Free Simply Sex by Dawn Atkins

he’d look up Sullivan with the bar association and find out what had gone wrong.
    And what about the sex call? Jane had jumped in with both feet to explain that away. Was there more to the story? He’d check. Anything to spice up the piece, which could send a diabetic into sugar shock if he wrote it the way she’d presented it.
    What the hell color were her eyes? Lilac maybe? Or some flower color—periwinkle. Sweet, but with a definite bite. And a mouth so puffy you wanted to kiss it just to see if it could be that soft.
    He’d let his interest show. Not smart, but, hell, he was human, and he’d been alone for a while. She smelled damn good and there was something about her and those big lilac eyes. Stupid.
    Even if she weren’t a story source, he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t even had the energy for a tumble since Cindi. And Cindi had been a mistake, anyway, because of Ana. He wasn’t sure what it would take to get over Ana. She was all tangled up with losing the book deal and it just plain hurt too much to think about.
    Meanwhile, Jane Falls had invited him to watch lonely schmucks parade around on roller skates. He wanted the truth, not to expose human beings’ tender underbelly. And the underbelly was never more tender than in matters of love. He knew that cold.
    He swung into his apartment lot, parked, ripped off his helmet and pushed the hair off his sweaty forehead. He needed a haircut. One of these days. Inside, he checked messages for a word about the Republic. Nothing.
    Maybe he’d call the TV station that had been blasting teasers about a new investigative team—Eye Out For You. There was something brewing at a local security company he could pitch and look into. Irregularities with hiring, a sexual harassment complaint.
    Maybe later. He tossed his helmet on the sofa and plopped into the lounger, clicking on the TV. He’d watched a lot of daytime tube since he got to town a month ago. Just getting story ideas, he told himself, his gut tight with guilt.
    Who was he kidding? He’d been sluggish, maybe depressed, after losing the book sale. And Ana. Always Ana.
    He had a right to feel bruised. He’d done most of the work on the Pulitzer-winning series on the pest-control industry, but the paper had pushed Ana into the limelight, wanting to celebrate the only woman on the five-reporter team. The other guys were assholes about it, but Seth hadn’t minded. Ana had worked hard.
    Then she started believing the hype. Plus, their relationship went south. He quit the paper with much fanfare to work on a book about investigative reporting and had interest from two agents and a publisher…until they learned that Ana’s similar title was already in progress at another house, rendering his redundant. She’d known his plans, dammit, and gone ahead anyway, beat him to his dream.
    That, on top of the months-earlier breakup, made him want out and away. Out of the state and miles from the scene of his stupidity. He’d actually laid money down on a house for her, wanted to settle in, grow roots. He should have known better. Should have known Ana better. And himself.
    Where was the damn remote? He found it between the cushions of the sofa—generic beige like the rest of his rented furniture. This was just a brief stint in Limbo Land. He’d rent a better place once he got a job he wanted.
    For now, he had a story to write. And Jane Falls wanted him to go to a skating party. God. When he’d folded that flyer into his pocket, her face had just sunk and he’d felt straight-armed in the chest. He’d bet her boyfriends were putty in her hands. No man would want to put hurt in those lilac eyes, send that sweet mouth into a frown.
    Nice hair, too. Blond, wavy. Long enough to tickle your face when she made love on top.
    Cut it out.
    For all her airy-fairy style, she was stubborn, too. A butterfly with a spring-loaded spine. And she’d inserted some practical considerations into her goofy business. Interesting