Page 99 of Sex Coach

If he kept calling me sweetheart, I was going to scream. But I smiled prettily and leaned in closer. "What was it like when you first got into this? If I read correctly, you were married before...had a wife and a child before the current Mrs. McCrane." His lids flickered. "It seems that your current wife isn't all that supportive. Was that the case with your first wife too ?"

Make it all about him,I reminded myself. He was a manipulator and a user. As long as it was all about him, he'd keep talking. Fortunately, a skill a freelancer writer learns early on...how to ask questions .

Giving him my own sympathetic expression, I added, "It's understandable if you'd rather talk about something else ."

"No, no..." He shook his head, reaching to tug at his lower lip. "It's...I just haven't thought about them in a very, very long time." With an abashed look, he met my gaze full on this time. "That was a very unhappy part of my life, Michelle. I hope you'll be kind if you decide to discuss it ."

"Why don't you tell me your side of the story ?"

The man ought to be a story teller .

I sat there, listening as he spun a tale about him and his first wife – his high school sweetheart, of course – and how they loved each other more than the world, but the strain of the public eye was more than his introverted wife could handle and that she longed to raise her child in the small Texas town where she'd been raised. Naturally, it broke his heart, but he didn't want the woman he loved unhappy, and when a separation didn't work, they agree to divorce .

He was halfway through another whiskey, slurring his words, when he finally started talking more about Marlon .

"What was he like as a kid? Did he run wild?" I waggled my brows at him. "Was he a flirt like you ?"

"Oh, honey..." He shook a finger at me. "You...you..." He frowned, like he couldn't remember what he'd been about to say .

Shit, he better not be toodrunk .

Reaching over, I took his whiskey casually, pretending to be thirsty. "Mind ?"

His eyes rested on my lips as I licked them .

I was so bad at this, but he was too drunk to notice .

"That boy of mine...I tell you what," he said .

"Tell me about him." I had long since stopped pretending to write. He hadn't even noticed. "I heard about the wreck he was in. Was he hurt ?"

"Stupid fuck," Washington muttered. "I buy him a car like that and what's he do? The first party he goes to, he ends up plastered and wraps it around a tree...and that woman. Fuck ..."

Widening my eyes, I put the whiskey down. "He was hurt? What woman ?"

Bleary-eyed, Washington stared at me. "How did you hear about that wreck ?"

"I research really well," I lied. "Did Marlon hurt the woman? Who was she ?"

"Stupid bitch died ," he snapped. "Yeah, I'd say she was hurt. Caused me no end of problems, and Marlon...idiot kid. I swear, there's no way that boy was mine. I told his mama she must have been fucking the mailman or something. I wouldn't have had a boy that stupid. And he goes running his mouth off after everything I did ."

"What did you do ?"

My heart was racing now, but he'd told me too much to stop .

The digital recorder in my little bag might run out of memory before he stopped at the rate he was going .

"I..." Washington stopped abruptly and looked around. "What the fuck are you asking about this for? You can't put this in a rag. How did you hear about the wreck? I buriedit ."

He swiped out a hand and the glass went smashing to the floor behind the bar. "Who the hell are you ?"

Rage must have been doing something to clear the alcohol from his head because he suddenly looked a lot more aware than he had even a few minutes ago. His eyes landed on the notepad I'd left on the bar and nerves unraveled in my gut .

Sliding over the barstool, I decided maybe it would be a good idea to make my exit. Like now .

His hand clamped over my wrist and bile surged into my throat. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "Where do you think you're going ?"

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