“I’d love to have your rack, Charlotte.” This from Faith, who gestured to her own small breasts. “If I wear a strapless dress, I have to have it tailored so tight I can hardly breathe or it’ll fall to my waist.”
“Yeah but your legs are nine miles long,” Sofie pointed out. “And so are yours, Charlie. I’ve seen you in a bikini.”
“So did my new neighbor,” she admitted with a wince. When she’d strolled down to the dock, she hadn’t thought a single thing about laying out in her favorite bathing suit and relaxing… until Evan appeared on the dock.
“Ohhh, now we’re getting somewhere.” Faith smiled.
“It’s not like that.” Though, maybe it was a bit like that. Because the moment Evan showed up on the dock, Charlie had to play it extra cool to not react to his presence. Under his turquoise gaze yesterday, her tasteful, cute bathing suit felt like it was covering a hell of a lot less.
“How are they adjusting?” Sofie asked, meaning Evan and Lyon. Charlie had filled them in on him moving here, on how Lyon was like the nephew she’d never had. Which was not technically true. She did have a nephew, but her sister was distant, both geographically and emotionally, and Charlie rarely saw Theo.
“Good. Settling nicely,” she answered, careful to keep any hint of a lilt out of her voice. “Lyon loves it here.”
“That’s great,” Sofie said sincerely.
Faith clucked her tongue. “Must be horrible to find the love of your life and then have to live the rest of your life without her.”
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “Rae was one of a kind.”
Rae and Charlie may not have lived close to one another, but it didn’t stop Rae from being the most consistent person in her life. Charlie’s sister lived on the other side of the country—Texas last she’d heard—and their father… their father made it clear to his girls that they were on their own when their mother died. Charlie was seventeen at the time and graduated from high school. She had needed him then more than ever, but unable to deal with his grief over losing her mother, he just… left.
“She died right around when we met, right?” Sofie asked.
It took Charlie a second to realize she was asking about Rae and not her mom.
“Four years.” Four long years since Rae dropped to her knees in her hallway, taken by her weak heart, a condition doctors never knew she had until it was too late. “She was twenty-six.”
“Wow.” This from both girls. That one word said what they were all thinking: Too young.
A rap on the wall drew their attention to the doorway where the Evergreen Club’s manager stood. “About done, ladies? We have to set up for a bar mitzvah.”
“On our way out,” Charlie assured the manager, who left with a nod of his head. She turned to Sofie. “He’s cute.”
“Eh.”
“Come on,” Faith pressed.
“Yeah.” Charlie unscrewed the lens from her camera. “He’s fairly tall, has a nice… um… tie.”
Faith laughed and stood to fetch the padded camera bag.
“He’s so cute, why don’t you go out with him?” Sofie asked Charlie.
“Because I’m very busy and important.” And because she had no interest in diving back into the dating pool after Russell had dragged her to the deep end and left her there with an anchor tied around her neck.
“Not your type?” Faith craned a light eyebrow.
At the mention of “type,” a vision of dark hair, blue eyes, and a tilted smile popped into her head.
Well. That was… unexpected. Then again, who could help eyeing Evan Downey in a semi-tight white tee outlining his firmly muscled chest, revealing enough of those delicious tattoos to cause her heart to flutter? Not to mention the brash way he’d pointed out her, uh, assets. All while sporting a smile both lethal and charming.
He didn’t mince words, blurting out exactly what he thought. And he’d mentioned a grown man, a cold shower, something about a hot chick he’d come down to ask out on a date.
There was only one way to take that conversation.
He thought she looked hot.
She really didn’t know what to do with that.
“Um…”
“Mm-hmm.” Sofie, who eerily possessed the ability to read Charlie’s mind, hummed. Thankfully, she let her off the hook. “When will you have my brochure designed?”
Charlie shrugged. “A few days.”
“Friday?” she asked, lifting the case she had helped pack. “Your place?”
“Over wine,” Faith added. “My treat.”
“Friday,” Charlie confirmed to her friends. “Over lots of wine.”
* * *
The airport was bustling this afternoon, travelers moving through the crowds with tired looks on their faces, or studying the luggage carousel with far too much concentration.
Evan found himself relieved, as he had multiple times in his life, that he wasn’t a suit-wearing man outfitted with a briefcase and a tie around his neck. His cousin, Shane, and oldest brother, Landon, were those guys, but Evan had always been more like his dad and his brother, Aiden.
To him, the classes didn’t matter. Upper, middle, everyone had problems of a different scale regardless of how much money they hauled in. It was more the idea of how he wanted to live. Like Aiden wanted to spend time on a bike or under it—which was the very reason he’d purchased five motorcycle shops in Ohio—Evan had always wanted to make art.
Tattooing had chosen him, a form of art involving blood and surgical gloves, though most people only saw that he inflicted pain rather than relieved his clients of it. Beyond that, the artistry had always come first. The body was a more challenging canvas than paper, which he liked. He also appreciated the permanence of his art. A tat was carried wherever its owner went.
“The flight’s on time,” his agent, Glo, called out as she approached from the direction of the schedule board. She was Asher’s literary agent, too. For better or worse. “Where is he?”
“You know Ash. Probably christening a new stewardess into the Mile High club.”
“Gross.” Her brow dented over catlike blue eyes.
Evan let out a dry laugh. Like he could offend Gloria Shields. She could match any man shot-for-shot at a bar, and had a mouth like a sailor, which he admired the hell out of.
Plus, Glo was a knockout. A woman worthy of pinup status with a healthy curve to her hips and tits she put on a shelf for the world to admire. He admired that about her, too.
“Since when are you grossed out by airplane sex?” he asked.
She flipped her shiny black hair over her shoulder, lips dropping open in feigned offense. “What are you insinuating, Downey?”
“That you have sex on airplanes,” he deadpanned.
She sneered at him but didn’t deny it, he noticed before turning to watch the direction of the passengers filing toward them. “I really need him not to have any bad press this week.”
“Asher is a rock star, babe. He comes with bad press.”
At this, her lips pursed, a certain spark lighting her eyes. He’d seen the look on her face before. The night in Chicago they went out for drinks with the rest of her clients. She had treated, but the other four women and one man who’d joined them bailed before midnight. He and Glo had stayed to order another round. After that round, he took her to the dance floor and they danced slowly, and given the number of whiskey shots they’d done, probably badly. He’d kissed her. Under the pulsating lights and the fluctuating beat, he laid his hands on her hips and tasted those full, pouting lips for himself.
Sobriety never happened so fast.
She pulled her head away and he had done the same. And there, under the smoke and filtered light, they blinked at each other and laughed.
“Eww,” she’d said.
“That… wasn’t good,” he’d agreed.
They went back to drinking, shared a cab back to the hotel where he’d been rooming, and never, ever went there again. Gloria felt more like a sister, or
a cousin, and he guessed she saw him the same way.
But that sparkle in her eyes since he mentioned Asher by name… no, that was something else. One dot connected to another in his head.
“You and Ash?”
“You’re high.”
“You’re dodging.”
They faced each other and her eyelids narrowed. “Didn’t we determine it’s a bad idea for me to get involved with my clients?”
“We determined it was a bad idea for you to get involved with me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Talk to your brother Landon lately?” she asked, forcing a subject change.
He let her. “Yeah, why?”
“Kimber mentioned your new nephew has him wrapped in one tight little fist. Made me think of you and Lyon.”
Kimber, Landon’s wife, was Glo’s best friend, and if anyone asked Evan, the very thing that saved his brother from living life as a robot. Glo was right about Caleb, though. Landon and Kimber’s son had Landon under his pudgy thumb.
Evan had been like that with Lyon. He remembered how overwhelming and joyous those first months with a baby could be. His kid almost never slept and he and Rae were up a lot. When Rae took the night shift at the hospital, sometimes Evan didn’t sleep at all. Come to think of it, that was when he’d started painting at night. Lyon’s sleeplessness the perfect excuse for him to go to the empty back room, turn on some Aerosmith, and sing to his son while amusing him with bright colors on canvas.
“There he is. Finally,” Glo said.
Asher Knight emerged from a cluster of girls young and old, all smiles as he walked by. A duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Asher swaggered toward them wearing the required rock star attire of a threadbare black T-shirt, black jeans, and his signature black cowboy boots.
“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine…” Evan started singing.
Gloria chuckled.
“Because you’re mine,” he finished in a low baritone, “I walk the line.”
But Glo was no longer paying him any attention, eyes on Asher as she adjusted her low-cut top to be lower cut.
“Glo, babe, hold it together.” Evan earned a punch in the arm, but she put on a huge smile when Ash reached them.
Asher ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair, then pulled it down his weary face.
“Hey, Ash.” Her voice went breathy.
Good God. Can she pick ’em, or can she pick ’em?
“Hey, Sarge,” Asher returned. Her nickname since she’d signed him and began—as Ash put it—“barking orders” at him. Evan suspected he liked being “barked” at. The nickname was in no way an insult, seconded by Glo, who blushed.
Actually blushed. Unbelievable.
“You look like you need a massage and a good night’s sleep,” she observed, and Evan wondered if she was offering one or both.
“I need Jack Daniel’s and a bag of gummy bears,” he answered, his voice scratchy.
He jerked his chin at Evan. “Good to see you, brother.”
“Took you long enough to get here,” Evan said.
Asher popped him in the arm, the friendly tap five times harder than Glo’s full-on punch. “Layover was a bitch.”
She held up a hand. “If that’s a euphemism of some sort, I don’t want to know. I picked up the keys to your skank-free cabin and did a walk-through. See if you can keep it that way.”
Ash straightened and gave her a lazy salute. “Yes, sir.”
She lifted a black eyebrow, then turned for the exit. “Come on, boys.”
“We’re men,” Asher argued as he and Evan fell in line behind her out the door.
“Whatever,” she said without turning.
To Evan, he said, “Skank-free?”
“Yeah, didn’t you hear? Evergreen Cove has a ban on skanks.”
“What about babes?”
“Open season, man. Especially the feisty ones.”
“Yeah,” Ash agreed, his eyes on Gloria. “I see that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Asher pushed a bar napkin across the table and gestured to the hopeless doodle scrawled on the tearing paper. “See what I mean?”
Evan studied the napkin, then gave him a bland look.
Asher grinned. “Hey, I’m better at singing than I am at drawing.”
“God, I hope so.” He spun the napkin so it was right side up… he thought. And tried to make out what he was pretty sure was Swine Flew’s superhero costume. “Is this a… cape?”
Asher tapped the napkin. “It’s his tail.”
Gloria reached over Evan’s arm and turned the napkin again. In unison, they both said, “Ohhhh.”
“You guys are assholes,” Asher pointed out, but his grin was locked on his face. Probably thanks to the Jack and Coke in front of him.
Evan folded the napkin, stood, and shoved it into his pocket. “I’m out. I have to pick up Lyon.”
“Where is he, anyway?” Asher asked. “School?”
“It’s July, dumbass,” he pointed out. Asher flipped him off. “He’s hanging out with Charlie.”
“Charlie.” Ash’s voice dipped. “I remember her.”
“You do not.”
He lifted his glass and shrugged. “I remember you talking about her.”
“You have a very skewed memory of our teenage years.”
“He has a skewed memory of his current ones as well,” Glo put in.
“You’d better be glad my memory is skewed, Sarge.”
Didn’t sound like something Evan wanted to hear about at all. He lifted a hand in farewell, leaving them to their bicker-flirting. “Bye, kids.”
He drove to Charlie’s, grateful she’d offered to watch Lyon while he had a powwow. He needed to find a long-term babysitter. Her being nearby wasn’t good enough reason to dump his kid on her lap whenever he had stuff to do. Willing or no, she had things to do, and Evan had always prided himself on his independence.
* * *
“That’s so coooool,” Lyon said through a fit of laughter.
Charlie couldn’t help laughing, too. She’d taken photos of him in her studio while they hung out today, which hadn’t impressed him, but when she’d opened Photoshop and started manipulating his facial features, he became rapt.
“I want fangs.”
“Fangs?” She laughed but acquiesced, using the mouse to drag one of the program’s tools over the tip of his canine tooth to make it pointed. After two “fangs” were in place, he erupted again.
“All right, Lestat, enough play. I’m going to print some for your dad. You pick.” She shut down Photoshop and was about to open the folder full of pictures when a different folder caught her eye.
It was labeled, simply, RAE.
“Look here,” she said quietly, double clicking the folder. Thumbnail images filled the screen. Rae smiling, Rae being sassy. Rae in a wedding gown. Rae in her prom dress. Rae in Evan’s arms on New Year’s Eve. Rae holding a newborn baby Lyon in a hospital bed.
He pointed. “That’s me.”
“Yep. That’s you. All eight pounds, seven ounces of you. You were a big baby!”
“No, I wasn’t.” He wrinkled his adorable nose.
“Your mom would have argued differently. She was in labor with you for eighteen hours.”
Charlie could still hear Rae’s voice as she mopped the sweat from her brow. Never doing this again. Mark my words. Evan had chuckled. Rae had shot him a death glare. Such a good memory.
Then Charlie’s smile faded. Rae was right. She’d never done it again.
Before tears could cloud her vision, she closed the photo and opened the pictures of Lyon she’d taken today. Handing over the mouse to him, she gestured to the screen. “See those boxes?” She pointed out the small check box in the right hand corner of each photo.
“Yeah.”
“Click the box.” He did. “See how there’s a green checkmark there now? That’s how you can pick.”
“How many can I pick?”
She’d taken at lea
st a hundred shots. “As many as you like.” She nudged his shoulder. “I have to clean up the mess we made.”
Leaving him to his task, she went to her “studio,” really the room in her house that should serve as the master bedroom. Instead of sleeping in here, she’d installed room-darkening blinds over both windows and packed the walk-in closet with screens, lights, and other photography equipment. She told herself she’d use the room all the time, which would justify her taking the smaller bedroom across the hall barely holding her queen-size bed, dresser, and vanity. Truth was, she used her studio sometimes, but mostly found herself where Lyon sat now: at the computer, poring over photos or Photoshopping images.
When she had dreamed of having a photography career, her dream hadn’t included airbrushing an ill-timed pimple off a bride’s nose in three hundred wedding photos.
She scooted the stool aside and rolled up the screen depicting a bright blue, sunny day. Today, the lake was cloudy, the sky gray-green, and the light not ample enough for a shoot. She’d have to get some shots of Lyon on the beach on a nicer day.
“Charlie! Ready!”
She shut off the light in the closet and tracked back to the front room where she kept her desk.
“I picked a lot.”
“That’s okay, sweetie.” His face could eat every drop of her printer’s ink and she couldn’t care less. “Let’s see.”
One by one, they reviewed them, and when he paused on one of the black-and-whites of him looking to the side, a look of consternation on his face, she gasped.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
His brows were drawn, his eyes catching light, and the angle of his face…
“Nothing. You look like your dad in this one.” He did. Just like Evan, a sharp, but contemplative expression—buried in puffy little boy cheeks, but still. So much like Evan. She’d always thought Lyon looked more like Rae, but now that he was getting older… “Handsome,” she murmured.
“I didn’t know you were taking that one.”
“I know. Those are always the best ones.” This one in particular needed to be matted and hung on the tallest wall opposite Evan’s dining room. Against the pale pine walls, it would look great with a white matte and thick black frame. “Do you like it?”
Bringing Home the Bad Boy Page 4
