by Whitley Cox
Eyes flared and brows rose around the table.
“Single mom?” Emmett asked. He’d landed his own single mom earlier that year, falling for the wonderful and beautiful Zara at a New Year’s Eve party Scott had attended as well.
He nodded. “Yeah. “
Emmett’s mouth formed an O, and he nodded.
“She hot?” Zak asked.
Fucking smokin’.
He nodded again. “Yeah.”
Heads bobbed around their little trust circle, and the odd nice was murmured.
“Going out on Monday,” he said with a mouth full of pretzels. “She scored tickets to the Allison DeWitt signing.”
Everyone but Liam gave him a confused lip curl or brow raise.
“Well, now you have to marry this chick. If she’s into that weirdo fantasy fiction like you, you can’t fuck this up.”
“This coming from the born-again bachelor, anti-love cynic?” Mason asked, his expression just as surprised as the rest of them as he lasered his focus in on Liam.
Liam lifted one shoulder. “I’m not saying their marriage will last. But Katrin thought those fantasy books were garbage—because they are—but if he can find someone who not only puts up with his geeky obsession but also takes part in it, well, then who am I to dismiss a temporary happily ever after?”
“You’re a dick,” Scott muttered to his older brother.
Liam shrugged again. “Perhaps, but I’m also rarely wrong. Marry her and have a blissful, geeky five to seven years. Then I’ll represent you in the divorce and help you move out of that septuagenarian borough you and my nephew are living in.”
“You’re still a dick,” Scott bit back, making sure his glare was extra fierce. Liam seemed neither fazed nor apologetic. In fact, he seemed a bit bored.
“Moving on,” Atlas grunted. “Let’s play some fucking poker. “
“Agreed.” Mark nodded.
Adam fished his phone out of his back pocket, and his thumb began to fly across the screen. “But first, baby photos.” He held up the screen of his phone, where a three-week-old baby Brielle was snoozing peacefully in her bassinet while Adam’s daughter Mira and Mitch’s daughter Jayda stood beside it with enormous grins.
“How are the girls handling having a new little sister slash cousin around?” Scott asked, grateful for the change of subject but also curious about how Mira, who spent half her time with Adam and Violet and the other half of her time with Mitch and Paige, was handling a new baby sister. Jayda was Brielle’s cousin, so there probably wasn’t as much jealousy involved—at least he assumed.
“They’re handling it well,” Adam said through a yawn. “Mira loves her sister. Almost a little too much. We keep having to say ’gentle with the baby,’ otherwise we might have an Of Mice and Men situation on our hands.”
“So no jealousy?” Atlas asked, his long fingers drumming nervously on the table.
Adam and Mitch shook their heads. “None so far,” they both said.
Atlas hummed.
“Aria struggling with having Cecily in the house?” Scott asked Atlas.
One curt nod was all they got from the steely-eyed blond man.
“Fuck, that’s hard,” Zak muttered. His brows furrowed for a moment before he leaned his broad frame over and dug his phone out of his back pocket. “During the divorce, we sent Aiden to an art therapist here in the city. She worked miracles with him. Got him to really open up, express his feelings through art—kid still does it. When he’s angry or hurt, he draws or paints, often spending hours in his room, forgetting to eat or sleep sometimes until his project is complete.”
“Jesus,” Aaron muttered. “That doesn’t seem healthy.”
“I thought so too at first, but once his project is done and he’s let those feelings out in the most constructive way that works for him, he’s back to his old self. I was skeptical of this woman at first, especially since I got a serious hippy-dippy vibe from her the first time I took Aiden, but she knows her shit and is fantastic with kids.”
Atlas’s phone next to his drinking glass vibrated. But he didn’t even blink to acknowledge it.
Zak stowed his phone in his jeans once again. “There. I just texted you her information. Her name is Tessa Copland, and she—” He shook his head and smiled a smile of gratitude before running his big, meaty hand through his dark red hair. “She fucking saved my kid, is all I’m saying. You all saw how troubled Aiden was when everything with Loni went down. Tessa worked a goddamn miracle.”
“Your kid was nine,” Atlas said. “Aria is three.”
“Doesn’t matter. Tessa works with all ages. Just give her a call, or check out her website. It couldn’t hurt.”
Atlas grunted a response, which meant the conversation was over.
Nobody could really blame the man for his constant grumpiness. He was fucking exhausted. A widower of nearly two years, he was now raising his daughter Aria alone and had recently taken in his cousin’s infant daughter, Cecily, after his cousin lost custody of her. Toss in the fact that Atlas was also a senior partner at Liam’s law firm and apparently close to becoming a name partner, the man was stretched paper-thin. If they were all bigger assholes, they’d start placing bets on when his tether would finally snap.
But they weren’t assholes, they were brothers, friends, family, and they did whatever they could do to help Atlas, which often meant taking Aria for a few hours so the man could take a deep breath without having to answer fifty million why questions. Scott did not miss those days.
When Freddie would ask why so many fucking times in a day, Scott felt like his head was going to explode. Only for the kid to ask the exact same fucking questions the next day. He got that it was appropriate age development and meant that his kid was eager to learn about the world and blah, blah, blah, but Jesus fucking Christ, “Why does a bird only have two legs but a zebra has four?” can only be asked so many times and be considered adorable only so many times before Scott was ready to rip himself bald or go insane.
“Meet her at the bar Monday for a drink so I can scope her out,” Mason said with a sly grin, bringing the conversation back full circle to Scott’s love life.
“I have a business meeting with a new client right before. He wants to meet for drinks, so maybe I’ll suggest Prime and then just have Eva meet me there.”
“Oooh, Eva,” Zak said, making a dorky cooing noise. “How sexy.”
Scott rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face began to hurt his jaw. Because as cheeseball as Zak was being, he wasn’t wrong. Every damn thing about Eva oozed sexy. Her voice, her smile, her curves, her eyes, her wicked sense of humor, not to mention that brain of hers. She hadn’t gone into much detail about her ex, but from the few things she’d said, Scott knew the woman had been through hell. And it took strength in spades to claw your way out of hell.
Eva was strong as fuck.
“Jesus fuck,” Liam groaned. “My baby brother is a goner. Look at those dopey puppy-love eyes. Even just the mention of Eva and he’s off in outer fucking space, mentally spanking the monkey to the soccer mom in her high-waisted mom jeans and messy bun.”
“They’re yoga pants and a baseball cap, thank you very much,” Scott snapped back. “But Eva would fucking rock high-waisted pants and a messy bun too.”
He grimaced inwardly when his words came back to him. Damn it, he really did sound lovesick and obsessed. Fuck.
“Oh, bro.” Zak laughed, leaning around Atlas and smacking Scott on the back. He shook his head before taking a sip of his beer. “You are fucking gone!”
9
Eva hadn’t been on a date in ages—possibly longer. So even though she and Scott had seen each other naked, done despicably wonderful and wicked things to each other’s bodies for hours, she toiled over what to wear on their date Monday night.
Thankfully, her baby sister came to the rescue, as Celeste often did—more than Eva would like to admit—and the two ran out shopping Monday morning after they dropped off th
eir children at school.
What does one wear to drinks with a sinfully sexy man who she already had carnal knowledge of, but she still wanted to impress? Not to mention, have more carnal knowledge of, repeatedly, all over his house, her house and any flat surface they could find. She also wanted to remain casual and relaxed because after drinks, they were going to the Allison DeWitt book signing, and it just wouldn’t do to show up to the bookstore in four-inch heels and a slinky gown with a thigh-high slit.
She needed to find a happy medium.
A sexy, flirty, casual happy medium.
Did such a thing exist?
Scott had texted her Sunday morning to let her know he had a work meeting right before their drinks but that he’d moved the meeting to the Prime Sports Bar and Grill, so she could just meet him there. Perfect! She loved that place and found it impossible to say no to one—but more often than not, several—of their blackberry mojitos.
While she and Celeste were out shopping, the man who always seemed to be on her mind these days texted her with a GIF of a cartoon man impatiently gnawing back and forth on his nails. He followed it up with a message that read, Can’t wait for tonight. I’m chewing my fingernails down to the quick in anticipation.
Then another message popped up after. I’m excited for our date too. Winky face.
She’d literally laughed out loud in the change room, tossing her head back until hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She messaged him back. You’re a funny guy, Scott. A really FUNNY guy. Just remember who has the tickets.
She thought for sure he was going to message back some smartass remark, because let’s face it, the man was a total smartass. A hot, hilarious, sexy smartass, but a smartass no less.
But he didn’t.
Her face fell as she stared at her phone for a few moments, waiting for his reply.
You wait for no man—ever!
Her sister’s words rang in her mind.
Celeste was a warrior. Having married her high school sweetheart, only to lose him five years ago, the woman remained a pillar of strength for all of them. And when Eva was going through the worst of it all with Todd, Celeste kept repeating one thing over and over to her. You wait for no man—ever! The good ones, the kind ones, the ones worth waiting for don’t make you wait.
Then her sister’s eyes would become damp and she would grow quiet for a couple of moments, her gaze wistful, caught up in a beautiful past with a man who should have been part of her present and future.
More times than she could count, Eva caught herself wishing it had been her husband who had fallen twelve stories onto exposed rebar and not Celeste’s.
Sometimes the world was really fucking unfair.
With a final glance at her phone, she pouted, shrugged, then stowed it back in her purse and resumed trying on clothes. He was at work, so he probably just got a phone call or was pulled into a meeting. That was all it was, right? She hadn’t pushed the envelope, had she?
Todd had zero sense of humor, so that message would have been interpreted as threatening and bitchy, and he would have told her just that. Along with a slew of other insults and put-downs until she felt no bigger than a cockroach trembling beneath her maniac of a husband’s fancy, freshly polished, imported Italian loafer.
A nervous hollow began to grow in her stomach. Maybe the reason he wasn’t messaging her back was because he was offended.
She pulled her phone back out and stared at it, as if the intense penetration of her eyes would will a message to pop up.
She was not only pathetic now, she was delusional.
Grumbling at how Todd had ruined her and any potential relationships with men she might have from here to eternity, she shoved her phone back into her purse, only for the sudden chirping ring of it to make her grab it again, fumbling to answer.
“Hello?”
“Even if you didn’t have tickets to the book signing, I’d still be taking you out tonight. I can’t get you out of my head, Eva.” The deep rumble of his voice on the other end made her nipples grow diamond-hard. A gush of wetness soaked her panties.
No man had ever spurred such an instantaneous physiological response from her the way Scott did. Shallow puffs of air fled her thinly parted lips.
“And seeing you take the trash to the curb in those yoga pants today … ” He let out a whistle. “Damn, woman. You know the street is full of old-timers. Might give Harold across the way a jammer tucking your tush into those things and parading it around the neighborhood.” The thick rattle of his chuckle only made the heat in her belly liquefy and ooze into her extremities.
“Scott.” It was all she could say, and it came out as more of a shaky breath.
“You’re under my skin, Eva.”
And he was so deeply embedded under hers, she could hardly work, eat, sleep or breathe without his name or face commanding top billing in her mind.
“I … ” He’d rendered her speechless.
“I can’t wait for tonight. I can’t wait to see you.”
She slid her tongue across her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright as she caught her reflection in the changing-room mirror. “Me either.”
“Goodbye, Eva.”
She swallowed. “Goodbye, Scott.”
The butterflies in the melted goo that was her core fluttered their wings clean and began to flap around in a disorganized kaleidoscope. A man hadn’t made her feel like this in a very long time—perhaps ever. Scott seemed like the real deal.
She only hoped he was the kind of deal that wasn’t too good to be true.
After six stores that resulted in nothing but devastation and a sudden horrendous dislike for the new color of the season—blush pink, which totally washed her out, making her look like a freshly dead corpse—Eva and Celeste wandered down the sidewalk in the heart of Seattle, coffee cups in hand, the sun shining mockingly bright and warm overhead. It was springtime, and that usually meant the clouds were thick and filled with rain, drenching every last inch of the Emerald City. But today was a one-off.
You would think a one-off would also mean lucky and Eva would find the outfit of a lifetime that would not only knock Scott’s socks off, but the rest of his clothes as well.
No such luck. The sun continued to mock her with its cheery glow and comforting warmth. She was not comforted. She had sweaty boobs and nothing to wear.
Fuck the sun.
As they were about ready to call it for the day and go find her car, Celeste’s hand on her arm and sudden death grip halted them where they walked, causing grunts and grumbles from the people behind them. “Hold up,” her sister said, hope in her tone. “Look!” She pointed with her coffee-cup hand to the mannequin that was being dressed in the window by a shopkeeper.
Eva’s heart began to pound in her chest. It was perfect.
Celeste released her arm and yanked open the shop door. “Strip that mannequin!” she ordered.
Eva rolled her eyes as she followed her sister inside. Celeste always had a flair for the dramatic.
So after allowing her sister and the shopgirl to play Barbie with her, Eva handed over her credit card and walked out of the store with a whole new outfit that she was sure was going to make Scott’s jaw drop (and maybe later that night, his pants too?).
But even after she tugged on the dark gray tapered pants that hugged her in all the right places and made her ass look like a million bucks, she couldn’t hide the unease that trembled through her. The black belt cinched around the waist of her goldenrod silk sleeveless blouse never quelled the nerves either. Not even the Raspberry Rebel lip tint she slathered on in the hallway mirror helped with her confidence.
She was completely ill-equipped to go on a first date. Even if she’d already slept with the man, this was still their first date. It’d been over a decade since she’d been on a first date, and even then, she couldn’t be sure she’d done very well.
“You’ve already established that you’re sexually compatible and he has a kid who g
ets along with your kids,” Celeste said, holding a glass of wine in her hand and leaning her slender frame against the wall as she watched a shaky-handed Eva slip into a pair of leopard print peep-toe pumps—a purchase that Celeste had insisted she make that morning. “I don’t understand why you’re so nervous. You’ve gotten through all the tough stuff. The rest is now gravy.”
Gravy …
Well, gravy or not, she was a sweaty, hot and frazzled mess by the time she got her butt into the cab and headed back downtown to meet Scott. There was no backing out now. He’d texted her when she was just a few blocks away saying he was still in his work meeting but hoped it wasn’t going to run much longer. Then he’d followed that message up with a bunch of kissy-face emojis.
Was all this nervousness for naught?
He really was a sweet guy. Maybe she just needed to take a few deep, grounding breaths before she went in. She paid the cab driver and stepped out in front of the bar. The big, carved wooden sign to the new Seattle hotspot hung over the heavy double oak doors: PRIME SPORTS BAR AND GRILL. Not only did it have close to a dozen televisions hung throughout, broadcasting various sports games, but it was a popular place for business lunches, ladies’ nights and everyone’s favorite—music bingo.
The world of advertising didn’t interest her at all, but her curiosity was no less piqued when Scott mentioned this whale of a client he had not only landed but was in charge of keeping happy. Who could be so important that they needed to have their ass kissed by someone like Scott? He seemed like the kind of guy who should be getting his ass kissed, not doing the lip service.
Scott’s Tacoma was parked out front in one of the few, coveted street parking spots, which prompted her to wonder if they were going to stick around Prime for drinks or head somewhere quieter and more intimate, perhaps with a dark corner where the only light came from candles or dimly lit sconces.
She double-checked her lipstick in the tinted windows of Scott’s vehicle, tucked her hair behind her ears and then glanced through the big window into the restaurant in search of her hot date.