city?”
“Don’t need one. I train it mostly.”
“Where do you live?”
“Tribeca.”
Town houses whiz by as he expertly navigates the street. My heart races a little. The car takes a smooth corner, and I notice how his right hand goes to the gear shift.
“Tribeca’s nice,” he says. “I have a client who has a penthouse there along the Hudson.”
“Right, you mentioned that you were still practicing.”
“Just some private clients. Athletes mostly. Deal brokering and contract stuff.”
Just then we clear a hill, and a massive green lawn peppered with people becomes visible. Evan swings us into an empty parking space and shoots out of the car to open my door.
“You drive like you used to drive stick,” I say as he pulls me up by one hand.
His brows draw together at my observation. “The piece of shit I used to drive in high school was manual. Plus my buddy and I race cars from time to time at a track in Vegas. Did my driving scare you?” he asks almost apologetically.
“No, you just move your hand off the wheel to downshift.”
“It’s crazy that you caught that.”
“I tend to overanalyze.”
“No shit,” he says with a rueful smile. “So what have you gleaned from your analysis of my driving?”
“Aggressive,” I say.
“Is that bad?” he asks with an intense look.
“No,” I murmur, then glance toward the park. I feel rather than see his smirk. I turn back to him. “Well, thank you for the ride. It was nice getting to know you.” I try to etch the moment in my brain, studying his face, his lips. It feels like something is slipping away.
I wonder, if we had met under different circumstances, could we have been friends? Or lovers? Either way, things are a bit messy now. I offer my hand for a formal good-bye. His nose scrunches.
“I told you last night, it’s not over.” Walking past me, he begins a lazy pace toward the lawn.
Chapter Nine
At a coffee cart, Evan hands me a chicory blend that makes my day a little brighter. The unexpected company doesn’t hurt either, regardless of the fact that we are walking on eggshells. I don’t know what is on his agenda now, but I decide to just go with it. Delicious coffee. Picturesque park. Hot man. It’s the romantic-comedy trifecta. Rom-com trifectas—that might be a fun post for Fierce.
“What are you thinking about?” Evan asks, leading us to a line of benches.
“My impending lawsuit,” I say. He eyes me behind those mirrored aviators.
“You glaze over when you talk to yourself in your head,” he says.
“Actually, I was thinking of an article for work. Sometimes ideas just pop up. I guess I’m sort of always working.”
“Do you need a pen? I bet the cart has one.”
I shake my head but appreciate his efforts. Pete always gets annoyed when I need a few seconds to jot down ideas. I ask myself why I have been with Pete for so long, but my thoughts stall when Evan stretches out on the bench next to me. His arm rests on the back by my shoulders, and his hand is inches from my hair.
“So you still have clients in New York. Anywhere else?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light even as I inhale his cologne, which the breeze takes right under my nose.
“Sure, New Orleans, Atlanta, Vegas.”
“How do you meet them?”
“Um… The first few were through Jared.” Slipping off his glasses he avoids my gaze, obviously uncomfortable talking candidly about his best friend with me.
“Look, today is off the record. Okay? Maybe we can start over.”
“Okay.” He nods and takes a sip of his coffee, glancing at my mouth. I wonder what he is thinking about, because I find myself reliving that kiss every time his lips touch the rim of his coffee cup. Was he thinking about it too? He continues, “Should we start when you slipped into my office? Or on the couch right before you bolted? I vote the couch.”
He is teasing me again. It feels good. “You want to go back to where you were taking advantage of me on
“Don’t need one. I train it mostly.”
“Where do you live?”
“Tribeca.”
Town houses whiz by as he expertly navigates the street. My heart races a little. The car takes a smooth corner, and I notice how his right hand goes to the gear shift.
“Tribeca’s nice,” he says. “I have a client who has a penthouse there along the Hudson.”
“Right, you mentioned that you were still practicing.”
“Just some private clients. Athletes mostly. Deal brokering and contract stuff.”
Just then we clear a hill, and a massive green lawn peppered with people becomes visible. Evan swings us into an empty parking space and shoots out of the car to open my door.
“You drive like you used to drive stick,” I say as he pulls me up by one hand.
His brows draw together at my observation. “The piece of shit I used to drive in high school was manual. Plus my buddy and I race cars from time to time at a track in Vegas. Did my driving scare you?” he asks almost apologetically.
“No, you just move your hand off the wheel to downshift.”
“It’s crazy that you caught that.”
“I tend to overanalyze.”
“No shit,” he says with a rueful smile. “So what have you gleaned from your analysis of my driving?”
“Aggressive,” I say.
“Is that bad?” he asks with an intense look.
“No,” I murmur, then glance toward the park. I feel rather than see his smirk. I turn back to him. “Well, thank you for the ride. It was nice getting to know you.” I try to etch the moment in my brain, studying his face, his lips. It feels like something is slipping away.
I wonder, if we had met under different circumstances, could we have been friends? Or lovers? Either way, things are a bit messy now. I offer my hand for a formal good-bye. His nose scrunches.
“I told you last night, it’s not over.” Walking past me, he begins a lazy pace toward the lawn.
Chapter Nine
At a coffee cart, Evan hands me a chicory blend that makes my day a little brighter. The unexpected company doesn’t hurt either, regardless of the fact that we are walking on eggshells. I don’t know what is on his agenda now, but I decide to just go with it. Delicious coffee. Picturesque park. Hot man. It’s the romantic-comedy trifecta. Rom-com trifectas—that might be a fun post for Fierce.
“What are you thinking about?” Evan asks, leading us to a line of benches.
“My impending lawsuit,” I say. He eyes me behind those mirrored aviators.
“You glaze over when you talk to yourself in your head,” he says.
“Actually, I was thinking of an article for work. Sometimes ideas just pop up. I guess I’m sort of always working.”
“Do you need a pen? I bet the cart has one.”
I shake my head but appreciate his efforts. Pete always gets annoyed when I need a few seconds to jot down ideas. I ask myself why I have been with Pete for so long, but my thoughts stall when Evan stretches out on the bench next to me. His arm rests on the back by my shoulders, and his hand is inches from my hair.
“So you still have clients in New York. Anywhere else?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light even as I inhale his cologne, which the breeze takes right under my nose.
“Sure, New Orleans, Atlanta, Vegas.”
“How do you meet them?”
“Um… The first few were through Jared.” Slipping off his glasses he avoids my gaze, obviously uncomfortable talking candidly about his best friend with me.
“Look, today is off the record. Okay? Maybe we can start over.”
“Okay.” He nods and takes a sip of his coffee, glancing at my mouth. I wonder what he is thinking about, because I find myself reliving that kiss every time his lips touch the rim of his coffee cup. Was he thinking about it too? He continues, “Should we start when you slipped into my office? Or on the couch right before you bolted? I vote the couch.”
He is teasing me again. It feels good. “You want to go back to where you were taking advantage of me on
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