to see people for the things they might do. I’m trying to believe in second chances, as my grandma would say, and to focus my energies on that.”

“She’s the smartest woman I know. I agree with everything she says,” he said, slicing a hand through the air as if making a declaration, and Shannon laughed.

“But I noticed one thing about you hasn’t changed...” she said, letting her voice trail off.

“Besides my stunning good looks, strapping build, and huge cock?”

She rolled her eyes and burst out laughing. “I have no idea if your dick is still huge.”

“You could find out.”

“Sure, whip it out right now, Brent,” she said, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Daring him. God, he loved this about her. She went toe to toe with him.

He lowered his hands to his crotch, and pretended he was getting ready to unzip his jeans.

“Kidding! I’m kidding,” she said, and he stopped. “Anyway, what I was getting at is this.” She pushed up his shirtsleeve, her fingers tracing the sunburst on his forearm. His skin sizzled under her touch, and matters south of the border grew harder as she stroked the ink on his skin. She trailed her fingertips across the tribal bands. “You have the same ink you had in college. You never got any more?”

He shook his head. This question was easy. “I got it all with you. You came with me for the first one, and then my others, so it seemed wrong for me to get more without you.”

“Did you want to get more? Was there something you had in mind?”

He’d had about as much seriousness as he could take for one lunch. As many admissions as he was up for making. So he returned to familiar ground, fixing a studious look on his face. “A zebra.” He held out his arm, showing her the canvas he’d use. His right bicep was free of ink. “Right here.”

“That sounds perfect. You could even have the stripes go all the way around,” she said, tracing a pattern on his arm. Ah, this was good. He hadn’t expected his joke would get her hands on him, but he’d keep it up to keep her touching him.

“The other option is a badass, flying Pegasus. Breathing fire and all. You see, Shan, now that you’re back, all I want to do is just cover myself in ink. Coat myself in it.”

“You let me know when you’re ready to go under the needle. I’ll be there,” she said, as she danced her fingertips up his arm, hitting the cuff of his shirt from where she’d pushed up his sleeve. She wrapped her arm around his bicep and squeezed, then let go of her grip.