Control Freak (Second Shots Book 1) Read online

  Control Freak

  by

  Ana Novak

  Copyright © 2018

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Beetiful Book Covers

  Editing: Wendy Tacey, Claire McKee, Amanda Vetta

  Chapter 1

  A long, long time ago, I mused silently, staring into the handsome face of my husband of the past six years, I truly loved this man. I cared about him more than anything in the world. I would have jumped in front of a train for him.

  “You’re overreacting,” Dave said. “There’s no way I could have known you’d be here, Taylor.”

  Now I’m pretty sure I’d let that train mow him down, and maybe cheer it on for good measure, I thought, and turned back to the bar. “Long Island Iced Tea,” I told the bartender. “Two of them.”

  “You got it.” She grabbed the bills from my outstretched fingers, scooping up my empty glass with her opposite hand.

  “I’m trying to communicate with you,” Dave continued, and his tone was calm, controlled, and completely, utterly condescending. “You could at least talk to me.”

  I watched as the bartender mixed my drinks. Dave probably didn’t even realize he was being an asshole. He probably thought he was being the reasonable one, and I was being irrational for telling him I wanted a divorce.

  “I have nothing to say to you, David,” I said, and smiled at the bartender when she set my drinks on the counter in front of me. I turned to face my husband. “We had a good run, but it’s over now. That’s it.”

  “You can’t mean that. After all this time, you’re giving up on us?” He was trying to look wounded, but wasn’t quite pulling it off. The thing about being tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome was that even when he was trying his damnedest to emote, he mostly just looked tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome. Nonetheless, he soldiered on. “Come on, Taylor. You’re not thinking straight.”

  Actually, my head was clearer than it had ever been. Whatever feelings of guilt had prompted me to pack a bag and attempt to crash Dave’s company party had been immediately quashed when I’d spotted him sucking face with his boss.

  I looked down at the diamond engagement ring Dave had picked for me seven years ago, the marquise cut that he had always favored. I had half a dozen similar rings, different stones with the same cut, in my jewelry box at home. One for every year we’d been married. It was his go-to anniversary gift.

  I’d like to shove this diamond down his throat, I realized suddenly, and the unadulterated anger in the thought made me feel a little better. I worked the rings off my finger, wincing a bit when the wedding band stuck over my knuckle, before unsnapping my clutch and dropping the offending pieces of jewelry inside.

  “Oh, now that’s mature,” he said, exasperated.

  “Would you rather I gave it back to you?” I retorted, and took another drink. “You’re free, David. Go back to your girlfriend- oh, I’m sorry, your boss. I’m sure she’s waiting for you.”

  “She’s drunk. I’ve been drinking, too,” he added, as though blaming alcohol for his poor judgment would make everything all right. “I didn’t think you were coming. You said you had a deadline.”

  “Yep.” That was the excuse I’d given, but after two hours of trying to fight through writer’s block, I’d impulsively decided that pulling a George R.R. Martin and totally blowing off my deadline would be some kind of grand romantic gesture. “Guess I should have texted first.”

  For once, Dave didn’t have a snappy comeback, so I gulped my drink again, squeezing my eyes shut at the familiar, strong taste of alcohol. I’d tried other cocktails, but everyone knew that Long Islands were my drink of choice.

  Were they, though? I finished my first drink and moved onto the second, trying to remember the details of my twenty-first birthday. I’d been out with Van, Mel, and Dave, and we’d gone to Mel’s favorite bar in Williamsburg. Van was still a struggling musician at that point, performing on street corners for spare change, I had yet to sign my first publishing deal, and Mel was still trying to pick up bit parts on sitcoms. There’d been no paparazzi, no starstruck fans. We’d walked right up to the bartender, and…

  …And Dave had ordered me a Long Island Iced Tea, I remembered. He hadn’t even asked what I’d wanted. He’d just ordered for me.

  “West coast girl, meet east coast drink,” he’d said smugly.

  I yanked the straw out of my drink now and guzzled the rest of it, spilling some down the front of my cocktail dress. The cocktail dress that Dave had picked out for me last year. Grudgingly, I grabbed a napkin and wiped my chin. How pathetic. My wedding ring, my dress, my signature drink- all things that Dave had chosen for me. I’d had no say in my life over the past eight years of our relationship, but that was all about to change.

  “Please,” Dave said, and he sounded tired. “Let’s just go home.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again. I felt tired, too. Tired of going through the motions when we were both clearly unhappy in our marriage. He shouldn’t have been on Tinder to begin with. I should have gone to the office party with him instead of making up an excuse about my deadline for Pack of Lies. He shouldn’t have kissed his boss. We should never have gotten to this point. It wasn’t all Dave’s fault, but if he wasn’t willing to throw in the towel, then I would have to be.

  “You go home,” I said. “I’m not kidding. We’re done. Now you can either leave me the hell alone or this is going to get very loud and very ugly. I know how much you hate making a scene.”

  “Is that really how you want to handle this?” His voice went up half an octave. “With petty insults and threats?”

  “No, I want you to leave me alone,” I grumbled, thumping the glass down on the counter and standing up. My four-inch heels brought me almost up to eye level with him, and I met his gaze squarely. “You can go home or you can go back to your party, David, but we’re not going anywhere together.”

  He didn’t like public confrontation, and I could tell by the way that he looked around the bar that I’d struck a nerve. “Fine,” he said. “I will see you at home and we can discuss how to resolve this.”

  His stubbornness was infuriating. “I won’t be sleeping at home tonight,” I replied. I grabbed my clutch off the counter with one hand and snatched the handle of my suitcase with the other.

  He called after me as I stomped toward the door. “Oh, really? Are you going to sleep on Mistral’s couch again?”

  “You should be more concerned about who I’m sleeping with,” I snapped, and pushed my way out through the revolving doors, my suitcase bouncing along awkwardly behind me.

  For a few moments, there were only traffic sounds and the click of my heels against the sidewalk. If I’d expected him to chase after me, I would have been sorely disappointed, but I only felt relief that he seemed to be willing to let me make my dramatic exit without argument.

  There had been no real venom behind my words. I didn’t hate Dave, even if I was angry at him. I felt…nothing. Inside me was the same empty resignation that I’d endured for the last year of my marriage, the familiar numbness I’d felt when Dave had first told me about his Tinder affair four months ago.

  I pulled out my phone and called Mistral. She answered almost immediately. “What’s up, girlie?”

  “I caught Dave kissing his boss,” I said.

  “Wait, what?” There was a shuffling noise. “Dave is gay? I knew it!”

  I rolled my ey
es, still walking. “That would make things so much easier, but no, his boss is a woman.”

  “Oh. That bitch! Where did you catch them?”

  “Outside the ballroom at the label party.” I stumbled but caught myself easily, my coordination only slightly impaired by alcohol. My feet were already starting to hurt. I wasn’t used to wearing heels, typically resigning myself to sneakers or loafers. Tonight I’d stuffed myself into this ridiculous cocktail dress and a pair of stiletto sandals, and I felt like a total fool.

  Mistral’s voice was venomous. “Did you punch him?”

  “No.”

  “Did you punch her?”

  “Of course not!”

  Mistral clucked her tongue. “Come on, lady. You know revenge is everything.”

  “I have no right to be upset. We’re separated.” I stopped at the corner of the street, confused. I had no idea where I was going. “It all happened so fast. I couldn’t even think of how to respond. I just stood there like an idiot until he finally noticed me, and then I ran into the bar.”

  “When in doubt, head for alcohol,” Mistral agreed. “Did he follow you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you tell him to go to hell?”

  “Pretty much.” I turned around, realizing for the first time that I was all alone on a dark corner. “I also kind of implied that I was going to hook up with someone else.”

  “I’ll bet he was furious!”

  “He didn’t even follow me out of the bar,” I complained. “He said he would see me at home later. I don’t think he believed I’d actually go through with it.”

  “That snake!” Her voice was so loud that I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “You know what you have to do now. You’re going home with the first hot guy you see.”

  “Oh, please, Mistral. You know I’d never do that.” Sane, sensible Taylor. That was me.

  “Exactly! Dave has taken you for granted for years. He tells you to jump, and you ask how high. It’s time to turn the tables.”

  As much as I hated hearing her summarize my relationship in such negative terms, I knew she was right. It had always been easier just to agree with Dave than to assert myself.

  I reluctantly started walking back the way I’d come, mentally crossing my fingers that Dave would be nowhere in sight. If nothing else, I could take the subway to Mistral’s apartment, but I definitely didn’t want to stand on a street corner all night.

  “Taylor? Are you there?”

  “I’m here. Just plotting my revenge,” I muttered, remembering what Dave had said about me sleeping on Mistral’s couch. Maybe a one night stand wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “The best way to get over one man is to get under another,” Mistral said, the tone of her words sounding much more logical than the words themselves.

  “I’m not arguing, but I was thinking more along the lines of living well instead of potentially contracting an STD. I can be happy and successful after we divvy up our assets and fight over who gets the china.”

  “Are you actually telling me that you’re not going to take this perfect opportunity for a random hookup? Girlie, please.” Mistral sounded positively disgusted with me. I peeked around the corner of the hotel, relieved to see that Dave wasn’t waiting for me outside. My hair, which I’d spent over an hour straightening earlier, was already sticking to the back of my neck, and I shook my head, trying to catch a breeze as I moved to the curb by the crosswalk.

  “Hey, Mistral? Hang on a second. I’ve gotta pull my hair up.” I hit the speaker button, set the phone on my suitcase, and dug in my clutch for an elastic.

  Someone walked up beside me, and I bit my lip, hoping against hope that it wasn’t Dave. I slowly straightened up, trying to appear nonchalant as I glanced over.

  Damn.

  It took me longer than it should have to avert my eyes, but my fuzzy mind decided to blame that on all the alcohol I’d consumed, and not the fact that the man standing next to me could have been on the cover of last month’s GQ.

  I stood there silently, trying to decide what to do. An idea was forming in my mind, and as much as I tried to ignore it, my thoughts could focus on nothing else.

  “Taylor? Hello?” Mistral’s tinny voice came from my phone, which was still on top of my suitcase. I saw him look over at me, and I immediately dropped my hair and grabbed for the phone, cheeks flaming.

  “Yeah, I’m here. I have to go.”

  “Oh, no. Is Dave there?”

  “Nope.” I wanted to tell her about the guy standing in front of me, but I couldn’t think of how. “Better,” I said finally.

  “Oh. Oh. Did you spot a potential one-nighter?”

  “Maybe.” I couldn’t believe I was considering this.

  “Tell me what he looks like! Tall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dark?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me more, girlie! Is he fit?”

  “Yes. I have to go.”

  “Fine. Call me after! Love you!”

  “Bye.” I hung up, and offered a hesitant smile to the man standing next to me on the corner. He nodded to me before directing his attention to the jacket in his hands.

  You’re nuts, the sensible part of my mind told me. An hour ago you were trying to save your marriage. Now you’re thinking about hooking up with a complete stranger?

  As crazy as it seemed, the minute I’d laid eyes on this guy, the idea of a one night stand had suddenly become a distinct and real possibility. Said complete stranger wore a plain button-down shirt and slacks, and his eyes were arresting, the chiseled line of his jaw rough with the shadow of a beard. His nose was crooked, likely the result of one or more breaks, and his ears were prominent, but somehow these flaws only served to make him even more attractive. Without those features, everything else- that gorgeous jawline, the slash of his high cheekbones, and his liquid dark eyes- might have been pretty.

  No, he’s definitely not pretty, my inner voice mused, still ogling him appreciatively. This was a man, strong and rugged, someone who could do damage with those rough hands. An unexpected rush of heat shot through my core at the thought. As I watched, he shrugged into a rumpled leather jacket, drawing an old newsboy cap from the pocket and pulling it low over his eyes.

  “How are you not melting in that jacket?” I asked, in what must have been the lamest pickup line in the history of mankind. “I could probably fry an egg on the sidewalk right now.”

  It took him a moment to realize that I was talking to him, and he glanced over at me. “It’s not bad,” he said. His voice was quiet, low and gravelly.

  “Not if you’re used to the humidity, I guess.” I gathered my hair up into a ponytail with one hand, using my other hand to smooth down fly-aways before securing it with the elastic. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it here, but for some reason I’m always surprised when the summers are sticky.” I shrugged, resolutely ignoring the little voice in my head that was screaming at me to stop babbling. “I think the awesome food and the night life here make up for it, though.”

  At first I thought he wasn’t going to respond, and then he shrugged. “Haven’t found the awesome food yet.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. You’re a block away from DiMaggio’s. They’ve got the best cheesesteak pizza you’ll ever eat. And they sell craft beer from a local brewery.” I shrugged out of my lace cardigan and tied it around my waist by the sleeves. It was a blatant attempt to put my cleavage on display, and from the way his gaze moved down my body, I guessed it was working. I spoke again, trying to keep his attention. “Are you new in town?”

  He nodded. “Just got here yesterday. I start my job on Monday, but for now I’m still living out of a suitcase in a hotel.” He looked down at my luggage and offered a crooked grin. “Looks like we’ve got something in common.”

  His smile sent a jolt of electricity straight to my belly. I bit my lip, desperately trying not to break down. I was on a half-assed quest for revenge, sure, but I’d never
actually seduced anyone before, much less tried to initiate a one night stand. All I could think of was that I’d brought a suitcase because I had thought I might end up getting a hotel room with my husband. My cheating husband.

  I’d been so weak and pathetic. Frustration flared up inside me. I can do this.

  The crosswalk light turned green, and we started across at the same time.

  “Where’s DiMaggio’s?” he asked.

  I pointed past him, to our right. “One block that way, on the corner. You can’t miss it. Oh! You should try the blueberry lager. Or the summer blonde. Or just get the sampler. It comes with twelve shot glasses so you can decide which one you like best.” My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out, checking it as we stepped up onto the sidewalk.

  GET SOME!!! ~~Mistral

  He noticed, stopping beside me. “Meeting someone?”

  “No.” I glanced up at him. “It’s just a text.”

  “From your boyfriend?”

  “Ha! No.”

  “Husband?” He said it casually, turning to look in the direction of DiMaggio’s as he spoke, almost as if he didn’t really care what my answer was.

  He was, perhaps unintentionally, giving me an easy out if I didn’t want to go through with this, but some of Mistral’s impulsiveness had rubbed off on me. I pressed and held the lock button, waiting until my phone powered off. “Definitely not,” I said, shoving the phone back into my clutch and then stuffing the clutch into the front pocket of my suitcase. “Just my friend Mistral.”

  I looked up to see him regarding me silently.

  “Good,” he said.

  I made a desperate mental plea for the alcohol to work faster so I wouldn’t be so nervous. My insides were churning so violently that I knew my responding smile must have been a disoriented balance between heartbreak and giddiness, but when I spoke, my voice sounded confident. “Do you want to grab some pizza? Or maybe…” I trailed off, losing my nerve to suggest we go back to his hotel. “If you’re in the mood for something lighter, there’s a pop-up called For the Cookie that sells desserts. They have karaoke and dancing, and they’re the only place for miles that sells Clearly Canadian sparkling water. It’s a fun scene.”