All About Evie by Beth Ciotta

I’d been looped—I’m one of those people who gets fog-brained on cold medicine—but not that looped.
    â€œAn airport hotel. Tomorrow morning we’ll cab over to the cruise port, board the ship. That’s when the real work begins.” He snatched a room service menu from a side table, gave it a three-second glance, then passed it to me. “It’s half-past eight and I haven’t eaten since morning.”
    Come to think of it, neither had I. “I could stand a little something.” Like a big, juicy cheeseburger and a plate of fries smothered in brown gravy. I settled on a mixed salad and bottled water with lemon. After seeing Arch’s body, I was more than a little self-conscious about my soft spots. Tomorrow I might even do aerobics. Gag.
    He shifted back to his laptop, closed the file he’d been working in and shut down. “You want a sandwich with that salad?”
    Yes. “No.”
    â€œHung over?”
    No. “Yes.” Sort of. Mostly, I wanted to tone up overnight. Like that was going to happen. But, hey, that’s what I do. Dream. Imagine. Pretend. According to my mom, my free spirit was at the root of all my problems. If I’d gone to college like my brother, I would have had a teaching degree to fall back on. Instead, I was looking at life as a gorilla.
    â€œWhy dinnae you shower?” Arch said as he moved toward the phone. “Change into something comfortable?”
    â€œAs in skimpy?” The notion appalled and intrigued me. Talk about confused.
    His lips twitched. “Would you be comfortable eating dinner and going over your character profile in your bra and panties?”
    â€œAre you asking Sugar or me?”
    â€œYou.”
    â€œThen, no.”
    â€œ Didnae think so.”
    His cocky grin liquefied my bones. Wow. Instead of melting into a puddle, I dropped to my knees and popped the latches of Big Red.
    Arch chuckled and reached for the phone. It chimed, which was weird since he was calling out. He replaced the receiver and snagged a cell phone off the desk. “Yeah?”
    He really needed to work on his greetings.
    â€œAre you mental?” He jammed a hand through his damp waves. “Bugger off, mate. It’s too late.”
    I tried not to listen. Okay. That’s a lie. My curiosity kept me from discreetly escaping into the bathroom. I dawdled over my suitcase, located my toiletry bag and picked through my loungewear.
    â€œWhy dinnae we leave it up to Evie?”
    I froze at the sound of my name, looked up just as Arch reached down and handed me his phone.
    My skin sizzled from his touch, brief though it was. Without a word he settled on the bed, kicked back—ankles crossed, hands behind his head. Like me, I guess he intended to eavesdrop.
    Heart pounding, I sat back on my heels, pressed the cell to my ear. “Yeah?” Lame greeting. An Arch greeting. But the best I could manage since I didn’t know who was on the other end of the line.
    â€œDo not get on that ship with Arch.”
    Michael. “Why not?”
    â€œI made a mistake, hon. Come home.”
    My stomach knotted. I broke into a clammy sweat . Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Was he talking about Sasha? Suddenly, after a year of hootchy-kootchy with Miss January of the Beach Hut Babe calendar, he wanted to reunite with me? Insane hope surged through my blood. “What are you saying?”
    â€œYou’re not up to this job.”
    Good thing I was sitting, otherwise, my knees would’ve buckled. I clenched my jaw, cursed the dreamer in me and willed my heart to keep beating. “Why not?”
    â€œFor one you get seasick.”
    â€œI have Dramamine.” I wish I had a pill to cure me of you.
    â€œI don’t trust Arch.”
    â€œI don’t trust you. But we still work together. Sort of.”
    Dead air.
    He was probably trying to formulate an excuse for my lack of bookings without targeting my age.