Seducing the Wolf (14 page)

Quentin snorted. “C’mon, son. When has that ever happened?”

“First time for everything.”

“Not this time.”

“So what happened?”

Quentin sipped his beer. “We had to cut the evening short.”

“Why?”

“Halfway through dinner, her babysitter called to say her kid was running a high fever. So I took her home.”

“Did you meet the kid?”

“Hell, no. You know I don’t meet children unless I’m ready to put a ring on their mama’s finger.”

Manning grunted in agreement, staring into the amber depths of his glass.

The band had struck up another mellow number. The sax player was good but nowhere near as talented as Monty, who still occasionally performed at the restaurant when he wasn’t on tour.    

“Think you’ll ever be ready?” Manning mused.

Quentin glanced at him. “Ready for what?”

“Marriage. Kids. The whole nine.”

Quentin hesitated, then shrugged a broad shoulder. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“You
have
thought about it,” Manning asserted. “We all thought about it after Marcus’s wedding. I know I did. So did Mike and Monty. And
you
sure as hell thought about it after you caught the garter at the reception.”

Quentin’s hand flexed around his bottle of beer. He held Manning’s gaze for several seconds and then glanced away, shifting uncomfortably on the stool.

Manning chuckled softly. “It’s okay to admit it, Q. Even the best playas in the game have to retire eventually.”

Quentin shook his head at him, bemused. “You trippin’, Manny. You need to lay off the sauce.”

“Think so?” Manning tossed back the rest of his whiskey, then slammed the glass down on the counter and signaled to the bartender. Joe glanced over at him, then raised a brow at Quentin, who warned him off with a subtle shake of his head.

Manning scowled as Joe moved on to another customer.

“What’s up with you?” Quentin demanded.

Manning deflected the question. “Remember at the reception when you caught the garter—”

Quentin frowned. “You already mentioned—”

“—and Lexi caught the bouquet even though she was standing way off to the side?” Lexi Austin had been Quentin’s best friend since college. The two of them were inseparable. “Remember how shy and nervous she looked when you strolled over to her and slipped that garter up her leg? Remember how pissed her fiancé was?”

A muscle clenched in Quentin’s jaw. “What’s your point?”

“I dunno. I was just thinking…” Manning trailed off for a moment, absently stroking his chin.

“Thinking what?” Quentin prompted impatiently.

A slow grin curved Manning’s mouth. “I was thinking…wouldn’t it be crazy if you and Lexi wound up together?”

Something inscrutable flickered in Quentin’s eyes. He stared at Manning for a long moment, then tipped back his bottle and drained the rest of his beer.

Manning watched him, his eyes narrowed with amused speculation. “Crazy, right?”

“Hell, yeah,” Quentin grumbled darkly. “It’d never happen.”

“Yeah, I know. You and Lexi are just friends, and she’s already engaged to what’s-his-face.” Manning chuckled dryly. “You’d better hope she doesn’t ask you to be her maid of honor.”

Quentin shot him a look that would have sent a lesser man diving for cover beneath the bar.

Manning merely laughed.

Quentin frowned, shaking his head at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, bruh, but you’re acting weird as hell tonight.”

Manning sobered, lowering his gaze to the melting ice cubes at the bottom of his glass. After a lengthy silence, he ruminated aloud, “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?”

Quentin snorted. “You’re quoting scripture now?”

Manning ignored him. “Men are born to be conquerors, right? I mean, from the moment we’re pushed out of our mothers’ wombs, it’s understood that we’re supposed to become leaders. Acquirers. Conquerors. That’s how we’re nurtured. That’s what we’re taught. Because we were born with dicks, right? So we head out into the world programmed to lead, to acquire, to conquer. We lead armies and corporations. We acquire wealth and possessions and women. We conquer enemies. We conquer friends. We devote so much fucking time and energy to building our empires that we neglect the needs of our souls.”

Quentin silently contemplated him with narrowed eyes.

“That was kinda deep,” he acknowledged after several moments. “But where’s all this coming from?”

Manning pushed out a heavy breath. “Don’t get me wrong, Q. I’m proud of the company I’ve built—proud of everything I’ve accomplished. But it’s not enough anymore. The money. The flashy cars. The one-night stands.” He shook his head, lifting his gaze from his empty glass. “It’s getting old, you know?”

Quentin nodded slowly. Almost sadly. “I hear you.”

The two men regarded each other in the long mirror that backed the length of the bar. They’d been friends since childhood, but this was the first time Manning could remember feeling that they truly understood each other.

“I spent the day with Taylor,” he confessed before he could stop himself.

“Yeah?” The name didn’t immediately register with Quentin. “Taylor who?”

Manning just looked at him.

As comprehension dawned, Quentin’s hazel eyes widened, and he whipped his head around to stare incredulously at Manning. “Your old girlfriend from back in the day?
That
Taylor?”

Manning nodded slowly.

“Get the hell outta here!” Quentin exclaimed. “She’s in
Atlanta
?”

“Yeah. She—”

“Hey, fellas.”

Manning and Quentin glanced over their shoulders to encounter two attractive young women in tight black mini dresses and towering heels. One was a bleached blonde, the other a busty brunette.

“Oh, my God,” the latter gushed excitedly. “We’ve seen you guys before! You’re Manning Wolf”— manicured fingers touched his shoulder —“and you’re Quentin Reddick, right?”

“Guilty as charged,” Quentin confirmed, looking amused.

“We’ve seen you both on Michael Wolf’s cooking show.” The blonde, who wore too much makeup, beamed at Manning. “He’s your cousin, right?”

“Right,” Manning murmured.

“You two look
just
alike,” she asserted with a breathy giggle. “But you probably hear that all the time.”

“Not at all,” Manning lied with a straight face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Quentin’s lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

The brunette smiled invitingly at them. “You guys want some company?”

“I’m afraid not,” Manning politely declined.

“Are you sure?” She leaned closer, pressing her breasts against his back as she purred, “We’d love to buy you guys a drink.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Quentin drawled, “but we’re good, sweetheart. Really.”

Rebuffed—and clearly confused—the two friends faltered for a moment, then reluctantly turned and tottered away in their high heels.

Manning and Quentin traded amused glances.

Just then Joe returned with a fresh beer for Quentin and another glass of whiskey for Manning. “I’m closing your tab after this,” he told him.

Manning frowned after the departing bartender.

“So what’s your girl doing in Atlanta?” Quentin asked, resuming their conversation.

Manning told him about running into Taylor at the coffee shop yesterday morning.

“Wow,” Quentin marveled when he’d finished speaking. “Talk about a blast from the past.”

“Tell me about it,” Manning murmured.

Quentin eyed him sympathetically. “So that’s what this is about. The booze. The brooding. It makes sense now.”

“Does it?” Manning countered grimly. “Does it make sense that I’m still hung up on a woman I haven’t seen since I was sixteen?”

“I think it does. Taylor was the love of your life. Even though you were just teenagers, everyone knows what you two had was the real deal. The way things ended…You never got closure.”

Manning stared into his glass, thinking of the lone letter he’d received from Taylor. The letter that broke his heart, gutted his soul.

Quentin sipped his beer. “So you spent the day with her.”

Manning nodded. “Took her to Callaway Gardens.”

He remembered the beautiful glow on Taylor’s face as they’d strolled quietly through the lush gardens. He remembered her girlish squeal of delight when she saw all the butterflies swirling around the conservatory. When one landed on her nose, the wonder and euphoria that lit her eyes had made his heart swell until it actually ached.

He remembered the way she’d felt in his arms afterward, the way she’d straddled his lap and rocked her hips against him as his fingers had explored her tight, luscious heat. He remembered how good she’d tasted. So damn good he’d wanted to spread her out on the leather seat, bury his mouth between her thighs and devour her until she came explosively, saturating his tongue with her juices.

Just thinking about it made him hard. Shifting uncomfortably on the stool, he raised his glass to his lips and drank deep.

“So what’re you gonna do?” Quentin asked.

Manning swallowed, savoring the smoky burn of the whiskey. “Do about what?”

“You know. What’re you gonna do about Taylor? It’s no coincidence that she’s here, and it damn sure ain’t no coincidence that you ran into her at the coffee shop.”

“I know,” Manning murmured.

A consistent soul believes in destiny, a capricious one in chance.

“If you’re worried about that dude she’s seeing—”

Manning let out a mirthless bark of laughter. “He’s not just some ‘dude.’ They’re in a serious relationship. She loves him,” he added bitterly. 

“Is that what she told you?”

“Yeah.”

Quentin shrugged. “Well, you know what I always say. Actions speak louder than words.”

Manning frowned.

Before he could respond, Quentin’s cell phone went off. Hearing the ringtone—“My Girl” by The Temptations—Quentin smiled softly and pulled the phone out of his pocket.

“Hey, sweetness,” he answered affectionately.

It was Lexi.

“What’re you up to?” There was a long pause as Quentin listened to her response before speaking again. “Nothing much. Just chillin’ at Mike’s, having drinks with Manny.” Quentin grinned at him and relayed, “Lex says hey.”

Manning smiled. “Wassup, girl,” he called back.

“You heard him?” After a brief pause, Quentin chuckled into the phone. “Nah, see, you got it backwards.
I’m
over here trying to keep
his
ass out of trouble.”

Manning shook his head and drank more whiskey, letting his gaze wander across the darkened restaurant to the stage, where the band had just returned after taking a short break. The crowd greeted them with appreciative applause and whistles before settling down to enjoy the next set.

Manning watched as the lead singer stepped to the microphone and winked at the audience, then softly began crooning “Lullaby of Birdland.”

Manning went completely still, lungs locking up.

“Lullaby of Birdland” had been one of Taylor’s favorite Ella Fitzgerald songs. She’d played it all the time, had sung it sweetly to him as they’d lain beneath their favorite oak tree gazing up at the starry night sky. If he just closed his eyes, he could still feel her warm breath on his cheek as she’d leaned over him, could feel the teasing strands of her hair stirred by a gentle summer breeze.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his glass as the soulful melody curled around him, strumming his pain, killing him softly.

That’s how I’d cry in my pillow…If you should tell me farewell and goodbye…

“All right, baby girl. See you soon.”

The sound of Quentin’s voice snapped Manning back to the present. Blinking rapidly, he turned away from the band to watch as Quentin tucked his phone back into his pocket. He looked cheerful, almost giddy.

Manning cocked a brow at him. “What’s up?”

Quentin grinned. “I’m heading out to pick up Lex. She wants to catch a late movie.”

“Yeah? Where’s her fiancé?”

“Out of town.” Quentin finished his beer, then peeled off some large bills from his wallet and slapped them down on the counter. “Drinks are on me. Did you drive?”

Manning shook his head.

“Good. You don’t need to be driving nowhere.” Quentin rose to his feet. “Come on. I’ll drop you off at home on my way to Lex’s.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll take a cab. Besides”— Manning’s voice slurred slightly —“I’m not ready to go yet.”

Quentin snorted. “Yes, you are. You’re drunk, depressed and dejected. If I leave you here, there’s no telling what kind of trouble you’ll get yourself into. So let’s go.”

When Manning balked, Quentin warned, “Don’t make me drag your sorry ass outta here.”

Manning glared at him. They were both six five, weighed about two forty, and boasted long wingspans and killer left hooks. On any given day they would be evenly matched in a fight. But considering the amount of whiskey Manning had just sucked down—and considering the steely glint in Quentin’s eyes that made it clear he wasn’t leaving without him—Manning figured he’d better not push his luck.

Grumbling under his breath, he downed the rest of his drink, then stood and followed Quentin out to the rear parking lot. Neither was surprised to see Manning’s chauffeured limo parked beside Quentin’s black Jaguar. Mr. Haley sat behind the wheel reading Maddox Wolf’s latest bestseller while he patiently waited for Manning to emerge from the restaurant.

“Good ol’ Mr. Haley. Always looking out.” Quentin grinned, clapping Manning on the shoulder. “Go home and sleep it off, bruh. And remember what we talked about.”

Manning grunted. “Have fun with Lexi.”

“I always do.” Quentin gave a lazy salute to Mr. Haley before sauntering around to his Jag and ducking inside.

Mr. Haley showed no reaction as Manning bypassed the backseat, climbed into the front and slammed the door, wincing as the sound reverberated in his skull.

Calmly folding the corner of the page to mark his place in the novel, Mr. Haley drawled, “I told the maître d’ to call me when you were ready to leave so I could pull around to the front, but you saved me the trouble. Did you have a good time?”