If Luca ever screwed around on Tilly, he would have one fewer brother after Rafe finished with him. And the repulsive knowledge that he allowed himself to turn into that man, the type of man he despised, made him repentant.
He felt Marco watching him from the doorway. “What do ya need?” Rafe stammered, tossing his duffel onto his small twin-sized bed. Flinging the clothes Tilly had unnecessarily washed and folded for him back into his bag, he faced Marco.
Clearing his throat, Marco asked, “You all right?”
“I had an affair with a married woman who managed to break my fucking heart, so no, I’m not all right. And, yes, I realize I fucking deserve it.”
Marco exhaled a weighted breath. “Damn. If you were a chick I’d bake your ass a cassata rum cake.”
Rafe laughed, surprised he wasn’t dodging well-justified blows to the jaw. “How about just the rum?”
Marco nodded. “Follow me.”
CHAPTER TEN
To say that Rafe felt like shit was an understatement. Staying up and polishing off a fifth of Captain Morgan with Marco the night before his flight wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had.
Setting his duffel down next to the couch, Rafe staggered into his kitchen, rummaged through his almost empty fridge, and took a bottle of Gatorade from the bottom shelf.
Yanking his T-shirt over his head, he deposited it in the laundry room as he shuffled down the hall to his bedroom. Sleep was going to be the only thing to cure the dull throb that still lingered in his head—an annoying reminder of the voice he’d heard on the other end of the phone. After not speaking to Bridgette for more than a year, the simple innocent sound of his name spoken from her lips found a way to submerge that tiny little yearning into the alcove of his memory.
Then, plunging back to the forefront of his mind, was anger. Thrusting open the door with his shoulder, Rafe stepped into his bedroom. The bed still remained unkempt from the night of entertainment those two blondes had provided between the sheets the previous weekend. He stared mindlessly at the disheveled comforter at the foot of the bed and the empty beer bottles that still littered the nightstand. He’d found a way to dissipate the raw, merciless anger that flushed a constant heat through his body. He’d found a way to numb the maddening agony that burned in his chest. And he planned to do it again.
Turning on his sock-clad feet, Rafe traipsed into the bathroom and started the shower. Downing a couple of aspirin, he yanked his closet door open, fingering through the uniforms and jeans until he found the only other dress shirt and tie he owned.
He needed a distraction.
And he knew exactly where to get it.
• • •
Small beads of sweat formed along her hairline as Fallon stared into the mirror and counted out her movements in her head. She’d been wanting to choreograph a provocative burlesque number to this sexy jazz song when she’d heard it a few weeks ago and she was finally getting around to it. She’d originally thought she would choreograph it for the new solo Naomi had been asking for, but now that she was watching her body move to the unsteady beat of the drum and the fast exuberant tempo of the saxophone, she knew it had to be a group number. All her girls needed to perform it together. It conjured sex and carefree fun that her clientele would fully appreciate with more than one body onstage.
Chairs. It needed chairs.
Turning around to pull one of the folding chairs from the prop closet, Fallon damn near ran straight into a panicked Naomi. Throwing her hand over her heart, she shut her eyes and huffed a relieved breath. “Holy shit, Na. You scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” Her words were rushed, breathless. She was wearing only a beaded bra and panties, so Fallon could see her chest rise and fall quickly as she sucked air into her lungs. Obvious signs that she’d just come from the stage. “Have you seen Jade anywhere?” Naomi asked.
Confused, Fallon frowned, the skin around her eyes wrinkling. “No. Wasn’t she supposed to be at the beginning of the lineup tonight?”
“Yes, but she missed the opening group number and she just missed her solo. It’s fine—I went on instead—but we need to find her. My solo was supposed to be next and I know I’m good, but I think our fellas might get a little annoyed seeing the same thing twice in a row. I’m not that damn good.”
Fallon reached down, picking up her thin cashmere sweater from the floor and pulling it over her sports bra and down over her butt. “Okay,” she said, slipping her flats onto her bare feet. “Go call her. If she doesn’t answer, check the loft apartment. I’m gonna go change real quick.”