Speaking of which… I check my watch. It’s almost ten after eight, and she’s still nowhere to be found. Isn’t this woman a professional? If so, her behavior is decidedly unprofessional, and I wonder if I should text City Girls to complain.
I’m just thinking about how much shit I’m going to give Hank for his crap referral, when suddenly, a crash from the opposite end of the room catches my attention. A busboy just dropped a tub of dishes, shattering the calm atmosphere with a clatter, and I look up, annoyed. The poor boy is about eighteen, beet-red, and struggling to clean up the mess while apologizing profusely. But it’s not the mess that has me at full alert suddenly; it’s the woman he’s kneeling before. She’s curvy, but wears it well, all swaying hips and plump breasts, and a seductive way of carrying herself that makes my cock stiffen. It’s dark in the lounge, and it’s difficult to get a good look at her features, but I can make out luscious curls cascading around her shoulders, and a set of lovely white shoulders under the lamplight.
The woman stoops to help the busboy a bit, but he waves her away, babbling unintelligibly while continuing to gather the plates. Then, she nods and straightens before entering the bar. Holy shit, she’s gorgeous. Her hair blocks her features from my view, but judging from the lusty looks from other male patrons, this woman is the real deal in her form-fitting cocktail dress. Then, with a start, I realize that she’s walking towards the bar. Could this be Anna? My heart starts pounding, and my cock gets stiff. Shit, if only I could be so lucky.
But when the mystery woman steps into the light, the breath catches in my throat. No. It can’t be. This is impossible. After all, coincidences like this just don’t happen, and yet, here she is, standing in front of me. She’s somehow even more beautiful than I remember, with longer hair and a more curvaceous figure, but it’s undoubtedly the woman of my dreams.
Meanwhile, it’s obvious that she recognizes me too because her eyes go wide, and those ruby red lips part just a bit. She starts to speak, but no sound comes out, and finally after staring at one another for what feels like an eternity, I find my voice again.
“Annemarie?” I whisper in a hoarse tone. “Is that you?”
5
Annemarie
“Bruce,” I breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer on my lips. I’m staring at the man like he’s an alien, but it’s literally all I can do. This feels like a fever dream, and part of me wonders if I passed out somewhere along the way and am now hallucinating this meeting.
Yet somehow, it’s truly happening. I can feel those blue eyes raking over my curves, and he’s close enough that his body heat radiates over my exposed skin. Suddenly I’m transported back to that crowded dance floor. Any smart remarks I was planning fall by the wayside as I stare at this man from my past, the mysterious stranger I never thought I would see again.
The father of my son.
I’m so blinded by confusion, desire, and memories that I can’t even make myself speak until Bruce breaks the silence. “How are you, Annemarie?”
I swallow hard, still in shock.
“I thought you were Brian,” I stammer.
One side of his mouth quirks up. “I am. Brian is my middle name, and I use it when I don’t want to use my first. But this is a surprise, to say the least.”
Unfortunately, I can’t even reply. My mouth merely opens and closes a few times in shock.
“Sweetheart, I know you’re surprised, but if you’re Anna, then I’m the Brian you’re meeting at the bar,” he says in a low tone. “Care to take a seat?” he asks, nodding to the open stool next to him. “We can get this sorted out, if you like.”
For a long time, I stand there, still totally dumbfounded. Then stiffly, I move to sit in the free chair, desperate for a drink to calm my nerves. Bruce shifts at my side, and again, I can feel the body heat emanating from his big form, and his distinctive male musk makes my pulse race. Oh god, he smells just like he used to, and I go hot and loose inside.
But you shouldn’t feel this way, a voice warns in my head grimly. He gave you a baby and then left.
But the moment is moving too fast, and I catch Bruce’s eyes on me again, taking me in with an appreciation and desire that makes my stomach turn to mush. “What are you doing here?” he finally asks in a low growl.
“I’m working,” I reply, my jaw stiff. “What are you doing here?” His eyes haven’t left me, even for a second. “Are you using escorts, now?”