Page 8 of Age of Shade

Am I an idiot? I might be an idiot.

Setting my drink down on the antique side table to my right, I lean forward, dropping my voice so we’re not overheard. “I said I want to start dating again after you got me drunk on four glasses of vintage whiskey. In what world do you take that as an invitation topaya young woman to pretend to be interested in me?” A sour taste fills my mouth at the thought of it.

I have years of experience with the kind of women Liam “dates.” Attractive, charming, and obscenely wealthy, the man has a line of women enthusiastically throwing themselves at him on a daily basis. For reasons I’ll never understand, though, he prefers to hire his girlfriends.

Liam lets out a heavy sigh, gazing at me pityingly. “See,that’show I know you need this. You’re forty, not sixty-five, Asher. No single, successful, forty-year-old man refers to a hot-as-fuck college girl as ayoung woman.”

Calling myself successful seems like a stretch. My practice gives away more procedures than it bills, and the distinction ofDoctorthat I’m legally allowed to tack on in front of my name is the most prestigious thing about me. I would make more money going to work for quite literally any dental clinic in the city, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

Christ.I really am an idiot.

“Liam,” I plead, suddenly nauseous. “Call it off.”

He stares at me in silence for a long moment, apparently considering. Then, unaffected and unmoved by my panic, cheerfully shakes his head. “Request denied. This will begoodfor you, Asher. Do you know why I do the sugar daddy thing?” He lifts his eyebrows expectantly, but I barely have time to open my mouth—intending to cite his emotional immaturity—before the smug fuck is answering his own question. “Because it’shonest.I know she’s in it for the paycheck, and she knows I’m in it to have the benefits of a relationship without having to be in one. It’s a business transaction. We have a grand time together while it lasts, then go our separate ways without a fuss. I think that sort ofarrangementwould be very beneficial for you right now.”

My mouth has gone dry, but I manage to choke out a halfhearted retort to this speech. “You need therapy.”

Liam’s eyes gleam with amusement, obnoxiously satisfied with himself for rattling me. “Probably. I have sexregularly, though. Good sex, too. Not missionary in the dark while one of you looks at your phone. Can you say the same?”

I wish fervently I could get away with lying about this, but I know I can’t. Through the various ups and downs of myrelationship with Lindsey, good sex wasn’t exactly on the menu with any kind of reliability. Our final years included a few halfhearted attempts at “spicing it up,” but nothing stuck.

My non-answer says it all.

Despite any drunken ramblings to Liam about my desire to get back out there, I haven’t so much as downloaded a dating app. It just feels…wrong. The issues in my former relationship were almost exclusively my own fault:myfear of commitment,mypreoccupation with work,mypoor communication skills. It seems wrong to keep dating, and to put some poor, innocent woman through the ringer of my emotional immaturity, when I’m fully aware I have no business doing so.

Unattached sex is my only realistic option, but at forty years old and fresh out of a nearly seven-year relationship, I have no idea how I would orchestrate such a thing.

Liam’s bright-blue eyes search my face, his carefree smirk fading at whatever he sees there. “You need to rip off the Band-Aid. Think of tonight as… practice. She’s a friend of Ruby’s. No need to get your panties in a twist, Asher. It’s just dinner. I’m not paying her to fuck you. I mean,I could.”

My temples throb painfully. How the hell do I get out of this? He’s trying to be a good friend in his own emotionally stunted way. I appreciate the effort; however, there’s quite literally nothing I’d rather do less than make stilted conversation with whatever friend his latest pseudo-girlfriend drummed up to be my date tonight.

I attempt a self-deprecating smile. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but…” The words trail away as I glance across the lounge to gather my thoughts, and my gaze catches on a woman just stepping into the room through the polished wood doors.

Just like that, every excuse and justification I had for not being here is wiped from my brain.

I can’t think, and I’m not even sure that I’m breathing, because this woman… Stunning doesn’t even begin to cover it.

I’m entranced.

She can’t possibly be older than her early twenties, at least a decade too young for me to be interested in, yet my conscience is nowhere to be found. I can’t stop staring, my eyes roaming greedily over her, desperate to gather every detail. She’s curvy, a tiny waist flowing out into round hips, her hourglass figure emphasized by the silky black dress she’s wearing. Rich-brown hair tumbles in loose curls around her shoulders, and under the tasteful, dim lighting, her ivory skin seems to glow.

The most striking thing of all, though, is her beautiful, heart-shaped face. As I watch, she turns slightly toward us, taking in the room through wide eyes.

She’s nervous.

I can see it in the way she’s standing, with her shoulders bunched up and hands clasped tightly in front of her, like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. As I stare, a couple enters the lounge behind her and she practically jumps out of the way to let them pass. In a room full of blue-blood debutantes who move through the world like they belong, this stranger is more captivating than any of them, and she wants to fade into the walls.

We have something in common, then. Neither of us belong here.

Cupid’s bow lips part, and I realize there’s a woman standing beside her, leaning in close to hear what my mystery woman is saying. Her friend could be equally stunning, but for all the notice I take of her, she may as well be one of the bar stools.

Whoever this woman is… Just looking at her feels like I’ve stepped outside and found bright sunshine instead of snow. My whole body is heated, on edge, and humming with excitement. Every last reason I had for wanting to leave this hotel is gone,and now all I can think about is how badly I want—need—to talk to her.

Liam rises, lifting a hand to attract the attention of someone, and smirks over his shoulder at me. “Staying, then?”

I blink dazedly up at him. “I…” But my words are lost all over again when the two women turn toward us. I’m dimly aware of the tall blonde waving cheerfully at my friend. As befuddled and lust-drunk as I am, it takes me a moment to process the situation.

Then it hits me.

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