Half Empty (First Wives, #2)(8)

Now he was headed for some much-needed time off. He had the occasional gig here and there, but his official tour was over, and would be until he had another album out. That would take well over a year.

Wade kicked off his boots and stretched out on the king-size bed. He didn’t bother closing doors or turning off phones. He’d hibernate in the room until he received the all clear from Ike.

Until then . . . sleep.





Chapter Four

Trina jumped out of bed as if the hounds of hell were pulling her into the blazing depths of molten heat.

It was solid dark, with only the ambient light from the digital clock casting a dim light in the room.

The time flashed eleven thirty.

“Oh, no.”

She flopped on the bed, knowing she’d overslept her limit and was now going to drag through jet lag for days.

The crying in the next room had kept her from sleeping when she wanted to, until she simply crashed. Obviously the baby was up, since the whining was permeating the walls once again. You would think a hotel that cost as much as this one did would have soundproof walls.

She rolled out of bed and padded into the bathroom. One look in the mirror and she cringed. What she really wanted was a shower, but that would prepare her circadian clock to be up for a full day instead of a few hours and probably mess her up for a week. Trina settled on a washcloth to her face and a brush through her hair.

Once finished in the bathroom, she found the room service menu right as the baby let out the loudest scream to date. Instead of fighting the inevitable, Trina threw on a pair of jeans and a tank top, grabbed her purse, and headed down to the hotel bar.

The dim lighting of the glass-and-mirror decor made it easy for her eyes to adjust as she slid behind a stool and picked up the bar menu.

The bartender, a man somewhere in his midforties, slid a cocktail napkin in front of her and smiled. “Good evening.”

“Hello,” she greeted him.

“What can I get you?”

“Cabernet.”

He nodded. “The kitchen closes in ten minutes.”

Her stomach growled. When was the last time she’d eaten?

“I’ll take the sliders.”

He started to turn away.

“And fries.”

He took a step.

“And wings.”

He looked her up and down. “Hollow leg?”

She dropped the menu. “Jet lag.”

He hesitated. “Anything else?”

“I should probably have a vegetable.”

“Side salad it is.”

That sounded perfect. “With ranch.”

He waved and walked away.

While she waited for dinner, Trina sipped her wine and thumbed through the many messages left on her phone from Avery.

Not that she could read them very clearly, since her screen was cracked all to hell. It was surprising the thing still worked.

Her salad arrived at the same time a tall man slid into a seat two bar stools away. She vaguely heard him order a beer before she dug into her first course.

Her stomach happily accepted the food and she hummed with approval.

“Well, hello,” the man to her left said in her direction.

With a full mouth, Trina glanced up, fork in hand, and met his blue eyes. He had sandy blond hair, a face meant to make women melt, and a sly, mischievous smile.

Trina slowly started to chew.

She’d seen that grin before.

From a certain married Italian.

Another forkful of lettuce and dressing made it to her mouth. “Not interested,” she said around her fork. Maybe if she floored the man with bad manners, he’d look the other way.

His laugh sat low in his chest.

When she looked again, he smiled with dimples that reached the corners of his eyes.

“That’s a first.” There was a southern drawl to his words.

She kept chewing as the bartender handed him his beer. Trina took note of his clothing. A T-shirt was hidden beneath a light jacket, blue jeans . . . and boots. If she had to guess, she’d say he left his hat in his room.

“He’s a fool,” the stranger said without a prompt.

Trina wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Excuse me?”

“The man who put the chill in your tone. He’s a fool.”

His observation collided with a compliment. “Most men are,” she decided to say.

He winced. “Ouch.”

She’d been raised better than that. “Sorry,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t continue his path. “Bad timing.”

He seemed satisfied with her apology. “I understand.” He turned in his seat, leaned against the bar.

Before he could say anything more, the bartender brought her a parade of food. Once it was all sitting in front of her, it filled the empty space between her and her unwanted admirer.

“Now this I have to see,” he said.

“Me too,” the bartender added.

She popped a fry into her mouth and looked to find both men staring.

“Enjoy.” The barkeep walked away.

“I’ll take an order of those burgers our friend here is eating,” the stranger announced.

“Sorry, the kitchen just closed.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Midnight.”

Mr. Country, minus the pearl-snapped shirt, groaned.