Because his shoulder had betrayed him. “It’s harder than it looks,” Luke said. He resettled his shoulder against the cushioning of the chair.

“Exactly,” Miller said with a short laugh. “You must have some major endorsement contracts to be a member of this club.”

Luke couldn’t fault him for the thought, since he’d had a similar one about the novelist. “I’ve had some luck in the stock market. It’s a hobby of mine.” And he’d had a friend who needed funding for his electronic payment company, which had gone stratospheric in its success.

“Luck, eh?” Miller said. “Maybe I’ll buy some Trainor Electronics stock, too.” The writer turned his attention back to the CEO. “So, a woman?”

Why the hell was Miller so determined to ferret out Trainor’s reason for being here? He must be some sort of obsessive drunk.

Trainor seemed unbothered by the writer’s persistence. “Maybe I just learned that my competitors invented a better battery.” He slanted a sardonic smile at them. “Which means you might want to rethink that investment.”

Luke wasn’t fooled. The man was reputed to be a genius at electronics development.

“It’s after midnight and you’re wearing a tux.” Miller’s eyes were half-closed as he tilted his head back against the chair. “You weren’t jilted at the altar, because it’s a weekday. Maybe you caught your wife in bed with another man.”

Miller really was an asshole.

“Is this a way of trying to break your writer’s block?” Trainor asked.

“Are you married?”

“No.” The tinge of amusement on Trainor’s face vanished. Maybe Miller was right about the woman thing.

“You wear an expression of cynical disgust, so her motives were less than pure,” Miller said.

Luke thought of all the football groupies he’d encountered from high school on. He’d been flattered until he realized they just wanted to be seen with “the quarterback.” Or sleep with him. It had only gotten worse when he started making big money in the NFL. He tilted the last of his water down his throat. “Good luck finding a woman without ulterior motives when you qualify as a member of this club.”

Trainor flagged down the waiter and turned to Luke. “What are you drinking?”

“Water.” He’d given up alcohol during the football season a few years ago. It took too much work to overcome the effects of liquor on his body now that he was over thirty.

Miller snagged Trainor’s bottle of scotch. He splashed a generous serving of liquor into his own and Luke’s glasses. “If we’re going to discuss women, you need something stronger than water.” The writer slapped the empty bottle into the waiter’s hand. “Bring us one of bourbon and another one of scotch. And some nuts.”

Luke picked up the glass of single malt, inhaling the smooth, smoky aroma. He stared at the clear, golden liquid and decided, What the hell. The first sip was pure heaven.

“Attaboy,” the writer approved before he went back to poking at Trainor. “Did she break your heart or just injure your pride?”

Trainor thought for a moment. “How can you tell the difference?”

The writer gave a snort of laughter. “Now that is an excellent question. When my fiancée dumped me, I believe she broke my heart. But I was new to Hollywood back then and quite naive.”

“Hollywood?” Trainor asked.

“She’s one of the actresses in the Julian Best movies,” Miller said. “I met her on the set.”

Luke enjoyed the movies, too, so he mentally scanned the cast. “Irene Bartram,” he decided. “She plays Samantha Dubois, the double agent.” Irene seemed like Miller’s type. She was hot and hungry.

Miller inclined his head in acknowledgment. “A true fan. My thanks.”

“You don’t have a lot of women in your books,” Luke said. That was partly why he found them relaxing.

“There’s a reason for that,” the writer said.

Trainor grunted in agreement before looking at Luke. “So, Archer, how do you handle women?”

During the football season, Luke focused on the game. On the occasions he sought out female companionship, he prided himself on keeping expectations realistic. “Full disclosure and keep it short. I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“None of us do,” Trainor pointed out.

Miller was intrigued by a different point. “Full disclosure?”

“No strings, no rings,” Luke said with a shrug. He never raised false hopes, and he always carried condoms.

“No gifts?” The writer raised his eyebrows. “I hear Derek Jeter gave them signed baseballs.”

The women Luke knew generally weren’t interested in sports souvenirs, but occasionally one would request something for a father or brother. “If they ask for a football, I’m happy to oblige. Seems kind of arrogant to assume they want my signature, though.” Except maybe on a check.

Miller gave him one of his provocative stares. “I would think arrogance went with the territory. You’re a quarterback.”

Luke met Miller’s look with one of those smiles that made defensive linemen take a half step backward. “I’ve got plenty of arrogance on the field.”

That stopped Miller’s jabs. He returned to Trainor. “So have you figured it out yet?”

“You’re damned annoying,” Trainor said, but there was no heat in his voice. “All right, pride. She played me and I’m pissed about it.”