“Drank everything you could get your hands on, too?”
“Tasted, then spat.” He snorted. “If I drank every kind of wine I learned about, I’d be in serious trouble.”
“How did you get started at Boyce Wines?”
“Dad used them for years at his store, insisted they were the best. He had a lot of respect for them and their business practices. So I applied, got a job, blah, blah, blah.”
“Do you get to travel to vineyards? Hey, you can visit me in California!”
He wasn’t going to touch that. “Boyce doesn’t sell California wine. Just Italy and France.”
“Then next time you go, I would be happy to come with you. Seriously.”
He shot her a look. “Do I get to ask you questions now?”
“Wait. Wait.” She dragged him out of the flow of pedestrians toward the street and pointed back at a building entrance they’d just passed. “Look at that!”
“What?” He saw a black awning with bowling pins on it. That couldn’t be what had her so excited.
Please, no.
“Come on, let’s check it out!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the entrance. “I think there’s bowling. This will be totally fun.”
“Uh...” Bowling? “I’m not sure it’s my thing.”
“Of course it isn’t. It’s crazy. But how can you resist?”
If he knew how to answer that, he might be able to explain why he was still hanging out with her. Or how she got him inside the place and upstairs, where the place turned out to be some kind of amusement bar, decorated as homage to the preppy frat boy experience, with plaid upholstery, bowling, pool, darts and games of beer pong. Took him back more than ten years to his own college days.
Except he didn’t want to go back there.
He bought two beers, hoping they could down them quickly and leave.
Of course not. In another room, Eva discovered a nine-hole mini-golf course, complete with models of animals—a giraffe, a gorilla, a zebra.... She was clearly thrilled.
Which meant Ames was clearly doomed. “You’re going to make me play mini golf around large fake wild animals, aren’t you?”
“Well, of course!” She hoisted her glass to clink with his. “Why waste such a golden opportunity to enjoy ourselves?”
Playing mini golf? There was no way he was going to enjoy himself doing that.
Over an hour later, he had to admit, he was enjoying himself. Yes, he would have liked a bag over his head in case he saw someone he knew, but there weren’t any offered, and he didn’t see anyone, so what the hell?
Plus, he’d learned two things about Eva. One, she was a killer mini-golf player. He barely squeaked out a win, pure luck, and when he jokingly accused her of throwing the game to save his ego, she insisted they play another nine holes.
On this round, he beat her at the giraffe. She got him at the zebra. He trounced her near the gorilla. She came back at him with everything and in spite of his pure-luck hole in one on the eighth hole, she beat him by two shots.
The other thing he learned about Eva was disturbing. Maybe it was the beer—though they’d only had one each. Maybe he was on the rebound from his disappointment over losing the hope of Chris. Maybe it was that the evening had bounced him out of his usual routine, usual company, usual destinations.
He was hot for her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes snapped, her bracelets jangled and she’d spent nearly the whole hour laughing. At him, at herself, at the game, at the bar, at the circumstances. A few locks of hair had escaped the scalp-eating combs. Her sweater had all but slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth, tempting skin. She moved with a very distinctive careless grace, and when she looked at him, she conveyed an ancient woman-to-man message he understood well.
He better go home and reestablish contact with all things familiar before he did something stupid. Like kiss her. Or more than that.
“Winner buys loser’s next drink. I owe you.” She took his arm and propelled him, not to the bar as he expected, but to return their putters, then out and downstairs to the street, where the chill air and relative silence were refreshing after the crowds and noise.
“Now you can take me to the place we were going before I so rudely made you detour.”
“Actually.” He glanced at his watch, as if he had many important things still to accomplish, when the only thing he really had to accomplish was to avoid falling more deeply under Eva’s spell. “I should call it a night.”
“Oh, okay, sure.” She agreed so readily he felt a moment’s disappointment. Jeez, Ames, make up your mind.
They headed one block west to Fifth Avenue, where Ames hailed a cab. On their way up Avenue of the Americas, he kept the conversation impersonal, pointing out Herald Square, Bryant Park and the back of New York’s magnificent public library. His lecture ended when they turned onto Forty-Third and arrived at his building. Safe and sound.
“Here we are.” He took out his wallet and extracted extra money to pay for Eva’s trip home. Then he turned to smile and kiss her cheek in a platonic good-night.
He almost made it. But the feel of her skin under his lips, her flowery scent... Instead of jumping out of the cab and thanking her for a nice evening, he sat there, gazing at her.
Somehow she’d transformed from attractive to truly beautiful, her eyes large and glowing, her exquisite mouth curved in a smile.
Come on, Ames. Get the hell out while you still can.
“I had fun, Eva.” He reached for the door handle. “Thanks for insisting I come out to— What are you doing?”
“Who, me?” She’d swung her crazily booted leg over both of his and had somehow managed to straddle him in the cab. “I’m just saying, ‘You’re welcome,’ Ames.”
“Jeez, you can’t just—”
Yes, she could. She was already kissing him, hot, hungry kisses, pressing her pelvis against his.
He was a guy. That got a reaction. A fairly immediate and large one.
Wait, there’d been some reason he was going to avoid getting physical with her. It had seemed convincing at the time. Now he couldn’t remember what it was. In fact, his hands were at her waist, traveling around and down to explore the pink skirt.
Oh, man. The pink skirt was firm and warm and fit his hands as though it was made to be in them. He wanted nothing more than to beg her to come up to his place so he could lose himself in what was under it.
But as suddenly as she’d climbed onto his lap, she climbed off, leaving him dazed and hard. Instinctively he moved to reach for her again, but a basic self-protective instinct kicked in and kept him still.
Thank God.
“Ames, I had such a nice time tonight, I really appreciate you taking me out.”
“Hey, no problem, Eva. I had a good time, too. See you around maybe.”
Only that wasn’t what he said at all. What came out was more like “Ungh, yuh, too. ’Night.”
Then he was on the street, still dazed, still half-erect, watching the cab speed away, a beautiful blonde beaming at him out of its back window.
4
EVA CHECKED HER WATCH. Again. Could this day go any slower? NYEspresso closed at six on Saturdays. They’d been fairly busy midmorning—opposite from weekdays, when the crowds showed up around the business commute—but since five it had been dead, and by now time had slowed nearly to stopping. Especially since the woman she’d scheduled to work the register, Rebecca, an MFA graduate student at nearby Hunter College, never stopped talking in spite of the fact that she had nothing to say. Eva had important things to do. Involving Ames.
It was tempting to close early, but Tom, a clockwork afternoon regular, was tapping away at his laptop as usual, earphones on, Mets hat on the table next to him, a frown of concentration on his face. He was one of those sexy geeks Eva always had a soft spot for. Another couple sat nearby holding hands across the table, each texting someone else.
Eva checked her watch again. It had barely mov
ed.
Rebecca launched into a detailed new story about her latest project, featuring photographs of severed heads interspersed with painted images of cupcakes and hundreds of boxes of thumbtacks. Blessedly, Tom approached the counter, laptop packed up, and interrupted her. “Hey, Rebecca. Can I have a coffee to go?”
“Sure. Room at the top?”
“No.” Eva answered for him. Rebecca needed to pay more attention to customers and less to herself. Tom always ordered the same thing. “Anything to go with that, Tom? Maybe a pain au chocolat?”
He hesitated, gazing at the burnished pastries under the counter. “We-e-e-ell. Okay.”
“How did your work go today?” Eva let Rebecca ring him up while she got his coffee and pastry. “What are you working on? A novel?”
“Oh, no.” He stood there sheepishly, unshaven, wearing his trademark black-framed glasses, shaggy head of dark curls, oversized Columbia sweatshirt, jeans and beat-up running shoes. “Nothing like that.”
She waited for him to tell her, but apparently he didn’t want to, so she changed the subject. “Do you live around here?”
“Nah. I live in New Jersey. In my parents’ basement.”
Eva reacted with a shocked look, then caught his sly grin and burst out laughing. “You bum. You almost got me.”
He was even cuter when he was grinning.
“Sorry. It’s a dumb joke. I live around the corner on Forty-Fourth.”
“What do you do?” She was only more curious now.
“I’m a frustrated composer.” His expression turned sheepish again. “Right now I’m working on a musical.”
“How cool!” She let her mouth drop open in case he hadn’t gotten how impressed she was. “Like for Broadway? What’s it about?”
“It’s a musical version of The Importance of Being Earnest.”
Wow! Still waters ran way deep. “I love that play!”
“Me, too. I’m—”
The door opened, and Natalie walked in, bringing with her a gust of fall-scented breeze. She looked stunning, as usual, her figure encased in skinny jeans tucked into brown suede ankle boots, a clingy sweater showing off her perfect figure. Around her neck was a neatly draped scarf, shimmers of gold glitter accenting the auburn highlights in her windblown hair.
Tom’s mouth closed. Opened. He turned red. Took a step back from the counter as if he were trying to be invisible.
How in-teresting.
“Hey, Natalie.” Eva gave her roommate a smile, which of course wasn’t returned. Eva had learned not to take it personally. “You working today?”
“I’m always working.” She came up to the counter, fumbling for her wallet. “I’ll have a latte with soy milk. To go.”
“Sure.” Eva turned to the espresso machine, which she’d dubbed the Beast for its temperamental nature, and readied it to pull a double shot into a to-go cup.
Hmm...Natalie and Tom. Both into music and musicals. Natalie had stayed out late last night again, another date, Eva assumed, and had been up early. In Eva’s opinion she was on a one-way track to health issues. A calm, solid sweetheart like Tom could be just what she needed—like a constant meditation session. The problem of course was how to get Natalie to notice him. According to Chris, all her men were as obviously gorgeous and fashionably put together as she was.
Eva finished steaming the milk, making sure it had fine, even froth, and poured it carefully into the cup of espresso, moving the pitcher back and forth to leave a flower pattern.
“Here you go.” She handed over the cup and gestured a few steps behind Natalie to Tom, who was staring worshipfully at the back of her head. “Natalie, have you met Tom Brewster?”
Natalie turned.
Tom flushed, stepped abruptly back and banged into a chair. “I’ve, um, seen you here before, yeah.”
“Okay.” Natalie studied him blankly while he fidgeted and she sipped her latte, coming up without a single bubble of foam on her lips.
Eva held her breath. Come on, Natalie, say it, Oh, yes, I’ve noticed you, too, Tom.
Nothing.
“I’m here all the time.” Tom laughed awkwardly.
“Really.” She did not sound impressed.
Eva jumped in. “Tom is a composer.”
“No kidding.” At least she was showing polite interest. “My dad teaches composition at Juilliard. Professor Adornetto.”
“Wow. I took from him. I studied him. With him. I went to Juilliard. I guess you figured that out, though.” Tom closed his eyes in a slow blink of misery. “Yeah, anyway, tell him hi.”
“Sure.” Natalie was watching him as if he had some kind of disability she might catch. “Tom Brewster, right?”
“That’s it.” He seemed pleased she’d remembered.
“Okay, well.” Natalie glanced at her watch, her classic move just before the I’m-outta-here announcement. “I gotta get back to work. Nice to meet you, Tom.”
“Same here. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“Yeah.” She gave an icy smile and fashion-modeled her way out of the store, leaving Tom and Eva staring after her. Then at each other.
Tom sighed wistfully. “She’s so...um, nice. She’s nice. Seems nice.”
Eva snorted. “Let’s just say she needs the love of a good man, Tom. Keep trying.”
“What? What do you—what?” He stepped back in alarm, bumping the chair again, blushing adorably. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. I think it’s great.”
“Nothing’s going to happen.” He gestured hopelessly. “I get so nervous around her, I can’t even talk. She’d never look at me twice.”
“Nonsense. You need to meditate and do positive visualization of yourself confident around her. Write down what you want to say to her and keep the paper with you.” Eva smiled encouragingly, thinking how beautiful his brown eyes were, and how much she wanted him to be happy and also to leave now so she could close up and go attack Ames. “We’re closing. You can go home and do all that now. Next time you see her, you’ll be ready.”
“If you say so.” He spoke doubtfully, but thank goodness moved toward the door. “See ya, Eva. And thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Eva locked up after him and turned the sign from Open to Closed. She and Rebecca finished duties for the night, putting bakery items away and cleaning the machines. Finally Eva was able to shoo Rebecca out and rush into the back office to order Chinese food and get ready.
She’d taken a risk on Thursday by calling Ames’s apartment in the afternoon, hoping Jean would answer. Happily, her prayers had been answered. Not only was Jean there, but Ames was out, and Jean was able to snoop in his calendar and had assured Eva in a voice dripping with exasperation that, yes, Ames would again be home on Saturday night—Saturday, for God’s sake!—and wished her luck livening him up. Then she’d given Eva her cell number and told her to call any time she needed more help, because Ames was much too hot to be wasting himself at a desk every night.
Jean was awesome.
In the NYEspresso office, a tiny cluttered room barely containing the shop safe, file cabinet, computer desk and a chair, Eva darted to her gym bag—scarlet with a white poodle in pink-and-blue workout clothes on the side, which she hadn’t been able to resist when she saw it online. She’d left her apartment that morning in a crushing hurry and had stuffed an armful of accessories inside it to experiment. Right now she had on black leggings and a black scoop-neck shirt—a blank canvas for the look she wanted to create for the evening.
Whatever that was.
She’d just selected an orange-and-yellow scarf when her cell rang. Chris!
“Hey, twin, how are you?”
“I’m sitting on that cliff overlooking the ocean reading a magazine. How do you think I am?”
“Oh, wow.” Eva’s heart gave a wistful throb. That was a fantastic spot. One of her favorites.
“Tell me what’s been happening. Glad the shop is running fine—thanks for your texts—but I want t
o know how you are.”
“Ah.” Eva climbed onto a stool to see as much of herself as possible in the small mirror on the wall. “Guess who I had a date with last Tuesday?”
“Guess? Jeez, Eva, there aren’t that many men in New York. This shouldn’t take long.”
Eva giggled. “Your personal florist. Ames.”
“What?” Chris gasped. “You got stuck out with Ames? God, I’m sorry, Eva. What can I do to help you recover? Tea? A massage? Disinfectant?”
Eva’s brows shot up. She stopped in the act of trying to drape the scarf attractively around her neck—how did Natalie manage it? “What are you talking about? It was fabulous.”
“You think sitting in a stuffy businessman’s bar listening to him talk about himself is fabulous?”
“Uh.” Eva wrinkled her nose and tossed the scarf onto her desk. Were they talking about the same guy? “That’s not how it was. At all. We walked through Greenwich Village, he told me everything about its history, and then we ate take-out falafel on a bench in Washington Park and then we played mini golf.”
Silence, except for incredulous noises from her twin. “Ames Cooke? Brown hair, brown eyes, gold earring, looks like—”
“Colin Farrell, yes! We had a blast. I’m totally in love with him. He doesn’t know it yet but we’re—”
“Oh, no. Not again, not with this guy. He is not your type at all!”
“What is my type?” Eva stepped down and rummaged through her gym bag, hauled out another scarf, teal this time, shot through with glittering red-and-yellow threads.
“You know, laid-back, kind of funky, New Agey, creative, a little out there. Like Zac.”
“Uh-huh.” Eva hopped back on the stool. “Have any of those relationships ever worked out for me?”
“Well, no but...well, no. They’ve all failed spectacularly. But that’s because you dive in every time before you really—”
“So maybe that kind of man isn’t my type after all!” She flung the scarf carelessly around her shoulders and turned back and forth in front of the tiny mirror.
Blech. No.
Some Like It Hotter Page 5
