Page 64 of Trashy Affair Duet

I’m a stranger to logic and reason tonight, so it’s best to not even go there. Instead of stewing over Jules with my brother, I take in the scene. The dance floor in front of the stage is packed with moving bodies, even though the night is early, and the band isn’t due to start playing for another hour.

“You’ve done well here,” I tell Kaden.

“Too bad Dad can’t see it.”

“Fuck Dad,” I say. “Don’t let his bullshit bring you down.”

Kaden raises a brow. “You are in a bad mood.”

The arrival of our whiskey saves me from answering. Kaden empties half of his before giving me a questioning look, and I realize he isn’t going to let this slide.

“How bad do you have it for her?”

Jules is bending over the bar, giving me a perfect view of her jean-clad ass, and I can only imagine how sexy her tits look in that white halter top she’s wearing. I’m getting hard just thinking about running my hands over her bare shoulders.

“Pretty damn bad,” I finally admit, “and that makes me a shitty husband.” I won’t even go into how shitty of a wife Monica has turned out to be. Regardless of her behavior, there is no fucking excuse for what I feel for Jules.

“Has anything happened with her?”

“No.”

Not yet.

But if I dig deep enough, I know it’s inevitable. A person can only stare in the face of temptation for so long before giving in.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re human, just like the rest of us.”

“Don’t try to justify this, Kade. There’s no excuse for cheating.”

“You aren’t cheating. There’s a world of difference between wanting and doing. Trust me, you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about.”

I want to argue with him, but one of the barmaids interrupts us and tells Kaden he’s needed somewhere. Rising, he finishes off the amber liquid in his glass then sets it on the table.

“Duty calls. Try to have some fun, okay?”

A derisive laugh escapes me. The only fun I want to engage in involves Jules and my hard-as-fuck cock finding home between her legs.

Kaden disappears into the Friday night flock, and I empty my fourth drink of the night. No matter how much I try, I can’t tear my gaze from Jules. Her friends leave their perches at the bar, and I grit my teeth as Tattoo Guy grabs her shoulder again.

I’ve never felt so possessive over a woman. So insane with jealousy. The intensity of this desire coursing through me is stronger than my rage the night I first saw that photo of Monica.

I’m seriously losing my shit.

Jules wanders away from the bar, making her way to the edge of the dance floor, and I’m out of my seat and following her before I can talk myself out of it. I don’t think about the fact that I’m off-kilter and armed with whiskey. Extra vulnerable to the whims of stupidity.

There isn’t a thing in existence that has the power to keep me from touching her.

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