Read Twisted Affair Vol. 2 for Free Online Page B

but he wasn't in the living room or kitchen when I walked by. I hurried out and, a few minutes later, was in front of the building, looking for a cab. While I had never minded taking the bus to and from work before, I had to admit that I enjoyed the luxury of taking a cab, especially on a cold February evening.
    I hadn't been sure where I was going until I got into the cab and gave the address. Unlike my sister, I did not spend time involved in Philadelphia's club scene. I knew some of the names, of course, from having referred customers to one place or another, depending on where I had worked, but my personal experiences had been limited to bars and restaurants. I think I'd been to one or two in the past three years, but only with Katka at my side. I was a confident person in most areas of my life, but in a situation like this, I was going to err on the side of being comfortable. Or, at least as comfortable as possible. That meant heading toward familiar ground.
    I hadn't been back to Frankie's since the night I'd quit. Now, I was walking in as a patron, not an employee and I had to admit it felt good. Aside from knowing that I could afford to get a drink and not have to worry about how much it cost, I also knew that I wouldn't have to put up with the wandering hands and leering looks from men. Oh, I was sure there would be men like that, but my job would not be in jeopardy if I slapped someone for being overly friendly.
    It was odd, I thought how people looked at me differently when I wasn't behind the bar. It might also have been that I was dressed much fancier than when I'd worked there or that the woman I assumed was my replacement was a busty brunette wearing a tight and low-cut shirt that was garnering a lot of attention.
    There was another funny thing. I recognized the man who was also behind the bar but when I approached him, his expression showed no recognition. I wasn't surprised though, because I wasn't entirely sure what his name was either. Brent or Brett. We hadn't worked together that often, and we'd barely spoken when we had. It wasn't like we'd been rude to each other, but I'd always kept to myself while he enjoyed interacting with the customers.
    I ordered beer and took a seat at the bar. I scanned the crowd, wondering how long it would be until someone approached or if I would have to initiate things. I didn't like doing that, but that was mostly because I didn't like the impression it gave about me, and since I wasn't looking for a relationship, it didn't really matter. Time was more important at the moment. I didn't want to be up too late.
    I didn't have to wait long. A stocky man with a full beard sauntered over to me, beer sloshing in his glass. I smelled the man before he was close enough for me to hear him and knew there was no way I was going home with him.
    “Hey, there, pretty lady,” he slurred.
    I gave him a polite but cold smile. “I am not interested.”
    “Come on,” he wheedled. “I got money.”
    I rolled my eyes. I couldn't even count the number of times I had men thinking I was a prostitute simply because of my accent. They were a whole different kind of bigot.
    “Move along,” I said.
    “Bitch,” he muttered. But, he went on, looking for another woman he could harass.
    “Some people just don't know when someone's out of their league.”
    I turned to see a new man sitting on the bar stool next to me. He was attractive, though not as much as Blayne. I mentally shook myself and pushed thoughts of Blayne out of my head. I didn't want to think about how his sandy brown hair and dark gray eyes were different from the golden blond hair and chocolate brown eyes of the man smiling at me.
    “Hi.” He gave me a dazzling smile. “I'm Paul.”
    “Elizabeth.” I surprised myself by giving an Americanized version of my name. It wasn't an exact translation, but it was close enough. I had used the name before when someone would ask for a name and I didn't feel comfortable giving it. I