Page 1 of Stolen Kiss

Jeremiah

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“Ahh, it doesn’t get much better than this, does it?” With his feet propped on the stool in front of him, Jim Warner finishes his ice-cold beer and releases a sigh.

I typically don’t make it a point to hang out with anyone from work beyond business hours, but my good buddy, Jim, is an exception. More than just a mentor, he’s someone I’ve grown to love and trust. He’s also a master on the grill, and tonight, he’s truly outdone himself.

“That steak was excellent. Want me to grab you another beer?” I slide to the edge of the pool chair and adjust my visor. Two beers is my personal limit, unless I’m not planning on driving. Jim, on the other hand, I’m willing to bet, achieved that on the way home from the office.

Ever since his wife passed away a couple years ago, he’s been consuming more and more, and after his recent health scare, three or four simply doesn’t seem to be enough anymore. I stopped counting at ten earlier. Or maybe it was eleven.

You’d never know he had a drinking problem, and to my knowledge, he’s been pretty good at keeping it under the rug. Not a single person at work has ever hinted at knowing. No worries, my friend, your secret is safe with me.

“Yeah, I’ll have another. Get yourself one, too,” he adds. “You know, you’re always welcome to anything I have in the fridge.”

He tells me this all the time, and I usually do help myself to something before I head home. Mind you, a water or soda. When I say two is my limit, I mean it.

I hate seeing Jim a blubbering mess. He’s a beer or two away from being that way now.

We had a long week at work, so I can’t say I blame him. Losing one of our biggest clients—Star Financials—had taken all of us by surprise, but that’s okay. I’ve already got a plan in the works to get them back. I’m a numbers guy and I don’t take losing a client to competition lightly.

“Thought you got lost in there,” Jim says, taking the beer from my outstretched hand and immediately popping the top.

“I had to take a piss, okay?” I wouldn’t talk this way to just anyone, but I know Jim could care less.

“Son, when are you going to find yourself a woman? We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Excuse me, but where the hell did that come from?

“No time soon.” My response is very nonchalant, but of all people, Jim should know that answer—he was with me during my last two breakups.

“You do know that’s why you didn’t get the promotion, don’t you?”

I sit up straight, the bottle of water nearly slipping out of my hand. Jim’s clearly not making any sense. I didn’t get the Stocks and Portfolio Director position because…

I scrub my palms over my eyes. My boss had been pretty clear when I’d asked what areas I needed to work on, including attending the conference I’m signed up to attend in two weeks. My personal life and lack of having a partner shouldn’t have anything to do with my work performance. Apparently, Jim knows something that I don’t or else he wouldn’t have brought it up. Could be, I just misunderstood him. “Say that again.”

“They want to keep you around, Jeremiah, but they also want someone who’s stable.”

Stable? What the fuck? I’m more stable now than when I was seeing Tasha.

I try laughing it off. This has got to be the craziest shit I’ve ever heard. “Jim, I think you’ve had one too many beers tonight, man.”

“You need a wife. A kid on the way. Hell, get yourself a dog or two. Plan a trip to Disney or something. That kind of stuff shows them you’re stable.” Jim stumbles to his feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. It’s my turn to take a leak.”

I’m not saying that Rawlston Financial Network doesn’t do some stuff on the sly—tell me a Fortune 500 company doesn’t—but Nick Rawlston would laugh his ass off if he heard what Jim had just told me. I’m pretty sure they’d much rather me be at work, glued to my computer studying the Stock Market, than worrying if I’m going to have enough time to get to the car line at school since my wife’s hair appointment is taking longer than she’d planned.

I grab the last of our dishes off the patio table and drop them in the kitchen before heading out the door to my car. Yeah, I should’ve left an hour ago. The good thing, Jim won’t remember any of this come Monday.

Peyton

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“If he’s not getting it at home, then he’s getting it somewhere else.” Peyton Wright would never forget the night her best friend Mariah had hinted that her now ex-boyfriend was messing around on her.

Mariah swore up and down she didn’t know anything, that she was merely speculating since the average twenty-eight-year-old male insisted on getting laid four to five times a week. Maybe more often than that if she wasn’t willing to give him a blow-job on the other nights. If it sounded unrealistic, then the world had never met Austin Wellington.

Such a charmer, with his rugged good looks. Peyton had fallen head over heels for him and everything had been, well, perfect, until it wasn’t. Now, here she was stressed to no end, tirelessly working trying to pay for the two-bedroom townhouse he’d left her with.

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