“I’d be scared of what you’d see if you looked at me through your lens,” he admitted.
“You shouldn’t.”
Evan scoffed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine there’s much good there…”
“You’d be surprised at what I see.”
That comment had him coming to a standstill. “Would I?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said, and started walking again. “Tell me what you see.”
Reagan slid her thumbs down the straps of her camera and cocked her head, looking him over.
“I see a successful man. One who dresses well, even on a Saturday morning. So that would indicate to me that he takes pride in his appearance. Maybe cares about what others think also. The fact that you were leaving a therapist’s office makes me think you’re a man with some issues, but also a man who is willing to work through them. Again, that comes back to pride. You seem to be able to swallow yours when need be.”
Evan’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing as she continued.
“You also have a certain…air about you. It’s in the way you move. You’re confident, but at the same time, when you flash that smile, the arrogance disappears, and you look like the boy you used to be.”
The smile under discussion appeared, and Evan asked, “How do you know what kind of boy I used to be?”
“Hey? This is my story,” Reagan reminded him before he continued asking questions she wasn’t willing to answer.
“Oh, my apologies, I somehow thought it involved me.”
“It does, but you’re on the outside listening, so shh. You asked, remember?”
With a serious face, he nodded. “You would be right.”
“Okay. Now I lost my train of thought.”
Evan chuckled. “Well, it’s probably for the best that you didn’t mention any of my unappealing attributes.”
“Speaking of…” she said, and turned to walk backward, facing him. “How did the session go today?”
“Really great. There was an orgy, a sampling of sex toys, and a dessert buffet afterward. Very satisfying.”
“Evan…”
He blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “It was fine. It’s always fine. Today, Dr. Glover brought up behavior triggers, and it helped to figure out where this whole mess started.”
Curious, she asked, “And where was that?”
“It wasn’t any one event. It was the high off the power I got from my job, it was being in an unhealthy relationship…my grandparents passing…the worry about following in my parents’ footsteps. The further things spiraled out of my control, the more I craved that control in other parts of my life. Well, a very specific part of my life.” He glanced over at her before continuing. “Obviously that’s the condensed version, but…I think it helps. Knowing those things and hopefully being able to stop them in the future.”
“But the urge isn’t gone?”
The look in his eyes was haunted as he replied, “No. No, it isn’t gone.”
“So…what does he suggest this week?”
“Ah,” Evan said, pulling out a colored flyer from his back pocket. “‘Love at First Sit,’ a speed dating and social mixer for those looking to meet that special someone and find true love.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to help you with? I thought you weren’t supposed to be taking random women home from a bar?”
“That’s not technically true—I don’t have to be completely celibate. But for this bit of homework, I’m supposed to talk to the women without hitting on them. I don’t even know if that’s possible.”
“So you mean you have to pretend to care?”
“In a manner of speaking…”
“Wait, you weren’t just—”
“No, no,” he interrupted. “I actually want to know about you.”
“How comforting,” she grumbled as she took the flyer from him. Then she scanned the date and time and looked up at him. “This is tonight.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I can’t think of a better possible way to spend my Saturday, can you?”
She was about to hand the flyer back and tell him no and good luck with that when he took her arm and stopped her.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Ohhhh no. No. Don’t even think about it.”
Evan’s mouth quirked in a way that made it difficult to look away.
“Too late. Come with me.”
“Are you out of your mind? You don’t take a date to speed dating.”
He patted her arm, much like she had earlier in the week, and she was annoyed that it irked her. She didn’t want him treating her like—
“My wingman, not my date.”
Trying not to be offended by the thought, Reagan mulled the idea over in her head.
“First off, I would be your wingwoman. Second, if I was going to do this I’d want it to be interesting, you know, for me too.” She pushed the flyer back against his chest and said, “Let’s make a bet.”
“A bet?”
“Yeah. I bet that if I get all dolled up and hit this ‘Love at First Sit’ deal, I will walk away with more phone numbers than you.”
Evan took the flyer from under her hand and looked at it once more. She could see him thinking it over before he raised his eyes to hers and asked, “What are the stakes?”
“Hmm. How about when I win, you have to bring me coffee every day next week with my name on it.”
He rubbed his right eyebrow with his index finger and then pointed at her. “You got it. And when I win, I want a date—a real date, with you.”
“What? No. That wasn’t—”
“A date, Reagan. If you’re confident in your”—his gaze traveled to her mouth—“abilities, then this should be an easy win for you.”
She shook her head. “That’s a dirty play, Evan.”
“I’m a dirty boy. Do we have a deal?”
Against every sensibility that was screaming out in warning, she stuck out her hand to shake his. “Deal.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
REAGAN RAN OUT to the curb as the bright yellow taxicab pulled up alongside her building. An hour or so earlier, the sky had opened up and decided to dump enough water that there was practically a stream running down the sidewalk. Cursing, she retracted her pink and black umbrella, yanked open the door, and dove inside headfirst, trying to save the hairstyle she’d spent the last half-hour perfecting.
“Damn it.”
She shook the umbrella, the water droplets that had been clinging to it falling to the plastic seat she was sticking to.
“Perfect. This is just perfect.” Sighing, she looked at the eyes in the rearview mirror and said, “Thirty-eighth and fifth, thanks.”
The driver gave a slight nod, and as he pulled out into the traffic, Reagan unzipped her bag and rummaged around inside looking for her compact, but then remembered she’d left it on the bathroom counter. Settling back, she groaned.
How on earth was she supposed to win this stupid bet if she turned up looking like a drowned New York sewer rat? The answer was simple—she wouldn’t, and that meant Evan would win.
Win a date with me.
This was so not a good idea. She’d known it the second he’d opened his mouth and suggested it. But instead of saying no, like she should have, she’d done what she always seemed to do when it came to Evan James…she’d caved. And maybe just a small part of her wanted him to win.
Now that is a stupid fucking idea.
But there was no denying that even though she’d always had the upper hand when it came to men, Evan was getting under her skin in a big way. It was hard enough trying not to admit that to herself, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult not to show him.
It hadn’t even occurred to her until just now that they were going to a bar. To meet other people. People besides each other.
Which was no big deal. Really. It wasn’t like they didn’t meet others all the time. This
would be easy, right?
Right.
As they neared the bar, she tousled her hair around her shoulders and then reached down to readjust her breasts so they were lifted in spectacular fashion. Number-grabbing fashion.
Take that, Evan James. Your ass is going down. Even if that’s possibly on me—nope, shut up. Not thinking it. He’ll just be bringing me coffee every day for a week, not orgasms. NOT orgasms.
The cab squealed to a stop in front of the bar, and Reagan handed him a twenty before pushing the door wide and opening her umbrella. She stepped up onto the pavement and scanned the crowd milling about under the awning. It didn’t take longer than a few seconds for her eyes to zoom in on tight-fitted pants hugging a perfect ass, a trim waist outlined by a tailored black button-down, and those broad shoulders encased in a jacket. Had it only been weeks since she’d dug her nails into those? Then he turned to face her.
Oh, who am I trying to kid? If he’s giving out orgasms…
“Blondie,” he called out, and lifted his hand in a wave.
She dashed over, out of the rain, and lowered the umbrella as she came to a stop in front of him. His eyes automatically zoomed in on her plumped-up breasts, and the first thought that ran through her mind was, Score one for me. Slightly juvenile, perhaps, but a much more appropriate thought than the ones she’d been having prior to getting out of the cab.
“I wasn’t sure you’d brave the weather tonight. Thought I might end up going stag.”
Shaking the umbrella, Reagan brought her eyes up to his and let her mouth curl into a wicked smile.
“Please, I’m at my best when wet.”
Evan’s eyes heated as he seemed to bite his tongue. “Already pulling out the big guns, I see.”
“Oh no, honey, I haven’t even started. I’m saving my true arsenal for the men who count.”
Evan cocked his head to the side, but didn’t appear offended as a small smile tugged his lips. “I see how it is.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. You’re gonna go all sex kitten, and I’m going to be stuck asking about feelings and shit.”
As they moved toward the door, and Evan reached for the handle and pulled it open, Reagan stopped and looked up at him.
“You do have feelings, don’t you, Evan?”
He leaned down until his mouth was by her ear and whispered, “I’m having a very strong feeling right now.”
Reagan’s stomach flipped, and she ignored the urge to flirt back with the man grinning at her, instead scoffing before patting his arm. “Well, you should make sure to tell that to the first young lady you sit down with.”
“If she’s a lady, I’m thinking she won’t appreciate that particular feeling.”
“Then what does that make me?”
Brushing past him, she felt his hand against her hip through the tight material of her dress. She didn’t have to have eyes in the back of her head to know he was staring at her ass.
“That makes you fucking dangerous.”
Stopping in front of a table full of labels and black markers, she gave him a sultry look and picked up a sticker. She scrawled his name and peeled the back off, slapping it on his chest. Then she repeated the move, locked eyes with him, and stuck it to her breast before smoothing her hand over it…slowly.
“Game on, Mr. James.”
She turned away from his perusal then, looking around the room and noticing men on one side and the women on the other.
“Looks like we part ways here. Don’t forget to ask about how many kids they’d like someday and what their dream wedding looks like. Women love that kind of thing.”
“Can’t wait. And what’s your plan, Miss Spencer?”
Reagan turned and gave him a mischievous grin over her shoulder. “Feel free to watch.”
With that, she joined the other women on the right side of the room, and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Evan walk to the crowd of men on the left. She realized then that she hadn’t even noticed what any of the guys looked like, so she made eye contact with each one as she looked them over. Evan seemed to be making friends already, chatting up his competition at the bar. Arrogant bastard.
Looking around her, she noticed a mix of women, early twenties to what she’d guess was late fifties, and all of them immaculate despite the rain.
“Welcome to Love at First Sit,” a loud male voice boomed through a microphone, causing the room to go quiet and bringing their attention to a flamboyantly dressed man at the head of the long center aisle of pushed-together tables. “Where you could be taking your first seat toward your future.”
Reagan tried not to roll her eyes as she glanced over at Evan to find him taking a shot. She probably should’ve followed his lead on that one.
“So as you can see,” the man continued, “we’ve got the love seats all laid out for you here. Ladies will be seated on the right, and the gentlemen will rotate the chairs on the left every time this bell sounds.” He paused as the woman behind him rang it and then said, “You’ve got three minutes to make your match. We’ve left pens and paper on the tables, should you want to exchange contact information, or you can choose to get together after the speed dating concludes, and mingle at the bar. Are you ready to find love, New York City?”
A few embarrassed cheers rang out, and he tried again.
“I said, are you ready to find true love, New York City?”
This time, Reagan looked right at Evan with a confident smirk and winked before chorusing out a “hell yeah” with the crowd. He returned the look, and then she took a seat at one of the open chairs and waited for her first victim.
The man who walked over was attractive enough. He was dressed in dark jeans and a lightweight, blue V-neck pullover. He smiled down at her and pulled the chair out, stumbling slightly as he sat.
Chuckling, he straightened in the seat and said, “Way to make a good first impression, huh?”
Reagan grinned at him, realizing nerves when she saw them, but figured she might as well put him at ease…after all, your first was always the most difficult. Why not make this memorable for him?
Leaning forward, she rested an elbow on the table, knowing full well it pushed her breasts together and gave her amazing cleavage, but to his credit, Mr. Stumble’s eyes remained on her face.
“So…” she drawled, wondering if maybe she, yeah, stroked a finger along her exposed collarbone his interest would be piqued. “I’m Reagan.”
She figured she’d clue the guy in since, apparently, he was hellbent on keeping his eyes above her neck. Well, damn, now she had to talk.
“And you are…” She dropped her eyes to his nametag. “Scott.”
“That’s right.”
His short answer made Reagan start to worry a little. What if this was harder than she originally thought?
She glanced over to where Evan was seated, three tables away, and the brunette he was opposite was all smiles and giggling. She’d even leaned in and touched his hand.
There was a slight cough in front of her, and she realized she’d completely ignored the question that had been directed at her.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Mr. Stumble looked down in the direction she’d been staring then back to her. “I just asked what you do for a living.”
Really? That’s what he’s going with?
Not understanding why this man wasn’t even remotely interested in her girls, she frowned and sat back. “I’m a lingerie model.” There, that should get his attention.
She waited for him to give her a thorough once-over, to see if she could in fact be able to model the skimpy items she claimed to, and what was he doing—he was looking at the damn tablecloth!
Seriously…
After a few more moments of awkward silence, she heard, “Okay, everyone, wrap it up. Thirty seconds until we switcheroo.”
Reagan couldn’t believe that her first shot out of the gate was a lame horse, but then she reminded herself this was about winning a bet,
not getting a date.
So…what the hell.
“I’d love to meet up with you again,” she lied. “Would you like to exchange numbers?”
He looked down in the direction of Evan, probably wanting his own shot at the brunette, and then turned back to her.
“No. That’s okay.”
With that parting remark, Reagan’s mouth fell open, and the bell chimed. The men stood, about to move on, and she noticed the brunette out of the corner of her eye pass Evan what had to be…her damn number.
Well, hell. Evan, 1. Me? A big fat 0.
Straightening her shoulders and plastering a smile on her face, she greeted the next guy who sat down before her. Charles from Charleston was forty-two and never married, but was really looking for a down-to-earth girl to bring home to his parents. He also loved redheads and fly-fishing, and despised Manhattan.
This is the longest three minutes of my life.
Reagan nodded absentmindedly as she listened to him drone on and on, unable to get a word in edgewise. When he paused to take a swallow of his drink, she opened her mouth to say something, but just then the bell sounded, and he stood up quickly.
“Nice to meet you,” he threw out, and turned his attention to the next woman in line.
Okay, what the hell is going on…
She reached for the spoon by her hand, unwrapped it from the napkin, and brought it up to check out her reflection. Nothing out of place. Even her waves had somehow survived the humidity. The dress she’d chosen for tonight had worked so well in the past when on the prowl that she now only brought it out for special occasions.
Well, not that this was a special occasion or anything. She just needed numbers. And she needed them fucking now.
Evan took a seat at the table next to her, his three-minute date a couple of decades older than him, not that he seemed to mind. He oozed money, sex, and sophistication—three things no woman in this city could resist, and the smile he gave that woman probably had her ready to fling her panties at him in surrender.
Jesus Christ.
“So you must be Reagan.” The man across from her had already sat down and was watching her intently. Reaching his hand across the table, he said, “I’m Mike.”
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