Dylan wanted to find a solution. However, every time he thought of something, he discovered a dozen new reasons why whatever he and Eve had would never work.
“Hm.” With a shake of his head, Mr. Dowd let out a long sigh. “You disappoint me.”
“Can’t change the facts,” Dylan said.
“Tell me something. If your team is behind by three touchdowns with five minutes to go in the fourth quarter, do you give up?” Mr. Down asked. “Do you throw up your hands and tell your teammates not to keep fighting until the final second ticks off the clock?”
“You’re talking football,” Dylan countered. “A game I understand. Women, Eve particularly, are a mystery I can’t figure out.”
“Which is why she’ll never bore you,” Mr. Dowd said.
“Right now, I’d settle for a little clarity.”
“You’re a smart man. You have money. You know the right people.” Patting Dylan’s shoulder, Mr. Dowd pushed to his feet with a groan. “I have faith you’ll use the brain God gave you and the resources at your disposal to figure something out.”
“I could use a suggestion.” Dylan was desperate for something, anything to use as a jumping-off point.
“Simple,” Mr. Dowd said. “Don’t screw up.”
“Thanks a lot,” Dylan muttered.
“Any time.” Mr. Dowd waved as he crossed the street. “Any time.”
Advice was easy to give, Dylan realized as he tipped his head back and enjoyed the sun’s rays on his face. Finding a nugget in Mr. Dowd’s lengthy dissertation was another matter.
What did he know best? Football. Mentally, Dylan filled a board with x’s and o’s. Just as quick, he abandoned his game plan. Using sports as a metaphor for life worked great in motivational speeches. Where the relationship between a woman and a man was concerned, he needed to take a different tack.
“Eve is the problem,” Dylan decided. “I’m the reasonable one, she’s the hardheaded contrarian.”
Opening his eyes, Dylan sighed. He was stuck, but he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. He didn’t know what Eve meant to him in the long run. For now, she was important. What he needed was time to figure out why.
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CHAPTER TEN
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DYLAN LEARNED MANY things about Eve in four days.
Exasperatingly stubborn, she was also fiercely loyal. Dylan doubted he’d met anyone with a college degree who was innately as intelligent as Eve with her high school GED diploma.
Eve’s work ethic was rivaled by none. If anything, she worked too hard in Dylan’s opinion—not that she agreed. She could and would argue any point. But deep down, she possessed a sense of fair play he both admired and envied.
Where Eve’s faults and virtues were concerned, Dylan could have gone on and on. The list was surprisingly long, and he seemed to learn three or four new things every day they were together.
As Dylan stood in her. apartment, he added another item. Eve Stewart was a freaking steamroller. And, he discovered, hopping on one foot, heaven help the fool who dared to stand in her way.
“My body is my livelihood.” Dylan groused. Stumbling to the sofa, he pushed aside a pile of what looked like random crap. and collapsed. He toed off his sneaker before gingerly inspecting the instep she so callously dumped a box onto.
“I told you to move it or lose it,” Eve said without glancing at him. “For a professional athlete who brags constantly about your superior reflexes, you kind of suck at getting out of the way.”
“In football, you’d be flagged for a fifteen-yard penalty,” Dylan told her. “And be tossed out of the game.”
“The NFL can bite me.” As she passed, a box marked toiletries in her arms, Eve stuck out her tongue. “Besides, you’re in my living room. I make the rules.”
“You’re packing up everything you own,” Dylan looked around. “Why now?”
“By tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be back in Seattle and I’ll be…” Eve shrugged. “Who knows? I would have left long ago if not for Daisy. But before I go, I need to clear out my stuff.”
Dylan wished he could think of something to say rather than, don’t go. Asking her to stay in New Mexico, just so he didn’t lose track of her location, wasn’t logical. Then again, his definition of logic flew out the window the moment he met Eve Stewart.
Forgetting his shoe and his injury, Dylan took the box from Eve. Shocked by the excessive weight, he let out a grunt.
“Toiletries? What the hell kind of stuff do you use on your face?”
“Why don’t we keep a few mysteries between us?” Eve said. “You don’t ask me about my grooming habits, I won’t ask about yours.”
“My habits are an open book. I wash my face with soap and water. Shampoo my hair with a drug store brand. And shave with the same razor I’ve had since college.” When Eve raised a questioning eyebrow, Dylan sighed. “Yes, I change the blades regularly.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I can show you the box,” Dylan told her. “The blades are shiny and new.”
“Whatever with the razor,” Eve said as she wiped the kitchen counters. She set aside the damp cloth and reached for a broom. “Everything about you screams metrosexual. I would bet the products you use on your face alone each month cost more than I paid for my car.”
“A hundred bucks would be too much for that rust mobile.” Dylan took the broom before Eve could sweep the floor. Realizing nothing he could do would stop her, he did the job himself. “What makes you think I use anything special on my face?”
“Your skin is amazing.” Eve took Dylan’s chin between her fingers, turning his head right, then left. “Small pore, not a blemish in sight. And smoother than Daisy’s backside.”
Because he didn’t know when the chance might come again, Dylan took advantage of Eve’s close proximity to gently touch her cheek. The breath caught in her throat but when she didn’t move, his caress lingered.
“Why is
