Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 9

For several hours, Mac alternated between pacing and sitting fuming, but mostly she was angry at herself for not even thinking to ask if he was married. The thought that he belonged to someone else bothered her more than she was willing to admit. That body, that charm, that smile, and those amazing blue eyes all belonged to another woman. She tried hard not to even let the image of that fantastic ass enter her head.

Finally in exhaustion, she gave in and went to bed. Carrying her laptop with her, she placed it on the table by the bed. Once again she opened the media player and put on that same play list. Turning the volume down low, she listened as she changed into something to sleep in and climbed into bed. She left it playing as she fell asleep.

In his own room, Jon paced also and even looked in the mini bar, but after deciding it would take entirely too many of those little bottles to accomplish a good drunken binge, he called room service and ordered a good bottle of wine. He'd drink the whole damn bottle if that's what it took.

He was on his second glass when there was a knock on his door and the scent of Richie's cologne drifted to him.

"Come on in, Rich," he said, resigned, "might as well join the pity party."

Richie walked in the door and after seeing Jon slouching in a chair by the window, he asked, "What pity party?"

"It's over," Jon answered, "Mac thinks I'm married and she's pissed."

"You told her part of the story, but not the part about the wife being an actress?"

"I didn't get to tell her anything," Jon replied, testily. "Her friend, Sandy, who's a fan of ours, told her I was married."

Jon got another wine glass from the tray the room service waiter had brought and poured some wine for Richie.

Richie took it, nodding his thanks. "So why didn't you just tell her the whole story?"

"Oh, yeah," Jon said sarcastically, "But, Baby, I'm not really married, that was just for good PR. The woman the world thinks I'm married to is just a hired actress. Geez, Rich, that sounds like a lame excuse even to me." He took a big gulp of wine. He wasn't even noticing how well it tasted, that it was actually very good, very expensive wine. How it tasted wasn't the point of the night. To get very drunk was the point. Drunk enough that he could forget that the woman, the life mate, he so desperately needed was pissed off enough to leave him. She wouldn't even talk to him.

"You're right," Richie agreed, "it does sound like a lame attempt to cover your ass."

"I'm so screwed," Jon said, shaking his head and slouching further down in his chair. "There's a stake in Kristoff's possession with my name on it."

Richie leaned forward, sitting his wine glass on the table. "What the hell are you talking about, Jon? Why would Kristoff want to stake you? He's your friend."

"Exactly why he would stake me," Jon told him. Then went on to explain the details about the need for a life mate that he had left out of his earlier explanation.

Richie listened with rapt interest. "Why didn't you tell me all this earlier?"

"I didn't wanna worry you."

"When were you gonna tell me that in six years you could go crazy? When you were ripping my throat out and sucking me dry?" Richie asked, his voice rising with each word.

"Focus, Rich," Jon said, dryly. "That is not the current problem."

"No," Richie said, just as dryly, "it's the six-year, long term problem."