Jo&Isalovebooks Promotions is proud to present:
SILVER FOX
by Author Misha Elliott
CHAPTER REVEAL
Richard Sisk has never been much of a risk taker. At eighteen, he gave up his dreams for the future—to do the right thing—and marry his pregnant, high school love. Over the years things changed, and now he finds himself divorced. Jill Caldwell has spent the last eight years caring for her younger brother, Evan, being both sister and parent. Now that he is settled into college, she finally has the gift of freedom.
Years ago, their lives crossed paths and now, eight years later, will Richard be able to take a risk for a new love.
Jill knows that together she and Richard can build a life of everything they ever wanted; that is if he can get over being her silver fox.
AND NOW THE MOMENT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR
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The minute I walk into the bar, I realize I am probably the
oldest guy here.
Friday nights were always peak times for going out, if my
memory serves me correctly.
As I look around the packed space, I realize how much I did
not miss being single.
If this is all the world offers single people, they can keep it.
There is an open table off to side of the bar,
close enough to have an unobstructed view of the stage, so I
decide to take it. Reality slaps me hard in the face, erasing
any delusions I had about coming here.
I feel out of place, like a teenager huddled awkwardly in the
corner at a dance. Couples dance toward the
edges of the dance floor together as music plays from a
jukebox. This is the first step on my new path. I am not
here looking to fall in love again; I do plan to get my dick
wet on a regular basis though.
I am about to lose my mind, need some goddamned space
to clear my head. But tonight I would settle
for a distraction. A trio of giggling, youthful girls walk
inside with matching short dresses resembling
something my daughter used to dress her dolls in. It seems
clear to me they came in with fake IDs,
trying to act older than they are. No doubt planning to trap
some unsuspecting fool in their snare.
It’s fucked up. I got snared into being a sucker for far too
long. I spent the best years of my youth wanting to please
someone, trying to be the best husband, provider,
and father. Doing everything she ever asked—it still was
not enough for her. By the time I realized she mistook my
kindness for weakness, it no longer mattered. It was all a
fucking waste of time. I glance at the clock on the wall; the
time reads 8:23 p.m. It has been so long since I have g
one out like this.
Even if the band is not any good, since most cover bands aren’t
great, as nothing can compare to the real thing.
This night symbolizes my newfound freedom. I finally got my
balls back. This is my gift to myself. One night of doing whatever
I want, with whomever I choose, damn the consequences,
but now it is time for my sex life to no longer be nonexistent.
I want to feel something again. Even if it is meaningless,
then this will not be so foreign. My cock is ready to make up for
lost time, so it appears I am here for the duration.
Knowing I need to coat my stomach with food since I haven’t
eaten much today, I study the white placard.
The picture of sliders immediately appeals to my eyes and
causes my stomach to rumble.
My eyes veer from the photos, and I watch through the
doors as an older woman makes her way through
the crowd. As she walks past the bar, she runs her palm
lightly across the back of one of the college guys,
giving him a come-hither stare.
Something tells me to put my head down and get back to
the task at hand, which is food. I do the opposite.
Instead, I keep watching as she tries to joke and fit in with
the younger men around the bar, none of them
offering to buy her a drink. Hell their focus doesn’t move
from the big screens on the wall.
That’s when it happens. She catches my eye. “Shit,” I mutter
under my breath and offer up a silent prayer
she is not heading this way. She winds her way around to
the side of the bar to my table, her very expensive,
heavy perfume wafting through the air. The familiar scent
of this perfume irritates me. I hate it.
Now a stranger wears it, but my body reacts the same way.
Repulsed. A young woman with blue hair and a nose ring
comes over to ask if I want any food,
and I place my order for sliders and fries, hoping the
woman will take the hint and be on her way. She doesn’t.
I notice when she adjusts her boobs, giving them a boost
and licks her lips. I have no interest in her,
but when a man sees a pair of tits he looks. She continues
to stand there at the table, staring at me as if we are
on the African plains and she is on the hunt.
Here we go.
With her short, curled hair, blonde with hints of silver, she
has privilege written all over her. Diamonds
flash from her ears, to the pendant on her neck, then down
to her wrists and fingers.
She presses two manicured palms flatly on the table and
leans down, well aware the shirt she wears is
showing off quite a bit of flesh. “God, you look good enough
to eat,” she murmurs, not bothering to keep
her voice low. “You make all my womanly parts tingle.”
When she smiles, some of the red gloss from her
lips has stained her front teeth.
“The name’s Veronica, but you can call me V. So, tell me
handsome, do you like older women?”
I am taken aback by her bold statement.
The years have not been especially kind to her. I see the
orange, leathered look of her skin, and the fact
she’s trying to act several decades younger than her age, I
conclude she was rode hard and put away wet.
Even though I haven’t touched a woman, let alone had sex,
for longer than I want to admit, I am not desperate
enough to be with her.
There is only one thing a person in my situation can do.
I need to lie through my teeth and politely tell her
I am meeting someone. Before I can open my mouth to
speak, the door opens. A faint blue light from the
neon sign spills inside.
Right away I can tell the woman who walks through it is
different. Something about her draws my eyes to her, I am
pulled back from my current situation and the rewind
review of my life. A warm, sweet charm about her pulls me
in. I cock my head slightly to the side, giving me a perfect
view of this woman. She carries herself with poise,
she has clearly invested time in putting herself together,
but it is not too much. I can see she has beautiful,
long brown hair currently held hostage in a ponytail.
The big sixty-two-inch screen above the bar shows a
football game. I watch as almost all the eyes on the bar
are no longer focused on the screen. Heads turn to stare at
the new sexy addition to their midst. She takes it
all in stride, raising up a hand, and catching the attention
of the bartender. They begin a reciprocal exchange
of jovial smiles as she places an order.
A moment later, a perfectly tapped mug of beer is placed in
front of her. She smiles her gratitude back.
Just as she lifts her beer to take a drink, she turns her head
to scan the room. I know I should avert my eyes
and not keep staring, but I am unable to help it. When her
eyes meet mine, she smiles.
To my surprise, she heads in my direction. A sweet smile
lingers on her lips, lips glossed in a pale shade of
pink. Her gaze stays fixed on me, like she is a woman on a
mission. She gets close enough for me to tell the
color of her eyes: honey-brown. What I see in them is
enough to knock me off my seat and onto the floor.
It is desire. It has been too long since someone has looked
at me with a hint of promise, rather than the usual
disapproving glare. Not knowing her story, or why she is
here, or if she is even available, I decide to enjoy
this moment.
It can't recall the last time an attractive woman, not
counting Veronica, tried to pick me up in a bar, so when
this young woman comes and stands beside me, giving me
a come-hither stare. She continues to watch me
with her soft eyes. “Hi,” she says. “Have you been waiting
very long?” Then she sets her beer down on the
table. My first instinct is to tell her she has me confused
with someone else or she is at the wrong table.
She leans over to give me half a hug, “Just go with it,” she
whispers into my ear, sending chills throughout my
entire body.
“Not too long, baby, I just ordered food.” Those words
feeling foreign as they leave my lips, and all I can do is
think about kissing hers.
I am taken away by the simplicity of her beauty.
Even though most women prefer heavy makeup, she is
perfect with just a natural look. It is obvious this woman is
pretty in a real way and doesn’t need a stitch of
makeup. On top of all that, she has voluptuous curves
wrapped in the perfect shade of blue. The dress
accentuates the swell of her breasts and hips.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but I think this is my seat.” As she
turns to face Veronica, I wonder what will happen,
but being the older lady, Veronica doesn’t flinch. She
merely smiles, eyeing me up one more time.
“Too bad,” she lays a hand on my shoulder, flipping her hair as
she as she turns her attention back to the sea of
potential options. “The night is young, after all. You could’ve
been husband number five.”
“Thanks for the assist, just now, I did not know how
I would have gotten Veronica to leave.”
I have no idea who my savior is, but I am willing to buy
her a beer, or anything else she wants, for getting me
out of an uncomfortable situation.
“Wow. If she’s already been married four times, she told
each of those men she loved them and committed to
them. Veronica must not understand what real
commitment and loyalty means,” declares this beautiful
stranger.
The impact of her words hit me like the proverbial ton of
bricks. I did not want that to be me. Promising love
and commitment without follow through.
After my failed marriage, I am determined not to settle for
anything less than true love. If that made me sound cheesy
, so be it.
I don’t know how, but I am sure I’ll know it when I find it.
This time, it will mean something. Over the years,
I tried to camouflage the fact there was no longer the deep
connection Sheila and I once shared as teenagers.
Made concessions for her easily annoyed, impatient tone
with me because she suffered from sleep deprivation.
Brushed off her disinterest in sex as par for the course after
motherhood. There was no longer any chemistry
or those little things we held in common. I still tried to ask
about her day, and she stopped pretending to care
about mine.
I close my eyes and pray for the band to start soon. I need
something to stop my mind from replaying bad
reruns from my past so I can put my full focus on her.
Her hand slides the chair around to sit next to me. Now we
are both able to have a clear view of the stage.
She takes another sip of beer, relaxes against the back of
the chair, and leisurely looks around at the crowd.
“I guess it is a good sign, if this many people are out, the
band must be pretty good.” For a moment I don’t
respond to her, my mind obviously still in shock that she is
here with me.
I promised myself I was going out to have many
well-deserved drinks and flirt with anyone and everyone
who interested me. Perhaps I wouldn’t be alone tonight. A
one-night stand may not be the new start I am looking
for, but it would be the perfect ending to this day. A chance
to let loose of all the built-up tension, and feel
something without the emotional baggage and stress.
“I hope you’re right.” I take a sip of my beer and let it run
down throat. What is happening to me? It is like
I turned back the clock to high school.
I speak without looking at her and turn with my drink in
hand to catch her eye. That is my first mistake.
Even in this dimly lit bar, being in this close proximity to
this woman is enough to give me a jolt. It shocks
my system, unfortunately causing my bottle to slip from
my hand, and the golden liquid to pour from the
table, all over the front of her dress. In a flash, I pick up
napkins to clean the mess up around the bottle,
while I turn it upright with my other hand.
When I am finished, I use the napkin to dab at some wet
spots on the top of her dress.
It takes a few moments before we both realize I am gently
dabbing at the spot above her cleavage. My hand
reacts as if it has touched fire.
“One beer and I’m already clumsy. Maybe I should switch
to water instead.” I have never been so
embarrassed in all my life. If it was not before, it should be
obvious to her now I am a little rusty at this.
I used to excel at talking to girls in my youth.
“No need to worry about it, actually it’s par for the course
with how my day has been going.” When she
looks at me, it is still with the same gleam in her eyes I saw
earlier, which helps me relax.
“I feel so bad, I have ruined your dress. Let me pay for it,”
“Don’t give it a thought, besides I may not be staying long
anyway.”
Her statement disappoints me; my body desperately wants
her to stay. To reach out and see if those brown
waves of hair are as soft as they look. I need physical
contact with her supple lips, to see how swollen they get
after being properly kissed.
“You may not remember me.” She stretches her hand out to shake mine. “I’m Jillian Caldwell, most people
call me Jill.”
“We’ve met?” I nearly choke on my drink. How could I have
forgotten someone like her?
“Yes, Mr. Sisk, we have.” She sounds cocky and confident.
I haven’t the slightest clue where we could’ve met.
“It is nice to meet you again, Jillian, and you can call me
Richard.” Bottle in hand, I bring it up to my now dry mouth for
one final pull. I scramble trying to figure out where
we could have met, hoping she will let something slip and
give me some clue.
“Well, Richard, are you cruising the bars for pickups on
Friday night?”
I almost spit out the last swallow of beer. Jillian sits leaned back
in the seat, taking a slow sip as her eyes boldly
admire me.
I signal to the bartender in need of a replacement drink.
“No, I was actually planning to come here to drink away my
sorrows, alone in the corner,” I say with a
self-deprecating shrug. “Then you came in and sat next to
me. Now it seems my mind is making other plans.
” The words slip out of my mouth before I have the chance
to think.
This is not information I want to share. Maybe if I tell her
she’ll want to console me. A pity fuck wouldn’t be
the worst thing in the world. No. Tonight there would be
no talk about divorce, ex-wives, custody. I am
merely a single man hanging out at a bar.
The bartender comes around and Jillian orders another beer
also.
“You look like a very smart man. Richard,”
I shrug. “Won’t argue with you there,” I say. “My eyes have been
staring at you since you came in, and my brain is
in agreement; you are beautiful.”
“Are your eyes the only thing that’s taking notice of me,
right now?” She leans in closer, our arms and legs
brush, her tone saying all the things missing from her
words. My gaze drops back to her cleavage, and then I look
up into those copper pools and know I am drowning.
“I don’t think there is a part of me doing anything but
taking notice of you, right now.” My frank tone is filled
with raw sexuality, and I hope my words do not throw
things off track. By the time our drinks come, I have
regained my composure. I don’t remember flirting being so
easy. Or maybe Jillian just brings it out in me. “So, Jillian,
you said we’ve met before. Would you like to fill me in?”
“No.” She lifts her glass and levels the drink to half its content, a
mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Why don’t you tell me about why you were going to throw a
pity party for one tonight?”
This is territory I don’t want to enter. If I overshare, the
next thing I know I’ll be giving too much information
and making this more personal than I want it to be. I need to
deflect.
“Museum or movie?” I take another pull and wait for her
response.
“That’s a tough one. I would have to say museum only if I
have time to spend the day. Movies, unless
they are too long. Sitting for a movie longer than two hours
feels like I’m being held prisoner."
“Rock or country?” she shoots back.
“Both. All kinds of popular music, actually.” I take another
sip of my beer, relaxing into the conversation.
“I’m not especially picky. But for favorites, I would say rock.”
Jillian nods with a smile on her face. “Cat or dog?”
“Dog, of course?” I balk at the question, as the answer should
be obvious. “I don't think guys can be cat people.”
“Of course they can be.”
Just then, the opening lines to “Let’s Go Crazy” blare out
through the speakers and Jillian lifts her mug to
her lips and finishes her beer. “This is my favorite song.”
In a flash, she jumps on her feet and is slowly shaking to
the music. She reaches out a hand and invites me to
come along. For a moment she stands inches away with her
hands stretched out toward me. I am not the
type of person who dances in public, not for years anyway. I
do not want to disappoint her and turn her down.
So I lift up my hand and take hers and I get up from my
seat. My legs feel uneasy as I stand.
I haven’t danced in over a decade. But something about Jillian
makes me want to give it a try. This is the beginning of
a different life, after all.
“Come on.” She giggles as she drags us both right to the middle
of the floor and we start to dance. Dancing in public is
not as bad as I thought, at least, not when I dance with her.
My hand goes around her hips and her back plasters to my
front as we shimmy to the beat of the music. Then I
have her spinning around and she curls her hand in my shirt
as her hips sway to the rhythm. I am taller than Jillian,
so tall she has to tilt her head to look at me.
We continue to dance as the band covers all the popular hits.
Something about her expression tells me her mind is
somewhere else. The band is singing as the bar patrons
start to move with synchronized hand movements to the
words, die for you.
“This is a good song,” I offer.
“It is not one of my favorites. Can we go back to the table?”
She seems dismissive, quiet, completely unlike
the confident young woman from before. There is a story in
her eyes, one she is not ready to tell.
I follow her back and as we settle into our seats, I duck my
head down to so she can hear me over the band.
I want to keep talking to her. I find myself drawn to her,
wanting to know more about her.
“You never told me,” I say, waving my hand to catch the
bartender’s eye. “What brings you out tonight, Jillian?”
“Well, I was supposed to be meeting my best friend tonight, but
something came up so she’s a no-show,” she says in a
nonchalant manner.
I hear a buzzing and realize it is coming from her bag.
She leans down to fumble for something, and with her cell
retrieved; she pauses for a moment to consider if
she should answer it. When she looks at the display, her
expression turns to slight irritation when she sees
who the call is from.
She holds up a finger. “Please excuse me, I need to take this, it’s Evan.” She answers the call and holds the phone up to
her ear.
“Yes, I’m okay,” she shouts over the music. “Just text me.”
She hangs up and stares at the screen for a moment. Then her
fingers glide across the glass, tapping out a message.
Her brows are furrowed and suddenly I feel jealous, wondering
who Evan is and why he’s ruining my moment.
“Is everything all right?” I ask her in concern.
“Yes, I am fine. My brother is on his way to pick me back up at
midnight.” Already? How can she leave, she just got
here?
“He says, he’ll text when he’s outside.” As she speaks she lets
out a deep sigh; her eyes still fixed on the screen. She
seems disappointed, and in fact, I am as well, our time together
is being cut short.
I am surprised by my reaction. My eyes look up to the clock, the
digital numbers mocking me. Less than an hour is
what we have left, so I opt to make the most of it.
“Do you want me to get you something to eat?” Trying to
think of anything I can to buy more time with her.
“No, I’m good.” She lifts my half empty bottle of beer up to her
lips and takes a long pull. “Aah, this is good stuff.”
She is on her way into the drunk stage now. Her eyes glass over
and in them I see a hint of mischief.
“I just feel bad you aren’t eating anything.”
“Don’t. I’m a meal skipper. This was perfect actually. Today
I came to grips with the fact I deserve a much-needed
break from my life. You know that feeling you get when you’ve
given everything to someone else and realize there’s
nothing left for you?”
The honesty in her words strikes a chord deep within me.
They sting. Something tells me both of us have been
molded by something hard in our lives, and we are on a journey
to find solace.
At a perfect moment, a familiar set of bars of music tickle
my ears. It seems appropriate. Yes, I am on a journey to
be a better man. There’s an earnestness and sincerity in the
lyrics. Without a word, the two of us smile at each other and
hold hands. Making our way back to the dance floor, I want the
pleasure of holding this beautiful woman in my arms as long as
possible. When she wraps her bare arms around my shoulders,
something stirs in me like we have a deep connection. One song
leads to several more. It is peculiar the way certain songs can
remind me of moments in the past.
Moments like this will always stay with me. From now on,
when I hear this music, it will remind me of Jillian.
Her head rests perfectly on my chest and I breathe in
deeply, taking in the apricot scent of her hair and skin.
We move in perfect harmony to the song, letting the music
guide our steps effortlessly. She feels so good and
light in my arms, I easily let my mind spin a fantasy of where
this night could lead.
My plans are interrupted as her wrist buzzes again. “Evan’s
here, I can dance one more song then I have to go.”
As if on cue, the band plays their final song and I thank her
for the dance. Jillian leans in, squeezing my
middle, and we share a hug goodbye.
“I’ll see you around, Richard.” As I watch her walk out of my
life from the same door she entered, I rack my
brain for any sign of her before now. It baffles me I come up
empty. I hope she is correct and we cross paths again. I
would need to up my game though, and work through my
issues so another opportunity wouldn’t pass me by.
There is something about being in Jillian’s presence that
seizes every ounce of oxygen from my lungs, and my
heart slides up in my throat. Tonight, all answers evade me
as to why, but know I have to see her again.
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