Free Mr. Virile and the Girl Next Door by Gwen Hayes

now.
    He supposed it was only to be expected. He couldn’t bat a thousand forever. There were bound to be women that just…got away. The lining of his stomach protested that thought as it mixed with the booze. It just bothered him because, before they slept together, they had been friends. And now they were nothing.
    What had she told him on the phone the last time they’d spoken? Some nonsense about how she thought he was great, but that she’d have been a better match for Dante Martino than Dane Martin. What did that even mean?
    He spotted Holly’s agent, Mitch, at the other end of the bar. Dane’s first impulse was to go pump him for information. Subtly, of course. Like women did. But the closer he got, he realized that the guy looked rough, just sitting there and staring at the ice melting in his glass. Well, maybe Dane could do some good instead of moping tonight. He loosened his shoulders, went for the indolent slouch he was so famous for, the one that showed just how unconcerned he was about anything, and swaggered over to Mitch. Checking out the blonde in the fuck-me heels and the brunette in the halter dress along the way.
    They checked him out too. But he felt…not a whole lot. Damn. They were sending all the right signals, too. What was wrong with him?
    Dane pulled out the stool next to the sad sap. “Mitch.”
    Mitch took one look at him and snorted. “Perfect.”
    Dane frowned. Not really the reaction he’d been expecting. “You okay, man?”
    “Not really, Mr. Virile. Not really.” He scrubbed his hands across his cheeks, the stubble rasping lightly. “How do you do it?”
    “Do what?” Obviously, Mitch had been drinking for quite a while. The kind of drinking that either turned a man mean and invincible or into a country western song cliché. “How about some coffee?”
    Mitch leveled a glance at him. “I’m pretty happy with rum, but thanks anyway.” He tipped his glass, drinking around the ice cubes. “You ever been in love?”
    Dane stared at Mitch with equal parts bafflement and horror. “God, no.”
    “You’re a lucky bastard, then, Mr. Virile. Love will suck the marrow right out of your soul.”
    The mixed metaphor confused Dane, but he let the moment pass. Mitch would undoubtedly keep talking. That’s what drunk men did.
    Mitch sighed. “It’s weird. The way you look at lots of women and they’re all fine and lovely and then the way the light attaches to one is different. She’s all sparkle and dazzle and it’s captivating, but it’s like looking straight on at the sun. And then it doesn’t matter if you try to look away because her light is scorched on your retinas and you’re blind forever.”
    The bartender brought them another round. Which was good because Dane suddenly needed a drink very much. “That doesn’t sound lovely at all. So, don’t fall in love.”
    Mitch chuckled a hoarse sound. “That’s where the falling part comes in, my friend. It’s not a choice, it’s an accident. You just fall down, down, down.” He motioned with his hands and made an explosion sound.
    Dane had managed to side-step around the hazards of “falling” this long. And for that he was thankful. “You need to brush yourself off and get back out there.”
    “It’s not that easy. Once love sinks its teeth in, you can’t just get back out there and go on to the next.”
    Dane’s stomach lowered an inch. He hadn’t been with another woman since the night he met Holly. Surely that was a coincidence. A bead of sweat formed on his temple. Cold sweat. “How do you know it’s love, not just misbegotten lust?”
    “When she’s all you think about. When you find yourself picking up your phone a thousand times a day to share something with her because you know it will make her laugh or she’ll make you laugh.” Mitch shrugged. “When you want to slay all her dragons.”
    Dane thought of the tornado warning, how he’d wanted more than anything to make Holly feel safe. But surely