other women, likely doing to them what he’d done to her.
The thought slammed into her unexpectedly. No way should she be jealous. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about how a total stranger could feel so good and so right. Even if it was only so “right now.”
The phone rang, yanking her out of her messed-up thoughts.
“Montgomery here,” she answered.
“I got a lead on a stray Dumpster diver near Hobby Airport. Can you help?”
“Good morning, Reese. Of course I’ll help, but calling me with this information is only going to distract me from work until I can get away.”
“All part of my evil plan. Can you get away now?”
Kirby weighed the situation. In times like these, she wished she was unemployed and independently wealthy, like her best friend, Reese, and could scour the city for animals in need of rescuing. Talk about the ultimate dream job.
“I might be able to arrange something. Have you already lined up a foster?” Kirby asked.
“No. But don’t worry. I’ll foster until I can find someone.”
Kirby exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The easy part was catching an animal. The harder part was placing him or her in a loving home. And the absolute worst part was saying goodbye, once a home was found. That was how she’d recently ended up with a rescue cat. At her house, foster home had turned into forever home.
“How far away?
“South of Broadway, living behind the Dumpsters at some rather seedy apartments. I tried to execute a solo rescue earlier this morning, but I couldn’t get close.”
“No chance the owner lives in the complex?”
“If that’s the case, the puppy needs rescuing more than ever. Very thin and dirty.”
“I’ll take an early lunch. Pick me up at ten thirty,” Kirby said. She wasn’t going to get any further on The Deep story this afternoon. Might as well be distracted for a worthy cause.
“Great. I’ll wait up front.”
Kirby replaced the receiver and referred back to the website. As she clicked through the photos, someone approached from behind.
She recognized the fumes.
“Which one is yours?” Seth asked. “Please tell me it’s Gentleman John. Ha! Gotta love it.”
Seth launched into his obnoxious laugh, which always had a delayed effect. Like a time bomb with a long fuse.
Today, it was more like a stink bomb.
As soon as Kirby clicked on Easy Ride and his buff upper body filled the screen, the laughing ceased.
Seth leaned in closer.
Kirby held her breath.
“What’s his name?” he asked.
“They don’t give out names.”
“Find out. Or I will.”
Strange. Something had piqued his curiosity, and it likely wasn’t Easy Ride’s abundance of chiseled muscles.
“You seem awfully interested. Why?” she asked.
“Only trying to help. In fact, the offer still stands to trade stories. The oil-and-gas lead is a sure thing. I’d hate to see you blow your only chance with Bettencourt after you waited so long.”
Even though she doubted Seth’s concern for her professional well-being, he wasn’t simply blowing smoke. Their news director had earned the nickname “one-chance Charlie” for good reason. He gave reporter wannabes who worked at the station a shot to be on the air. A single shot. This was hers.
“Why are you so interested in The Deep?” Seth asked. “Aside from getting to hang out at the beefcake buffet. A story like this will cast your reputation in stone. Goodbye, good girl.”
“Oddly enough, you just answered your own question.”
Seth raised one bushy brow and gave her a nod of approval. He only related to people who got down in the mud. No doubt her willingness to chase this particular lead earned his reluctant respect.
What she didn’t tell him was that this story had become personal long before she’d stepped foot in The Deep. The thought of men taking women’s money for false flattery reminded her too much of her charming crook of an ex-husband, who was more than happy to relieve her of any and all loose change and limited savings, only to end up spending it on his girlfriends. Oh, and then going on to reject his own wife.
She mentally returned to the sofa at The Deep. No evidence of rejection there. No usable information, either. He didn’t even charge her for the kisses.
Certain facts about the club might be difficult to get out of Easy Ride. However, the pleasure promised to be deliciously...easy. So much so, she was finding it hard to focus today.
Goodbye, good girl was right.
* * *
“HEY, FAB. SPOT ME,” Adam said.
Fabian positioned himself, ready to catch the bar in case Adam’s ambitious 320-pound bench press turned out to be a top-story bleeder on the evening news.
“You trying to kill yourself, Ride?”
Adam grimaced at the weight, but damn if Better Days’s newest release wasn’t blaring from every speaker throughout the gym. The angry schmuck within him could bench-press an eighteen-wheeler to the lead singer’s whiny voice. The owner of Six-Pax usually had better taste in music.
He finished a set and Fabian helped with the bar.
“No death wish, but that song makes me want to kill someone.”
Fabian slapped Adam on the back with the appropriate force. The gesture implied friendly support rather than pity.
“Sorry, man. How anyone can work out to that country-rock shit is beyond me. I’ll tell the manager to change the station.”
“Don’t bother. I might as well get used to hearing it. Better Days is having its best days.”
“I thought you were over her,” Fabian said.
Adam considered Fab’s statement for a minute. Truth was, being dumped by Liv honestly didn’t hurt anymore. He couldn’t say the same for the humiliation.
“I wish her the best of luck. She’ll need it. Her new boyfriend has quite the reputation with groupies. I imagine karma will take care of the balance due.”
Adam wandered over to the free weights next. Fabian trailed close behind.
“I still can’t wrap my mind around how she was doing him at the same time she was doing you. And for so long,” Fabian said.
