Chapter Thirteen
“So…that happened,” Nick said when they finally emerged into daylight.
It had taken another ten minutes—which felt like an hour—for Brandon and Lesa to finish printing out whatever it was they’d lost and then, after things were quiet in the outer room, for Eve to gather herself and wiggle her way back into her pants—a few minutes that nearly killed Nick.
When she’d stood and reached for the light switch, and he’d blinked up into the brightness and her naked bottom in his face—yeah. That almost happened again.
She shot him a smile, but said nothing, just got into the golf cart and waited for him to fold himself in next to her.
Oh hell. She was going to choose now to go all sphinx-like on him.
Fine. He was good at not overthinking things. It was his life’s work, after all, the philosophy he’d dedicated himself to since getting sober. “Just take it one moment at a time. Don’t dwell in the past or worry about the future.”
Except, damn.
Her silence ate at him. They’d made—well, they still hadn’t had full-on, completely naked sex, but it was still sex, even if the White House wouldn’t sign off on it as such, and Eve didn’t get down and dirty with every handyman she hired.
She didn’t. He knew this without asking her.
And knowing Eve, she was planning the engagement party and choosing whatever kind of fancy-ass paper the wedding invitations would be on. He should remind her that he wasn’t sticking around, that as soon as Raleigh was back on his feet, Nick was out of there.
So instead of letting her get too far ahead of herself, he decided to be a grown-up and talk to her about it. “What are you thinking?”
“Huh?” She shot him a surprised glance.
“You’re over there concentrating awful hard on remembering the way back to the tasting center, it seems. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m thinking your dad is going to be mad as hell about being left up there on the hill for so long.”
“Oh.” Well didn’t that just put the wilt in his celery stalk.
She was lying. She had to be. Was just playing it cool.
But as he looked at her, a soft smile on her rosy cheeks, contentment radiated from her like sunshine.
“Hey, where’s your planner?” He didn’t see it, nor that big bag of a purse she usually carried it around in. She’d had it on the way to the office, he remembered that much.
“Huh. I must have left it back there.” She shrugged. “Oh well. I’ll grab it later.”
Now he knew she was playing him. Okay, fine. He’d leave her alone about it for a while, let her build up a good head of steam, and then they could have it out, lay it all out on the table. He still wanted to fuck her brains out—there was no way around it—so if he reminded her of his no-strings intentions and she was still interested, great. If not, he could walk away and know he’d done the right thing.
“Oh, look.” Eve slowed the golf cart in front of the tasting center and pointed up the hill.
Raleigh slouched in his chair, head sideways and mouth open to the sky, snoring away. Franklin was draped across his lap and barely raised an ear at their arrival.
They went back into the center and Nick watched in amazement as Eve slid right back onto her stool and picked up her box of shot glasses, as though the past hour hadn’t happened. As though he hadn’t had his face between her thighs in a storage closet, and she hadn’t stroked him through the kinkiest hand job he’d ever had.
“You remembered the tape, didn’t you?” she asked when she looked up a second later and he was still standing there.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He pulled the roll from the side pocket of his cargo pants and held it up.
“You need a Sharpie or something?” She grabbed one from the neat little pile on her work table and handed it to him.
He took it and went to start labeling the trim boards Raleigh wanted him to re-cut to a different angle. It took him fifteen minutes and some major internal dialogue before he went back into the office.
He had to say something. She might seem okay right now, but it would be no time at all before she was a mess of girly hormones and anxiety, and he would feel bad if he left and they hadn’t clarified things.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning casually against the door frame.
She looked up, smiling, almost goofily. “You know what? Yeah. I am. I’m fine. How are you?” Her smile dimmed somewhat. “Oh, wow. I guess I wasn’t thinking—are you okay? With what happened back there?” She gestured toward the west. “It was a little weird, I guess, but—”
“Yep,” he said. “I’m fine. More than fine. I just—I dunno, things seem to be heating up between us every time we’re together, and—”
Her sigh was more “Ooh baby” than “Here we go again,” so he went on. “I just thought you’d want to make sure we’re on the same page, you know.”
At her expectant look, he started throwing out words that sounded like they might be right. “Because, stuff like expectations and intentions get messed up, and—”
“Nick, if you don’t want things to go any further between us, it’s okay.” She frowned. “I mean, I’ll be disappointed, sure, because I got the impression you’re into me a little, but if not…it’s okay.”
He straightened and came toward her. “Oh, I’m into you. Make no mistake about that. I want to be more into you. Definitely.”
She smiled. “Okay, then. Do you want to ask me on a date, or are you going to go back to work and just wait around until the next time one of us needs index cards?”
“Both.” That was doable. He could take her out. On a date. With dinner and candles and wine—okay, well, she could have wine, and he’d drink water as usual. That was fine.
“Good. Pick me up tomorrow at six?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, then.”
Nick was saved from any more awkward “okays” and “goods” and “fines” by the gravelly whine from outside.
“Where’s my God damned ice?”
Eve watched Nick stalk up the hill to wait on Raleigh. Normally—not that there was anything normal about what they’d been doing in the supply closet— she’d be jonesing to get back to counting glasses so she could order the extra stuff they needed, but today she felt like chucking the whole box in the trash and starting from scratch just so she wouldn’t be distracted from admiring the way he moved. She could spare a few minutes to admire the lines of the man. She could watch him all day. He wasn’t huge—not like a football player or anything, but he was tall enough that he towered over Eve—not that it would be hard to do that. His shoulders were just broad enough to fill the worn T-shirts that he favored, and his arms—now his arms were something to write home about—if she weren’t already home.
Long and strong, that’s how she’d describe his arms. No tattoos, which was sort of surprising. But he wasn’t someone who would be too bothered with spending the time and money to make that kind of a statement. Hard hands. Big, with long fingers, each one scarred and calloused from the work he did, but sensitive and gentle, too. Wow, what those hands—and that mouth—could do to her. Had done to her.
And based on his endearingly awkward invitation, would be doing to her again tomorrow night, probably.
She shivered. She had a date with a hot guy. One her mother hadn’t fixed her up with, too, which just added icing on the cake. The really cool thing here was that she had no idea where this relationship was going and she was okay with that. She was having fun. There was enough in her life to worry about—getting this tasting center done on time, making sure everything was ready for Lorena’s charity shindig, and what color to paint her bedroom. Nick Baker was easy and fun and not a stressor. She realized that she looked forward to his laid-back attitude. She almost wanted it for herself. The fact that she’d dragged him into a closet to make out was proof that he was rubbing off on her.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she maneuvered it out.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Eve. I’m calling to remind you about the Blanchard Foundation fundraiser tomorrow evening.”
“Oh no.” She was supposed to go out with Nick tomorrow night. She was going to get naked with Nick tomorrow night. It was a sign of her obsession with him that she’d totally forgotten something that she had in red—and blue—in her planner. Further surprising herself, she blurted, “Do I have to go? I kind of wanted to do something else.”
There was silence on the other end. Never a good sign.
Screw it. She could do this. She was always a reliable employee, loyal daughter, committed to doing everything she had to, but she felt like stretching her wings. Even if it made her mother mad. “Mom?”
A slight tsk, then, “Mimi Blanchard is considering upgrading her sponsorship for the Open Barrel from silver to platinum. It would be helpful if I had the board of directors there to present a united front.”
The Blanchard Foundation was started by one of the oldest and richest families in Kentucky. They’d made millions in tobacco years ago but had sold out when the patriarch had developed lung cancer. They kept the money, invested it in everything besides tobacco, and made more. The foundation supported cancer research at UK, a community health system in Eastern Kentucky, and ran a thoroughbred horse rescue group. And on and on. The Blanchards also knew other big donors from out of state. Celebrities who liked to come and play with the ponies. If they joined with Lorena, her fundraiser—which had the potential to be a major source of good works—would definitely grow some new life.
Well, crap. Eve should be there. The words Allie had said the other day, “I know you hate this job,” floated through her mind, and she ignored them until they misted away. “Remind me again what the event is?”
“It’s a cornhole tournament.”
Eve eyed Nick, who was bending over, getting something from the cooler at Raleigh’s feet and handing it to his dad. He might be estranged from the man, but he was taking good care of him. Nick Baker was a good man. “Can I bring a date?”
“Oh. Of course!” The delight in Lorena’s voice was unmistakable. “Is it Caine Whitman, by any chance?”
“No, sorry, Mom. That one…that didn’t work out.” Caine was the son of one of Lorena’s friends, and he was a complete and utter asshole. He’d spent dinner on their one date telling Eve about all the things he was going to buy and ordering over-the-top-shelf liquor, then conveniently forgot his wallet when it was time to pay the bill and didn’t understand why she didn’t want to give him a blow job in the parking lot afterward. “No, I think I’d like to bring someone else, but I’m not sure yet.”
“Fine. Make it a surprise.”
That wasn’t exactly her intention, but it seemed preferable to let her think so than to open up the can of Oh-You-Wouldn’t’s that announcing she was dating the carpenter would do. Also, she wasn’t sure Nick would want to go. Maybe his plans for their date were nothing more than a trip to a motel somewhere.
Ooh. Wouldn’t that be deliciously sleazy.
Nick turned back toward the tasting center and began to make his way down the hill. He caught Eve looking at him and winked.
She flushed. She was totally smitten.
“What’s the dress code?” Even though a party where the goal was to throw bags of corn through a hole in a board lent itself to shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops, in her mother’s peer group, it could just as easily be black-tie. She couldn’t do that to Nick.
“The theme is something like, ‘Down at Billy Bob’s,’ so I believe it’s very casual.”
“Well, that’s something. I’ve gotta go. I’ll get the specifics later, okay?”
She slid her phone into her pocket just as Nick came back in.
“Hey, Nick?” she called.
“Yeah?” He stepped into view holding a tape measure and a piece of wood.
“Do you want to go to a party with me tomorrow night? I forgot that I’ve got this fundraiser thing I’m supposed to do…”
His gaze had gone deer-in-headlights and his mouth opened mutely, but he recovered quickly. “Uh, maybe we should reschedule. I’m not much for fancy stuff, and I forgot to pack my tux when I headed up this way.”
“It’s totally casual. It’s a cornhole tournament, so I’m guessing jeans and a clean collared shirt would be fine.” Did he even have a shirt with a collar? She’d only ever seen him in T-shirts. Well, if not, she could borrow one from Brandon or Justin, probably.
“Uh…”
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to go. I was just looking forward to, you know, going on a real date with you, but this doesn’t really qualify, so—”
“You know I held the Napier County Junior Cornhole King crown for two years in high school, don’t you?”
“I did not know that.” Hope blossomed in her chest.
“You must have been living under a rock. It was trending before there was Twitter.”
“Do you think you’ve still got it?”
“There’s only one way to find out. Should I still pick you up at six?”