“Take your time,” Terry told her. “You wearing my things is the closest I’ll ever get to an expensive restaurant like The Finest Hour. Have fun.”
“I will. Bye.”
Closing the door behind her, the smile left Eve’s face. Thanks to her friends, she had the image of Dylan, shirtless, stuck in her head. Yes, he was a beautiful man. But how could she sit opposite him without thinking of how he looked without his clothes?
And how, Eve lamented, could she not think about sex?
Eve meant what she said. Never, not in a million years, would she seduce Dylan to gain legal custody of Daisy. The idea was preposterous to the extreme. However, if she shared his bed because they wanted each other, would that be wrong?
Very wrong, Eve told herself without a lot of conviction. She wavered even more when she found Dylan waiting by the entrance.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“Am I?” Eve asked, wondering how the butterflies ended up in her stomach. “You look nice, too.”
Dylan tucked Eve’s hand in the crook of his arm. Something had to be wrong with him, she thought as he escorted her to the car. She couldn’t think of a single thing. Funny how the long list of his flaws flew out of her head the second he smiled.
Dylan started the car. Reaching across her, he buckled her seatbelt.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“Very.” Eve reminded herself to breathe.
“You probably worked up an appetite knocking that dick brain on his ass.”
“Jerry?” She had to laugh. “I enjoyed every second.”
“You smiled.” Dylan shook his head, wonder in his eyes.
“I smile all the time,” Eve said.
“Not at me.”
Unsure why Dylan seemed so happy. Even when he acted strangely, he was still the sexiest man she’d ever known.
Eve crossed her legs and sighed. Oh, boy, was she in trouble.
▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲
CHAPTER SEVEN
▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲
ONCE WHEN DYLAN was in college, he witnessed a teammate consume five pounds of prime rib roast in under five minutes, green salad, baked potato, and three dinner rolls included. He wasn’t surprised. Defensive linemen tend to eat with gusto.
Over the years, first as an amateur then a professional, he saw many things where the consumption of food was concerned. However, never in all his time had he ever seen someone as relentlessly thorough as Eve.
After three appetizers, a whole lobster, roasted broccoli, and the better part of a sourdough baguette smothered in butter, Dylan asked if Eve wanted dessert. She ordered another entre. Pasta Alfredo.
“You eat well,” Dylan said.
“When someone else pays, I eat very well.” Eve took a sip of wine. “Do you have an alcohol problem?”
“Why do you ask.”
“The first night you came into the bar, Levi emptied his beer. You barely touched yours. You ordered water at the birthday party.” Eve pointed to his full, untouched wine glass. “You haven’t touched a drop. Not even a taste. Alcoholism seems like a logical reason.”
Naturally, Eve noticed. She saw everything, all the time. The information was tucked away in her brain ready to access, like now, when applicable.
“I do have a problem,” Dylan told her.
“Ah.” Eve nodded sagely. “I admire your restraint.”
“I don’t have an addiction,” Dylan told her. “Just a low tolerance. One sip and I feel the buzz. A bottle of beer and I’m drunk. Two and I forget where I live.”
Not many people knew about what Dylan considered more of an annoyance than a problem. His teammates. His mother. His brother. Otherwise, he saw no reason to share. Telling Eve seemed a natural thing to do.
“What about you?” Dylan asked, pushing his plate to her side of the table when she eyed what was left of his steak.
“Me?” Eve lifted a piece of the meat to her mouth, closed her eyes, and sighed. “So good.”
“I’m glad.” Dylan chuckled. “Tell me something about Eve Stewart.”
“Why?” She shrugged. “I’m not an especially interesting person.”
“Let me be the judge.” Dylan waited. When she didn’t speak, he coaxed her along. “Are you close to your mother?”
“I haven’t seen or talked to her in almost twelve years.” Eve took a moment as though thinking about her answer. “I was sixteen, she was thirty-seven. I know because she liked to remind me how she wasted her youth taking care of me. She kicked me out before the years dwindled any further.”
“She sounds awful.” Dylan tried to decide if Eve was as blasé as she seemed. “Do you resent her?”
“I did.” Eve nodded. “Would I have been happier if she baked cookies and made hot chocolate on cold winter’s days? Sure. Who wouldn’t?”
Without knowing anything else about Eve’s mother, Dylan hated her. He had the feeling that if they met, his opinion wouldn’t change.
“You’re more forgiving than I could be.”
“Forgiveness isn’t the right word,” Eve said. “Because I can’t change the way I grew up, I use her example and do the exact opposite with Daisy.”
“For example?” Dylan asked.
“My mother believed that fairytales raised unrealistic expectations,” Eve explained. “I don’t agree. Daisy will face the reality of life soon enough. For now, what’s wrong with a touch of romantic fantasy? Don’t we all need a little happily ever after?”
“Do you?” Dylan wanted to know.
“Sounds great in theory. The thing is, I don’t know what love is. What does love look like? How does love feel? I can’t even begin to guess.” Eve finished her meal and his. “Do you mind if I look at the dessert menu?”
Dylan signaled the waiter. As Eve tried to decide between the cheesecake and the salted chocolate caramel cake—he told her to order both—he thought about what she said.
Growing up with a mother who if anything showered him and his brother with too much love, Dylan never thought about the meaning. Eve was different. She spent the first sixteen years of her life in an affection-free void. Yet, she was such a giving person.
Eve wasn’t carefree—how could she be when so much of her time was spent trying to survive? Yet,
