Page 63 of Heartless

“Only ones that don’t seem to be happy and aren’t wearing their ring. From what I see, you’re not married. Any interested woman walking into this bar would draw the same conclusion. So, am I wrong for sitting here with you trying to lure you into a little fun before someone else snags you?”

“Your name should be changed from Sharla to Trouble with a capital ‘T.’”

“Hmm,” she giggles. “You know the difference between me and most other women is that all the letters in the word trouble are capital when describing me.”

She winks and hops off the stool, reaching a hand to me.

“What?”

“This is my song, and I want to dance.”

“I don’t.”

“You need to. You need something to lift your spirits. Something to make you laugh. So, when you return home to her tomorrow, you’re not a Donald Downer.”

I’ve never shared with Sharla how Meadow questioned if I was having an affair with her the one and only time they met. I will never let on to this woman that my wife was jealous of her at one time. After that fight, I thought we’d made up and would work ourselves back to us.

It didn’t happen.

I turn back to my empty glass and ponder ordering another drink. Sharla’s right. I’ve had one too many, and the last thingthat I need is to make a spectacle of myself in front of my team if any of them should wander into this bar in our hotel.

“You can always dance it off, and you’ll feel much better,” she coaxes.

I push the glass away, climb off the barstool, and take her hand.

She pulls me onto the dance floor to dance to an old song,Work Itby Missy Elliott.

Surprisingly, she has moves that are in sync with the beat. Tonight, this is a different Sharla than the one that I’ve known. Maybe I’m a different Onyx too. She works her body in time to the beat, but what she doesn’t realize, or maybe she does, is that she’s working me, too.

My dick jerks alive at the sensuous way that she rolls her hips and wiggles her ass. My heart beats a little too strong and fast when she brushes my pants one too many times.

I’m ready to sit down after the third song ends, and it transitions to another one.

“Just this one last dance, please and then I’ll let you go.”

“I really should be going,” I say.

“Yes, but...”

“But?” I prompt.

“You’ll be a little more sober by the time that you work up a sweat on this dance floor.”

“Look, I’ll be fine,” I reply.

“Come on, just one more,” she pleads.

“Is this for your benefit or mine?”

“Yours.”

“Why’s that?”

“Consider me your guardian angel,” she says with a wink.

I give in and continue dancing with her, but my mind pays attention to the lyrics.

“What’s the name of this song?” I ask.

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