I laughed, and jerked a thumb at the changing rooms. "Go try that shit on so we can go eat."
She took a step away, and then paused, turned back to me, and held out her hand. "Let me see your cell phone."
Without hesitating, I slid it out of my pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to her. "Here ya go."
"Thanks. I'll give it back when I'm done."
"Done? With what?"
She shrugged a shoulder and turned away, her hair flipping in my face. "You'll see."
I'd said I was an open book, but I was a permanently single guy, and thus had a rather elaborate spank-bank stash of photos, videos, and websites in various places on my phone. I wasn't going to pretend like it wasn't mine if she happened to find it somehow, but it could also lead to a weird conversation, since I wasn't sure what she thought about porn. I figured she'd be horrified if she saw it, but seeing as I was wrong about the kind of underwear she liked, I could be wrong about that. A guy could hope, you know?
She was gone for a good ten minutes, and then emerged with the garments, strode directly to the cash register, paid for everything with a swipe of a card, and led the way out to the truck. I got in, started it up, and headed out.
"Where to?" I asked.
She shrugged. "The B and B real quick? We can drop off all the bags and I can change."
"You still using my phone?"
She smirked at me. "Yep." And that was all she said.
"Okayyyyy." I shrugged. "You're being awful mysterious all of a sudden."
She eyed me sidelong. "You got something on your phone you're worried about me seeing, Baxter?"
Uh-oh. She'd found something. I shrugged, nonchalant, even though I was feeling a little...nervous. "I don't have anything to hide, no. Nothing I'm ashamed of."
I just didn't want to alienate her this soon, since I really liked her. Like, not just because she had great tits, an incredible ass, and had given me the best handjob of my entire life--which, by the way, included every blowjob I've ever gotten. I genuinely liked her, as a person, aside from the raging inferno that was my sexual attraction to her. If she was anti-porn and had stumbled across some of my saved sites or the photos girls I'd hooked up with had sent me, it'd be over before it even got started.
She just gave me that odd little smirk again. "Okay, if you say so."
I eyed her suspiciously as I drove us to the B and B. "Eva, babe, you got somethin' to say, say it. You had my phone, and I'm a dude. A perpetually single dude with a high-rev libido, I might add. I ain't ashamed of anything on there. It is what it is."
She just laughed. "Baxter, relax. Trust me a little, okay?"
I let out a breath, because whatever she was up to, she didn't seem pissed, so...fine, whatever. Let her have her fun.
We reached the Kingsley's in a matter of minutes, and I helped her carry all the bags into her room. When all of her shopping was on her bed, she turned on me. "Okay, buster. Out. I need to try things on and change. I won't take too long."
I shrugged. "Like I said, I'm in no hurry. I can wait in the truck."
"Okay. I'll be out soon...ish."
I paused halfway out the door. "You still need my phone?"
She nodded. "Yep."
I shook my head and chuckled. "Okay then, little miss secretive." I told her my passcode, because like I said, I got nothin' to hide, and then I headed out to the truck and started it up, immediately switching the radio back to heavy metal.
Apparently to Eva, "soon...ish" and "won't take too long" meant upward of thirty minutes. Which, without my phone as a distraction, seemed a lot longer than it might have otherwise.
When she did emerge, she was dressed to fuckin' kill. A knee-length maroon skirt slit up the sides and a tight, V-neck, short sleeve, silver shirt in some shimmery material that hugged and emphasized her tits, which were lifted high by a bra with just enough cleavage showing to make my dick sit up and take notice, a pair of strappy silver gladiator sandals, and a small silver clutch purse.
She slid into the truck, smiling shyly at me.
"Damn, girl. We goin' somewhere fancy I don't know about?" I asked. "Because for real, you look...fuckin' incredible."
She ducked her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you. This is just how I dress. I'm not really a jeans and T-shirt sort of girl."
I shook my head. "Well you sure as hell won't hear me complaining, because I mean damn...you look fine."
"It's just a skirt and blouse. Nothing special."
I touched her chin and then brushed my thumb over her cheek, something I couldn't seem to resist doing, especially because when I did it, she tended to subtly nuzzle into the touch, which made something in my chest flutter and something in my stomach flip-flop. "Sweetheart, you're missing my point. It ain't the clothes, it's the woman in the clothes, and the way you look wearing them. You've got a way of making even just a skirt and blouse look like a million bucks."
She grinned at me. "Only a million? Don't short change me, now, Baxter."
I laughed. "Fine. A billion. A trillion." More seriously, then. "How about...you look absolutely priceless. Without peer."
"Thank you, Baxter," she said, primly. "Now...food?"
I laughed yet again, something I seemed to do a lot around her. "I love that you think with your stomach as much as I do."
And so we found ourselves sitting on the same side of a booth at my favorite burger joint, waiting for our burgers. Mine, of course, was a triple-patty number, no bun, with cheese, bacon, avocado, and a fried egg on top, sweet potato fries on the side. When it came, Evangeline eyed me, and then the burger, with incredulity.
"Wow, that's...a lot of food," she noted.
I nodded, digging in. "Yeah, well, you have noticed I ain't exactly Tiny Tim, here. I work out a lot, and need a lot of food to sustain my caloric output."
She tapped the fried egg and bacon topping the monster burger. "Isn't that a lot of cholesterol?"
I laughed. "Nutrition is actually a vastly misunderstood thing. Forget about BMI, forget about cholesterol, forget everything everybody told you about fat being bad. Eat good, nutritious, whole foods. Burn all that fuckin' processed, fake, chemical-laced, bleached white flour bullshit carb garbage, and get rid of any kind of sugar or sugar-substitute or sugar-derivative. That's the shit that'll kill ya."
She was staring at me. "Wow. You sound...passionate about this."
I shrugged. "Yeah, well, I've been an athlete my whole life. My body is my art, my profession, and my weapon. I want it to be in tip-top shape at all times, so I gotta put the right fuel into it. So yeah, I'm passionate about it. I don't see how everyone isn't, honestly. It's your fuckin' body, the thing you fuckin' live in, the only one you're gonna get, ever. How can you not take care of it? Yeah, donuts and bear claws and slushies and Twinkies, all that shit tastes good, but that shit is fuckin' killin' you, bro. Candy bars, soda, all that shit? It's fuckin' poison. Legit, poison. Might as well just mainline fuckin' drain cleaner as ingest that nasty-ass chemical bullshit."
"You use the F-word more than anyone I've ever met, you know that?" she asked, laughing. "But I take your point." She nudged the glass of diet cola in front of her. "So I shouldn't drink this?"
"Fuck is the most versatile word in the English language, and my favorite curse word." I lifted a shoulder. "And I mean, I sure as shit wouldn't drink that, even if it was the last beverage on earth. But you do you, babe. Ain't my place to tell you or anyone else what do with their bodies or their lives."
She slid the cola away and reached for the glass of water the waitress had set down when we'd arrived. "So what do you drink, if you don't drink soda?"
"Coffee, green tea, whiskey, beer, and water. Sometimes wine, but only dry red."
"Why?"
"White's full of sugar, that's why."
"Oh." She sounded forlorn, and I guessed she was sweet white kind of girl.
I laughed. "Babe, I'm not tryin' to tell you what to do or what to eat. You wa
nna know what I think, I'll tell you. But don't feel like you have to change just because of what I think."
"I kind of want to change, though, and I am interested in what you have to say about this, since you're clearly very good at being healthy. I work out, do yoga, and run. I like being healthy, and I try to avoid junk food, but I do indulge sometimes." She finished her burger and started on the fries. "Bread is hard to give up. And so is my pinot grigio."
I nodded. "Dude, I get it. I was addicted to Mt. Dew in high school, and in college I ate like shit until my coach got on my ass about my belly. I went through withdrawals from that shit, I swear. Garlic bread and mozzarella sticks and loaded potato skins? That shit was my jam, man. I've always tended toward beer and whiskey so that part wasn't hard, but soda took a minute."
The conversation moved to our favorite movies as I finished eating and we sipped on coffee. I found it surprisingly easy to just talk to her. She was, obviously, wicked smart, but she was also very erudite, current on pop-culture and news, and had a wry, dry sense of humor that kept me constantly laughing and always guessing, never knowing what would come out of her mouth.
I was about to the pay the bill when a big, tattooed body slid into the booth opposite us.
I tensed. "Moss, what up, bro?"
I slid closer to Evangeline and wrapped my arm around her; felt her to be as tense as I was. Picking up on my tension, probably.
"I need to move up your fight," Moss said, without preamble.
I gave him the full-on death glare. "Dude, seriously? This is not the fuckin' place for that conversation, man. You know that. You have my phone number, fuckin' use it."
Moss was a massive man. Six-six and three hundred pounds easily, tattooed from fingertip to shoulders and all over his chest and neck, with a shaved head and a thick blond beard down to his chest, ears pierced from the lobes all the way up to the tips, fingers decorated with gold rings and platinum necklaces around his neck.
He lifted an eyebrow at me. "I been textin' you for an hour. You ain't replied, and I was walkin' past when I saw you, so I figured I'd deliver the message in person." His gaze went to Evangeline, raking her over several times, blatantly ogling. "And Basher, my man, you gotta introduce me to this fine-ass honey you got with you. Flavor of the week, amiright?"
"My phone died, forgot about that. Sorry." I tugged Evangeline closer. "And no, I don't have to introduce you to shit, Moss."
"Come on, bro. You can't keep a honey that tight all to yourself." He was leaning forward over the table, sliding his hands toward Evangeline's, making eyes at her. "Ditch this gorilla, babe. Come with me, I'll show you a real good time."
I leveled a glare at Moss that even he couldn't ignore. "Moss, listen to me. You got the fight connections and I respect that. We make each other money--I make you a shitload of money. But do not mistake me for your buddy, okay? I will fuck your shit up in ten seconds flat if you don't back the fuck off, right the fuck now. Feel me...bro? You know I don't play, so don't try me."
Moss stared me down, but he was the first to look away, leaning back in the booth and raising his hands palms out. "A'ight, a'ight. No harm, no foul. But I got you here; you gotta give me an answer. Can you fight tonight? The big money boys want to see you and Juarez ASAP."
"I thought it was Nagle? Since when is it Juarez?"
"Nagle lost to Rooster last night, got legit fucked up, so he's stuck in the hospital gettin' his forearm screwed back together. Juarez got tapped to fill in."
I sighed. "Nagle shoulda known better than to let Rooster get his paws on him. That big ugly fuck likes to break shit." I grimaced. "I gotta figure out my schedule before I can commit. I'll get back to you."
Moss shook his head, his beard waggling side to side. "Nah, bro. I gotta make the call in the next ten minutes."
I groaned. "You're killin' me, Smalls." I nodded my head sideways at Evangeline. "I'm busy, get me?"
Moss laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Bring the honey, then. I'll keep her safe," he said, winking at her.
"Yeah, sure. Dream on, Bullwinkle. I wouldn't trust you with a pet rock, Moss."
"You wound me, Basher. For real. I might cry."
I glanced at Evangeline. "You could hang back with the girls, maybe?"
She shrugged, her expression carefully neutral. "Don't take me into account when making your plans, Baxter."
I sighed, not liking that answer, but knowing I had no choice. There was well over ten grand riding on this fight, and I would be getting a thirty percent cut of that. Plus, me versus Juarez would be a big draw, as we were both flashy, entertaining fighters, and I knew Juarez wouldn't fuck around, but also wouldn't go for serious injury, unlike some assholes.
I nodded, tapping the tabletop with my knuckles. "Fine. But I get fifteen percent of the on-site pool."
"Five," Moss countered.
"Fuck you, you stupid cow. Twelve."
"Fuck you back, you ignorant slut. Ten."
I held out my hand. "Original thirty percent, plus ten percent of the on-site pool."
Moss shook my hand. "Deal. I'll call you later with the location."
And then he was gone, ambling out the door, hands in the hip pockets of his sagging black jeans.
I blew out a breath and slumped down in the booth. "Shit. Shit." I glanced at Evangeline. "I'm sorry about that. About him, and the whole scene. That's not normally how things get set up."
"So you're fighting? Tonight?"
I nodded. "Looks like it. There's a lot of money on this fight, even more now that there's been a last-minute lineup change."
She was carefully still. "You do what you have to do. Don't worry about me."
I sat up and pivoted in the booth to face her. "I really am sorry about Moss hitting on you like that."
She waved a hand. "That's of no consequence."
"Then what is? You seem upset. We met while I was fighting, remember?"
She shrugged. "I just...don't know where I fit in this. What is this?"
"You don't know what what is?"
Another shrug. "We messed around last night and then again this morning, which means what we're doing isn't a one-night stand. So then...what is it?"
I sighed. "Does it need a label?"
"Yeah, kind of. So I know what to expect."
"You need a label? Then call it... a tryst. Or a hookup. Hell, I don't know, Eva. This ain't like any other hookup I've had. Those are...cheap. Quick and easy, nothin' really to 'em but some sex and fun." I caught her gaze and held it. "You're not cheap, nor are you easy. This ain't just somethin' quick. I don't know how to label this, and maybe I don't want to try, you know? Let it be something different."
"I am easy, though...and cheap. If I'm doing something like this." She finally met my gaze, her expression apologetic. "I don't mean to insult you, it's just..."
"Hey, I'm not insulted. I'm all for cheap and easy sex, and frequently. My life hasn't really needed anything more. I was always focused on school and playing ball, and had no time or interest in anything serious. Don't mean I don't think there can be something more or something meaningful, if I wanted to look. I just wasn't interested." I touched her hand, covering hers with mine. "You're trying something new. That doesn't make this--or you--cheap or easy. Don't fall into that trap of self-judgment, Eva."
She shrugged. "Okay, so maybe that's true. But I still don't know what to expect, or where I fit."
"You can expect me to treat you right. I ain't gonna ghost on you, or decide I'm done once I get what I want. As for where you fit? You decide that, Eva. Like I said, you can hang at the apartment, or sit down in the family booth and pound some booze with the crew."
She blinked at me. "The family booth?"
I nodded. "Yeah. At Badd's, we have the booth closest to the kitchen and service bar that's permanently reserved for us brothers and their women. There are always at least one or two people in the booth, reading, studying, or just hanging out and drinking. You got a permanent place in that booth
whenever you want, regardless of what you may or may not expect from me. You can hang there, and you'll have good company. My brothers and the girls will treat you right. I think you discovered that last night. We may not have a lot of money and we may be crude sometimes, but if there's one thing we know, it's hospitality, okay?"
She tried a somewhat wobbly smile at me. "Your family is amazing."
"I don't get what happened with you, just now, though. What was it about Moss's visit that has you tripping?"
She shrugged. "I guess he just...reminded me that I don't fit into your life. He scares me."
I snorted. "Moss? He's a big ol' pussy. He organizes the fights because he doesn't have the balls to be in 'em. Lotta talk, not a lotta bite."
"He's still scary."
"I guess I can see that." I winked at her. "But when your older brother is a man like Zane, it becomes kinda hard for anyone else to seem scary."
She laughed. "You make a good point." She sobered, and met my eyes with a strangely serious expression. "I don't know why I'm so worried about fitting into your life. Though, I suppose it's not like that's what this is, anyway." A long, weighted pause. "Right?"
I shrugged, not liking the way that sounded, or my own viscerally emotional reaction to her words. "I mean, you got Yale, right?"
"Right. So whatever this is, it has an expiration date. Which is best for us both." She was looking at me intently.
I really didn't like the way my heart was hammering, as if protesting the truth in her words. "Right," I agreed, working hard to sound casual. "It's got a built-in expiration date. And until then, we can just enjoy whatever this is. Label, no label."
"Part of me does wish I could just hide out here forever, though," Evangeline said, after a moment of silence. "It would make avoiding Father and Thomas so much easier."
"Do you think they're looking for you?"
She nodded. "Oh, without a doubt. Father probably has an entire team of private investigators hunting me down as we speak."
"Even though you took off on your own, of your own free will?"
She nodded. "In my family, one does not simply vanish without a word. It's just not done. It's bad enough that I'm not interested in politics, but to run away like this? It's the height of embarrassment for my parents."
Good Girl Gone Badd Page 11
