Cameron
After Eve disappeared into her bathroom, I threw on my clothes and went to the tiny kitchen in her duplex. This place must’ve been built in the seventies with its original avocado green gas stove and refrigerator. There’s a small table that seats four with mismatching chairs and well-worn lacquer. I don’t know Eve that well, but something about the funky way her place is decorated suits her.
The sun is already up over the mountains. June days in Vegas are pretty long, and sunrise comes earlier than I’d like. Especially this morning. It’s been so long since I’ve held a woman in bed. And even on the rare occasion where I have, it’s never felt like that. Her soft curves fit against me as if she were built to be there. If I didn’t have to go to work, I never would’ve let her go.
I splash cold water on my face and run wet hands through my hair. Searching for a paper towel, I find what looks like a month’s worth of mail stacked on the counter. Patting my face with a dishtowel, I finger through the envelopes. Bills, bills, and . . . bills. Credit cards, utilities, department stores, and many of them have the telltale past due pink paper flashing through the address window.
I squint and study the typed name on every bill. “Yvette W. Dawson. Huh . . .” That’s quite a grown-up name for such a young and vibrant girl.
My phone vibrates with a new text. I check it and punch out a quick reply to Ryder, telling him I’ll see him at dinner. I have three missed calls from D’lilah and no messages. Fuck. I should call her back, but chances are she just needs an ear, and I can give her that later.
“I’m ready!” Eve comes into the kitchen with her head down and her hands in a purse. “Lip gloss . . . where the hell . . .”
She says more, but I’m not paying attention. My eyes are glued to her toned legs showcased in cutoff denim shorts and a pair of those sandals women wear that make them six inches taller. She’s poured into a tiny tank top that enhances her breasts, and my dick is wide awake and aching to get at her.
“. . . at Paris, Paris.”
“I’m sorry.” I clear the rumble from my throat. “What did you say?”
Her eyes narrow. “Where were you just now?”
“Buried between your tits.” Shit!
Her breath catches. Good job. Think before you speak, asshole. I want to smack my forehead, but I’m fixed on her wide eyes and pink cheeks.
“Sorry, I . . .” Have brain damage.
“It’s okay.” She adjusts her purse on her shoulder and flashes a genuine smile. “I appreciate your honesty.”
Subject change or we’re getting naked. “I’m driving. You ready?”
She nods and grabs her keys to lock up. We’re out the door and moving to the truck when I hear her footsteps fade to a stop behind me.
I turn around and she’s standing there staring. “What?”
“That’s yours?” She points to the pick-up that she’s looking at as if we’re about to board Cinderella’s pumpkin.
“My granddad’s, but he can’t drive anymore.”
Her expression softens. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He’s happy it’s being used. Now move it. I’m starving.”
She steps to the hood and runs her hand along the bright red paint. “What is it?”
“’69 Ford F100.”
Her head turns from side to side. “Wow, Raven would shit if she saw this.”
“Yeah?” I unlock her door.
She slides in. “She’s a sucker for classic cars.”
I move to the driver’s side and fire up the truck, and the cab fills with the familiar sound of Hank Williams.
“From a Maserati to an old pick up playing country music.” She slides on a pair of sunglasses. “I gotta say, very few people shock me anymore.”
“Maserati’s for work. Fast, efficient—”
“Hot.”
I peer at her from the corner of my eye. “If you say so . . .”
“So the truck is for . . . ?”
“Taking things slow. Lounging.”
“Huh.” She nods. “Makes perfect sense to me. And the music? You don’t strike me as a honky-tonk guy.”
“My granddad loved country music, and after I got the truck, it never occurred to me to change the station.”
She slides her shoes off and puts her feet on the dashboard. Her soft tan legs on display are tipped with bright pink toenails that are cute as hell and dangerously distracting. “I like it.”
“Some of the country shit isn’t too bad.”
She giggles and allows a few seconds of comfortable silence settle between us. “So where are we going?”
“I know a great dive. Coffee’s for shit, but it does the job.”
We cruise to the café in silence. I’m sure there’s something that needs to be said, but I can’t figure out what that is. Fact is I’m not entirely sure I know what the fuck I’m doing. I want to see her again. I don’t have the time to invest in dating, but she seems okay with what happened last night. Ideally, I’d like her to be available when I need her. Does that constitute as an open relationship? Will she fuck other guys? ’Cause there’s no way in hell I’m okay with that. Is that something we need to talk about?
The silence in the cab trails along, and I scrape for a conversation subject.
“Slade tells me you’re best friends with his wife?”
“Yeah, Rave and I were inseparable all through high school and after, until she hooked up with Jonah.” There’s a sadness in her voice.
“You and Slade don’t get along?”
Her head whips in my direction. “What? No, I love Jonah. He’s a great guy and he saved Raven’s life.”
I heard all about what happened last September in the mountains. Both Jonah and Raven are lucky to be alive.
Eve is quiet. Thoughtful. Her gaze slides to her window. “I just miss her.”
“She the first of your friends to get married?”
“Ha. More like my only friend.”
“So you have all your other single friends to hang out with.”
She turns to me, her face serious. “Not my only friend to get married, she’s my only friend, period.”
I don’t believe that shit for a second. Eve’s funny, sweet when she’s not yelling fuck in my face and swinging a baseball bat, and, hell, even then I’d say she’s pretty damn cute. “Raven’s your only friend?”
She nods and ducks to hide beneath a thick panel of blond hair. “Never needed more than her.”
Why do I sense that should be followed up with until now? I keep my mouth shut and figure our relationship, whatever it is, doesn’t dictate that we know the deep intimate details of our lives.
Once inside the diner that looks like something out of a malt shop in the 50s, we’re seated at a small booth in the back. The scents of bacon grease and strong coffee fill my senses. Pressed for time, we take a quick peek at the menu and order.
The waitress brings our coffee, and at the first sip, it’s like liquid coal down the back of my throat.
Eve rips open a half a dozen sugar packs and pours in creamer until her cup is almost overflowing. After her first sip, she smacks her lips together and grins. “Not bad.”
I chuckle and watch her take another sip.
“Raven and I know a place in town that serves the best coffee. They get the beans raw and then roast them on Sundays in this big roaster thingy; anyway, it’s the best coffee in Vegas. I’ll take you there next time . . .” Her eyes get round and her cheeks flush. “Um . . . not that I expect there to be a next time, or whatever, but . . .” She gives up and dips her chin to hide behind her coffee cup and bangs.
Next time. Yeah, I want more of Eve. But I’m not sure what goes on between us needs to be made public. There’s the age difference, the fact that my heavyweight champion doesn’t approve, and the icing on the shit cake is the media. I get photographed out with Eve, and she becomes fair game for the paparazzi. It’s not an impossible obstacle for committed couples, but that’s not the path we’re on.
“Eve, I need to ask you to do me a favor.”
“Okay.” Her eyebrows drop low over her questioning eyes.
“Whatever’s going on between us has been great.” I tilt my head and try to get a read on her expression, but she’s giving nothing away. “I’d like to do it again sometime.” All right, probably not the most romantic proposition, but at least it’s out there.
Her expression is blank. Did she not hear me? Shit. Maybe I should’ve planned that a little better.
~*~
Eve
He wants to do it again? My stomach growls, so I know I’m not dreaming. He said again.
I give myself a mental slap. Must not get my hopes up.
“Okay, is that your favor?” Sex as a favor. I can do that. A sexual favor. My heart drops into my stomach. Oh no, I am his slut.
He runs his long, powerful arm over the back of the booth, showcasing his enormous biceps. “No, but it’s probably in our best interest if we don’t let Jonah and Raven know what we’ve been up to.” He takes a long pull from his coffee.
My heart sinks lower. “What exactly have we been up to?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You know what we’ve been up to.”
One-night stands and booty calls. The heat of shame flares at my neck and chest. “Oh.”
He wants to keep our sexual escapades a secret. My stomach feels full regardless of how hungry I am. Vince wanted to keep us a secret too. I bought all his lies about why our relationship needed to stay private, but the truth was completely different and almost got us killed.
No one keeps secrets unless they have something to hide, and he wants to hide me. He’s ashamed. Or maybe he has a girlfriend. I mean, if I’m going to have to pretend that we barely know each other when Jonah and Raven are around, then I deserve an explanation.
I stir my coffee, unable to look him in the eye. “Mind me asking why?”
He blows out a long breath. “Jonah and Owen didn’t seem too pleased with my taking you home the other night.”
“So you’re afraid of Jonah?”
He glares. “Fuck no. I’m not afraid of Jonah. But I’m trying to get the UFL back on two working legs. I can’t afford any drama in my business right now.” He takes another gulp of coffee.
His job. Even though my chest pinches at his reasoning, I guess it makes sense. After all, I’m just a piece of ass to him, someone he can screw and buy breakfast for. The UFL is his life, and a lot of people rely on him.
God, I feel sick. “Sure, my lips are sealed.”
“Appreciate that.” His eyes move over my shoulder, and the waitress appears with our breakfast.
She sets a stack of pancakes in front of me that’s over six inches tall. I motion to his plate. “Here, have a pancake. I can’t eat all these.”
He forks one off my plate, and my heart clenches at how we must look to an outsider: like a real couple who orders for each other and shares what’s on their plates. The smell of warm dough, butter, and maple syrup makes my mouth water, and I’m suddenly ravenous after our calorie-burning activities from last night.
“Eve Dawson, is that you?”
I drop my fork and whirl around at the familiar voice. “Mrs. Lutich!”
A smile lights her face. “It is you!”
I jump out of my seat, and she wraps me in a warm hug. She’s always given the kind of hugs that feel like a warm blanket. The kind I’d want to hang out in it all day.
“I haven’t heard from you in over a year.” She pulls back and studies my face. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you.” She must age, but I swear her sweet face and perfectly highlighted, shoulder-length blond hair look the same as they did all through high school.
“You stopped emailing me.” One eyebrow lifts over her stylish glasses.
“I’m sorry. Things got crazy; life happened.”
“Well, that’s good. It’s supposed to happen.” Her eyes move to Cameron, and I remember my manners.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I motion to him, and he slides out of his seat. “Cameron, this is my high-school science teacher, Thia Lutich.”
He shakes her hand with a warm smile that, if I’m not mistaken, makes her blush. “Thia, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Mrs. Lutich, this is my, uh . . .” What is he exactly? “My friend, Cameron Kyle.”
“Mr. Kyle, it’s nice to meet you. You look familiar. Did you go to North Mountain High too?”
“No, ma’am. I grew up on the east coast.”
“Cameron is the new president and CEO of the Universal Fighting League. You probably recognize him from the newspaper.”
His body goes rigid. Was I not supposed to tell anyone that we’re friends? I thought he said only Jonah and Raven, but maybe I misunderstood? Dammit.
Mrs. Lutich studies him. “Hmm, I don’t follow sports, but maybe you’re right. Anyhoo, I don’t want to keep you two from your breakfast, but when I realized it was you, I had to say hi.”
“Yes, I’m glad you did.” I give her one last hug, not wanting to let go. I didn’t even realize how much I missed her until now.
After my mom left, my dad blamed me. He was angry and insisted on exercising his anger frequently. It wasn’t until Raven and Mrs. Lutich that I realized love was shown in ways that didn’t leave marks or make me cry. “I’ll write you soon.”
“I hope you do.” She waves to Cameron and strolls out of the restaurant.
“Nice lady.”
I slide back into my seat. “She’s amazing. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.”
“Amazing you guys stayed in touch all these years.” He forks a piece of sausage into his mouth.
“The first two years after graduation I was religious about keeping in touch.” The waitress stops at our table to silently refill our coffee. “Thank you.” I rip open three sugars. “This last year I stopped. All the stuff that happened with Raven . . . I knew she’d want to talk about it and—what?”
Sometime between the waitress refilling our coffee and now, he’s managed to put down his fork, lean in, and hit me with a glare that has my nerves prickling. The air between us is practically charged with his anger.
“How old are you?” His words are spoken so low they rumble.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I think back over what I said and a tremor of panic skates up my spine. “What do you—?”
“Simple question. How old are you?” He emphasizes every word.
I told him I was twenty-four that night at The Blackout. Shit! My teeth rake over my lower lip, and I move pieces of pancake around with my fork.
“Yvette.”
My eyes dart to his and my stomach plummets. “What did you call me?”
“Answer me.” His jaw pulses.
I set down my fork and pull my purse into my lap like a shield. My heart races, and my stomach twists in knots. There’s no getting out of this. I look him in the eyes, and it’s almost impossible to see the whites through the tiny slits of his glare. “I’m twenty-one.”
“Fuck!” He shoves his plate hard enough that it slams into mine.
“I’m sor—”
He holds up his hand. “You lied to me.”
I swallow, my throat dry and achy. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Would you’ve given me a chance if you knew my real age?”
“Given you a chance?” He leans in. “By that do you mean would I have fucked you?”
I shouldn’t be surprised at the callousness of his words, but I hold my breath and nod.
“No.”
“That’s why I lied.”
“Dammit, Eve. I’m seventeen years older than you. We can’t do this. You’re . . . Fuck, Eve, you’re closer to my son’s age than mine.”
My breath freezes in my chest. “Son?”
“Yes, I have a seventeen-year-old son.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you didn’t.” He pins me with a scowl. “We haven’t exactly spent our time together talking.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Right.”
He shoves two hands through his hair. “This is my fault. I followed my dick rather than common sense.”
“Ouch.”
He recoils from his own words, but shakes it off and meets my eyes. “I’m thirty-eight years old.”
I shrug. “I don’t care.”
“Well, I sure as shit do!”
“I messed up, but it’s not like I’m a minor. My age is just a number. I’ve lived on my own since I was fifteen. Paid my bills with my own money since then too.”
“Right. You’re doing stellar job at that.”
What in the hell does that mean? “What did you say?”
“Your bills, Yvette W. Dawson, are not being paid with your own money or any money for that matter.”
My entire body heats, and I know my face is bright red with anger and embarrassment. “You fucking snooped through my mail?” This is unbelievable. What else did he go through? “I may have fudged my age by a few years, but I would never go through your mail.”
“You can’t compare the two. Your lie got us naked. My snooping only pissed you off.”
“No. I’m way more than pissed off.” I’m furious! More accurately, I’m humiliated, but whatever.
Digging in my purse, I manage to scrape up some crumpled dollars and a handful of coins. “I should’ve known: rich good-looking guy like you, who’s all growly and controlling in bed, going through my shit. You know what?” I point at his face. “This is why I should’ve stayed gay.” I drop money on the table, sending change rolling off and bouncing on the floor. Good. He can pick them up. “I’m outta here.”
He grips my wrist. “Eve, sit.”
“No way, stalker.” As the words fly from my lips my insides are screaming that I’m going to push him away. He’d walk away sooner or later. Why not give him a shove off? Fuck, even that feels like a knife to the chest.
“Hardly a stalker, doll.” His voice takes on a warm tone, and his thumb rubs circles on the inside of my wrist. “Let me explain. Your mail was lyin’ out on the kitchen counter.”
It’s as if there’s a purr underscoring his words. My knees go wobbly, and I sit to avoid falling. Where am I gonna go anyway? We’re at least fifteen miles from my house, and whatever money I had before I dropped it on the table isn’t enough to get me home.
“I’m still mad at you.”
His expression relaxes a fraction of not at all. “Feeling’s mutual.”
I glare, and for some reason it releases the tension in his jaw. Not a smile by most standards, but closest thing I’ve seen on the man. Minutes ago he was ripping into me about my age, and now he’s calm. Bi-polar? Not that I’d be surprised. He’s way too hot to be mentally stable. Now that we’ve just thrown my age, his son, and his snooping into the mix, there’s no way we’ll hook up again.
And another one walks away.
~*~
Cameron
Huh? That’s it? I expected tears. D’lilah always busts out with the waterworks when we fight, but not Eve. I need to break things off with her. Shit went from simple to complicated, and complications are something I don’t need. But even as the words “this is over” sit on the tip of my tongue, I can’t force them out.
I like this woman. She’s young, clearly has some things to learn about budgeting her money, and naïve about who she takes drinks from, but she’s not immature. It’s in her eyes: the hardened way she looks at me when I expect her to be vulnerable. Like now.
Women are emotional, crazed with it, and after treating this woman like a slam piece, I just blew her off because of her age and gave her shit about being in debt. I’m no genius, but I think that qualifies me for the Dickhead World Records.
After forcing her to take back the money she tossed on the table, I pay the bill and we’re back in the truck. She’s quiet, which is good because it gives me time to figure out how the hell I’m going to handle breaking things off. I can’t continue to sleep with a twenty-one-year-old girl. Can I?
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see Ryder calling.
“Ry, what’s up, man?”
Throat clearing. “It’s me.”
“D’lilah?” What the hell? “Where’s Ryder?”
“Oh, he’s here. Um . . . I’m at your place. You weren’t answering my calls last night and I worried, so I drove—”
“You drove?” Drunk.
“Yeah, and when I got here, no one was home. I used the hide-a-key and stayed on the couch. Ry just showed up. My phone died, so he let me call you from his.”
I guess it’s good that she didn’t try to drive home after she realized we weren’t there. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah . . . I was upset last night. After you guys left, I got sad and I was thinking about . . .” Her voice cracks. “Her birthday is coming up, and I just miss her so much.”
“Hang tight. I’m on my way.” If she could just hold it together until I get home so Ryder doesn’t have to coddle his own mother . . .
“Where were you last night, Cam? I needed you.” More crying.
“We’ll talk when I get home.” I pull up to Eve’s duplex.
“But—”
I press End, exhale hard, and turn to say something to Eve that’ll smooth over our conversation at breakfast, but the look on her face freezes the words in my throat.
Her eyes are wide, face pale, lips parted and staring right at me.
“Eve?”
She blinks rapidly, her lips close, and she grabs her purse. “I gotta go.”
Before I can say goodbye, she’s out of the truck and halfway to her front door. At a slow crawl, realization filters in. My phone call from D’lilah. I try to think about what Eve might’ve heard that upset her. Talking to another woman after we spent the night together was probably enough.
I move to chase after her and explain, but maybe this is for the best. It’s not smart for us to continue seeing each other. There are a thousand reasons why I need to stay away, but only one reason why I don’t want to. I can’t get enough of her. I suppose it’s better that she hate me. Because if she doesn’t lock me out, there’s no way I’ll be strong enough to leave her alone.