88. Not My Wife

Damon

My anger boiled over as I stormed to my car, I was fuming and I had no idea why.

Maybe it was the woman in the hotel room or the fact that she apologized when she doesn't know what her sins were.

Her apologies did nothing to pacify my anger, I hated her even more, but I couldn't tell her that. I had no idea what I was doing and I hoped someone could tell me.

I needed to cool off and I know just where to do it. I turned my Gps to the new club and headed there.

I sat at the bar, a glass of scotch in my hands. I had the bartender add ice, I needed a clear head to think.

A hand clasped my shoulder startling me, I swiveled in the bar stool and came face to face with Warren. His stoic face stared back at me with that knowing look of his.

"What?" I snapped.

He just shrugged, helping himself to a seat. "Nothing."

He peered at me, "I am sorry, she insisted that she wanted to talk to you. I had no choice."

I shrugged, "that's okay." I said.

And it was, I was not angry with him.