Silver Foxes of BWB 5: 40 and Flirting (with Disaster)

Chapter One

Walking a tightrope sucked. Seriously sucked. Big fat donkey balls, as some of the teenagers who came into the library would say. Too bad Iris found herself doing it more and more lately.

Because of the man across the table from her. The one who refused to look up from his phone.

“Your steak, ma’am.”

She startled at the waiter’s words. Plastering a smile on her face, she glanced up at the young man. “Thank you.”

Kirk grunted as he pocketed his cell—finally—the sound filled with displeasure. What had she done now?

Her husband glowered as the waiter set a full plate in front of him as well. Without a word of thanks, he dug in. Iris graced the waiter with another smile, this one apologetic. He returned it with a friendly nod that told her he didn’t blame her for Kirk’s lousy attitude.

If only it were that easy.

She picked up her knife and fork. “Happy anniversary, Kirk.”

Twenty-three years. They’d spent twenty-three years together—as partners, lovers, parents. How was it that she felt less and less like she knew him as the years wore on? A stranger sat in the fancy leather-and-oak dining chair across from her, so closed-off and silent she was hard-pressed to say she actually knew him at all. And yet the way he held his polished silver fork, the way he chewed, the way he sipped from the cut-crystal wineglass were all intimately familiar.

How had it come to this?

Kirk’s plate was clean, hers barely touched when he finally spoke. He wiped his mouth with a snowy-white linen napkin, then settled his fisted palms against the table. “This is no longer working for me, Iris.”

Iris’s gaze leaped to meet Kirk’s. Her heart jumped into her throat, yet her face felt frozen. Carefully placing her silverware atop her china plate, she pushed it to the side. Shame filled her at her initial reaction: he wants a divorce, followed by a strong surge of relief. Maybe that had been the withdrawal she’d sensed the past few months. “‘This’?”

“Us.”

This is it. This is really it.

What am I going to do?

First, speak. “You want to divorce?”

His glare had her jerking back in her seat. Actual fear thumped in the pulse at her throat. “Hell no, I don’t want a divorce.”

She ignored the cursing. “Then what are you talking about?”

He had the grace to glance around, checking that they had no audience. Little late for that. But the Carousel had seated them at a table atop a dais in honor of the special occasion, slightly separated from the rest of the dining room. “I’m talking about you, Iris.” He waved a hand in her direction. “You’re not the woman I married anymore.”

She scoffed. “I hope to God not, just like you’re not the same. It’s been twenty-three years, Kirk.”

 His mouth tightened, his eyes narrowing. “You’re doing things I don’t like, things my wife shouldn’t do. Voting against me at the city council meetings. Going dancing at the bar with your friends—without me. Showing yourself off to other men—”

She cut him off. “I’ll vote however I feel led to vote. I don’t need your permission, husband or not. And I didn’t go to a bar; I went to the local pub. You were perfectly welcome to come along.” But he’d refused, just as he’d refused most of her invitations to do things together recently. She’d been surprised he’d made reservations for their anniversary, frankly. But maybe he’d had this planned all along. As to the showing herself off to other men… “Is this about that Halloween costume again? Kirk, it was fine. Everything was covered.”

“You appeared in town as a saloon girl, Iris,” he hissed. “Every man who walked by got a clear idea of what is supposed to be mine.”

She and her friend Scarlett had dressed up in the old-fashioned can-can girl costumes to run the photo booth at the Halloween carnival a few weeks ago. The flirty skirt had called to her, complete with crinoline and fishnet stockings, but she hadn’t shown anything more than would be visible had she worn a fitted blouse and full skirt to work.

The stubborn look on her husband’s face told her she wasn’t going to win this argument—again. Still she couldn’t hold back her, “That’s ridiculous.”

Kirk’s glare narrowed on her. “It was the last straw. And frankly, I don’t want what every other man has seen.”

If he’d slapped her across the face, she couldn’t have been more shocked. Her brain tried frantically to make sense of the whole conversation. “So you don’t want me,” she said, her lips feeling numb. “But you don’t want to divorce.”

“What I want is an open marriage.”

In the stunned silence that followed his words, she became aware of a solid presence mere feet from their table. Raising her eyes, she caught sight of crisp black dress pants, masculine hands cupping a delicate china dessert plate, a fresh white dress shirt, and, finally, startled green eyes staring right into hers.

What I want is an open marriage rang in her ears, and as she stared into the man’s eyes, she knew from the fixed expression on his face that he’d heard the same words she had.

The man cleared his throat. “We at the Carousel wanted to wish you a happy anniversary.” He settled the cake, its single silver candle flickering with bright flame, at the edge of their table, equidistant between her and Kirk. “If you have need of anything”—somehow that stare made her feel like the words were meant for her—“please don’t hesitate to ask.”

The man excused himself, and the silence at the table became deafening. Iris fisted her shaking hands and forced herself to speak.

“So you want us to see other people but stay married.”

“No.” Kirk balled up his napkin and threw it onto his empty plate. “I want to see other people but stay married.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “I dressed like a ‘floozy’”—she made air quotes—“so you don’t want me, but you do want to find someone else to sleep with?”

“A man has needs, Iris.”

“So do women. And if you don’t intend to fulfill those needs, I will definitely be looking elsewhere.” She didn’t want to, had no intention of doing any such thing, but what was good for the goose…

Kirk leaned across the table, his anger forcing her back in her seat. “You’re not gonna play the whore on me, damn it.”

“No.” She balled up her own napkin, resolve firming inside her despite the shaking of her hands. She threw the napkin onto her plate just as he had, then leaned over to blow out the candle on their anniversary cake. “I won’t be playing the whore on you. I won’t be married to you anymore.” Standing, she grasped her purse, facing Kirk squarely. “I will not live with a man who could even think about suggesting such a thing to me. I deserve more.” So much more. “We’re getting a divorce.”

As she brushed by his chair, Kirk gripped her wrist tightly. “Iris—”

“Anything I can do for you, ma’am?”

The deep voice belonged to the man who had delivered the cake. Iris had hoped to avoid the humiliation of seeing him again, but right now she had no choice. She forced herself to meet those deep green eyes. “Yes. A cab, please.”

The man nodded but refused to move, his gaze locking on Kirk’s fingers tight around her arm. Glancing down, she realized that later she’d have bruises, though no pain registered right now.

She turned back to her husband of twenty-three years. They wouldn’t make it to twenty-four. “I hope you already have her picked out, Kirk.”

His hold tightened until his knuckles turned white. “Who?”

“The woman you want to sleep with.” Because it was a sure bet he hadn’t taken this risk without someone already in mind. “You can start tonight. Don’t bother coming home.”

Yanking her wrist from his grip, she turned and followed the man who’d interrupted them, ignoring Kirk as he called her name behind her. She refused to cry, not here. At home, when she was alone, she could let go.

Alone. That word opened up a vision of her future that she’d never expected to see. A solitary future. And shameful or not, the relief from earlier returned to mix with the pain clenching her stomach into a knot.

Alone. It sounded better than what Kirk had proposed.

The room was a blur of color and sound as they passed through. Iris kept her focus on the broad back of the man escorting her, ignoring everything else. He had placed a cell phone to his ear, she assumed to call her a ride as she’d requested. Her glance took in the red curls brushing his collar, sprinkled liberally with salt and pepper, the wide shoulders that looked like they could handle any burden. There was something familiar about him, something she couldn’t place with her mind in chaos. She couldn’t see his left hand to look for a ring, but she bet he’d never tell his wife he wanted to fool around on her. Or maybe he would. She’d never thought her ultra-conservative husband would suggest such a thing. He’d never wanted anything wild in the bedroom; they’d never even had anal sex.

Would he do that with his bimbo? He had made it plain she was the problem, not lack of desire for sex. What if—

She hadn’t realized the man had stopped in front of her until she slammed into his side. As if he’d anticipated her distraction, he’d turned, and neatly caught her with a light hand at her waist.

“Just a minute there, darlin’.”

Iris shrank away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing you need to be sorry for.” Those full lips tightened like they had back at the table. “I think that’s your husband’s job.”

She couldn’t hold back her snort. “Kirk, apologize? Not in twenty-three years.”

 His broad hand came up, one finger catching the tear that had escaped without her knowledge. “Maybe if he had learned, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

She had no response, just shook her head. Looking around, she realized they were in a back hall instead of at the front door as she’d expected. “What—”

“I thought you might prefer some privacy until your ride gets here.” He jerked his chin at the door in front of him. “This is my office.”

She hesitated, nodded. As she followed him into the room, she noticed the sign on the door. MANAGER.

 Oh God. She remembered now. The man who’d rescued her was the manager and owner of the Carousel, Jamie Worthington. She’d seen him at a couple of official functions she and Kirk had attended as members of the Black Wolf’s Bluff City Council. And if she kept her seat, she’d likely see him at future events. The man who had overheard the most humiliating moments of her life. The man who had watched and listened as her husband informed her he wanted to cheat on her.

 Would this embarrassment follow her for the rest of her life?

“Have a seat.” Jamie gestured toward a comfortable looking sofa lining one wall. He took the chair behind the desk, which he swiveled around to the side so nothing obstructed her view of him.  “I called Daniel. He should be here in a few.”

Daniel ran the only taxi service based in Black Wolf’s Bluff. Of course this man would remember her, remember where she came from. She and Kirk were fairly prominent in local politics.

“Thank you.” She found herself looking anywhere but at him.

“He’s wrong, you know.”

She jerked her gaze back to him. Was Jamie flirting with her? Now? But all she read in the man’s eyes was sincerity. The hard knot in her gut relaxed the slightest bit. “About what?”

“What he asked you.” He leaned back, crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “Any man you belong to would never need another woman.”

The you belong to sent a shiver down her spine, though she wasn’t certain why. She had no idea how to respond, what to say. They sat in awkward silence for long minutes until Jamie’s cell phone chimed. “There is your ride.”

She stood and followed him through the halls until they reached the back door. Stepping out, she saw Daniel’s blue and white taxi parked by the curb. He flashed his lights in acknowledgment.

She spun quickly and gave Jamie the best smile she could muster, which wasn’t saying much. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Worthington.”

“Jamie, please.” He reached for her hand, held it gently when she accepted his grasp. “You take care, all right?”

Her shaky smile faltered, but she nodded anyway. “Good night.”

As she crossed the distance to the cab, she pushed thoughts of Kirk and Jamie and everything else about her night away and walked into her future.

Alone.