The last time I cared enough to put effort into meeting a woman, I was eighteen.
The night I met my wife.
Now, at thirty-three, the game has changed, as have the stakes. I’ve already met and lost the love of my life. No other woman will ever compare to her. This, I already know. It’s why I’ve never cared to look beyond her. Why when she died, sex became a matter of need rather than desire. A sick pleasure I hate indulging in.
Even all these years later.
“Good evening, Dr. Fritz,” the valet greets as he opens the car door for me, the cool autumn air biting at my face as I step out. “Will you be needing your car again tonight, sir?”
I certainly hope not. “I’m not sure.”
“No problem. I’ll park it in the residence lot in one of Dr. Fritz’s spots for you.”
I grin at that. He’s referring to my brother Carter, who lives in the residence here at The Ritz. But considering every single one of my four brothers and our father is a doctor, we all fall into the Dr. Fritz title.
“Thank you, Gerald. I appreciate that.” I shake his hand, tipping him a large bill as I do. “Have a good night.”
“Thank you. You too, sir.”
Grudgingly, I enter the opulent lobby, but instead of going up to the counter, I trudge into the bar. The bar. The one I just so happen to always frequent out of convenience and habit when I reach the point of no return. Carter living next door is a bonus, and on a typical night, I’d likely meet up with him or one of my other siblings.
But not tonight.
“Are you waiting on someone to meet you, Dr. Fritz? Dining with us perhaps?” the hostess with the pushed-up nose and heavily made-up eyes asks me, her fake but nice-looking tits thrust in my direction.
I shake my head. “I’m just heading to the bar.”
She eyes me up and down. “I didn’t think you’d be back this soon,” she says, and my eyebrows crease. So soon? It’s been… five months since I’ve made the solo trip here. “I’m off at midnight. If you’re interested in some fun.”
Every time I come in here, I consider taking her up on what her eyes—and tonight her mouth—have been offering me all along.
But then I couldn’t return to this bar.
“Not tonight.”
She frowns but doesn’t hover on it, turning her focus to the people standing behind me, anxious for a table at a restaurant that’s typically reserved weeks in advance.
I stroll through the crowded restaurant, averting my gaze from the curious patrons who spot me, staring, murmuring, likely speculating. I call it the casualty of being an Abbot-Fritz in Boston. Our city. If my entire family wasn’t located here, I’d heavily contemplate moving elsewhere to escape it. Unfortunately, as it is, I can’t go anywhere without being recognized.
Only when I reach the bar do I suddenly understand the hostess’s comment when the bartender, Gabe, greets me with a surprised and amused grin. “Luca!” He gives me the bro shake. “I didn’t expect to see you back here tonight. Hell, I thought you’d still be in bed with the woman you left with last night. She was the hottest thing I’ve seen in a while.”
Luca. Gabe thinks I’m Luca. My twin, who obviously came here looking—and finding, even though that surprises me—a hookup last night. You’d think in all the years both Luca and I have known Gabe, he’d be able to tell us apart. Clearly not.
Only Luca is no longer with whatever woman he found last night.
He’s with Stella tonight, taking my daughter to Dave & Buster’s for games and dinner and then back to his place for a sleepover. Because my brother gets it. All of my siblings and even my parents do. I’m human, and therefore, unfortunately, have needs. Needs that eventually supersede what my hand can provide me.
Instead of correcting the bartender, I just shrug up a shoulder.
It’s not the first time I’ve been mistaken for my identical twin. Likely not the last and on nights like these, it’s easier to put on an act and pretend I’m him. The flirt. The playboy. The easy-going guy everyone adores.
Instead of me.
The quiet one. The grump. The heartsick man who never found his way back after losing his wife.
It also means if I’m photographed, I’m photographed as him. Not me. Luca doesn’t care, but I do. Because the last thing I want is for my teenage daughter to see me in tabloids with a strange woman she’ll never meet.
“The hottest thing you’ve seen in a while, huh?” slips out, if for no other reason than my inwardly teasing my brother. I doubt he looked all that closely. Women come on to him, and he responds because he too has needs, but he never sees them. They’re not the one he wants.
“Well, she was,” he replies with a sly grin, his eyes now tracking beyond my shoulder, following whoever is heading this way. “Damn. I might need to amend that.” He bites his knuckles as if he’s in pain, then goes about pouring me a drink I didn’t order. Top shelf. Expensive as fuck. Bourbon, when I’m more of a vodka man. “Shit, now that you’re here, I won’t stand a chance.”
“I’m sorry?” I question.
He bounces his head to my left as he sets my drink down in front of me, then walks in that direction with a wink. “I get first shot.”
Before I can stop it, natural curiosity takes over, and I glance to my left. And sure enough, a woman slides onto a stool three seats over, her face cast toward the wood bar, her dark blond hair, the color rich and golden, covering the majority of her face. All I can catch is her slim nose and the delicate hint of a profile. And her body. There is that, encased in a form-fitting yet modest black dress. Petite. Firm. Subtle curves.
Just how I like them.
But her most prominent feature—the one I can’t turn away from—her full, pouty lips are tipped down in the most melancholy of frowns. Her heart visibly aching, outwardly bleeding across the bar she sits in front of.
I focus back on my drink, hating the emotions her sadness stirs in me.
I miss my wife. I still haven’t learned how to live without her.
Gabe engages the woman, talking and making her laugh, though I can’t hear much of what he’s saying. Just bits here and there, but before I can stop myself, I slip my phone out of my pocket and dial up my brother.
He picks up quickly, the eardrum rupturing noise on the other end only made worse as he shouts, “Why the fuck are you calling me?” into the phone.
“Just checking on things,” I tell him in a low tone when he and I both know that’s not true. “How’s Stella?”
A point he proves as he growls, “Stella is great. We’re having an awesome time.” Another growl, then I hear him tell Stella to stay wherever she is, and he’ll be right back. Suddenly, it’s quieter. “You’re not doing anything wrong, Landon. You’re allowed to go out. Meet women. Enjoy yourself. Have fun even.”
I drag my glass up to my lips and take a sip, hating how it slides so smoothly down my throat when I’d rather feel the bite of something harsher. “I know,” I lie.
He puffs. “You don’t know because if you did, you wouldn’t be calling me on your night out to check on Stella.”
“They think I’m you.”