Page 11 of Crave Me

“No, it’s an O’Brien thing.” I beat back another wide grin. Christ, I can’t remember the last time I’ve shown a stranger this many teeth. “Sal’s started out as a hole-in-the-wall diner a few blocks from where I grew up. We didn’t have a lot back then. I think I can count on one hand all the times we went out to eat as a family. But one thing Ma always did at the end of the month, after making sure the bills were paid, was take us out for milkshakes at Sal’s. Out of every flavor, the one we all could agree on was vanilla with chunks of pineapple. It became our thing, you know?”

“It sounds like a much cherished memory from your youth,” he says, his features softening along with his voice.

“It is,” I agree, forcing myself to look at my iPad. I tap the screen and hit my sales app. “Let’s get some of this paperwork out of the way,” I add, trying to keep my tone relaxed. “Don’t want to keep you away from the little woman longer than necessary.”

My fingers scroll down to the customizer and accessories tabs, since Evan made it clear he wants all the toys to go with his new ride. I don’t have to glance up to know my sudden switch into business mode probably took him aback. I’m not trying to be a bitch, but it’s too easy to be with him, maybe too easy to laugh with him, too.

Evan . . . hell, he’s not what I need, and it’s not just because of Bryant the Asshole’s call earlier. Me and white collar men don’t mix. They tend to be uptight and boring. Too PC for my mouth, attitude, and patience. And while I’ve dated some who come across nice like him, experience has taught me that niceness doesn’t last and morphs to superiority real fast.

My guess is he senses that wall I shot up. He grows quiet, allowing me to run through the details so I can place the order. I tell myself it’s a good thing I’m doing. Not that I feel good about doing it. He was trying to be nice. But I’m trying to be professional. And professionals ignore hot guys they want to straddle all the time.

It’s only when Mina returns with our order and he takes his first bite that everything changes. His eyes lower, savoring all that salty, juicy goodness pouring into his mouth.

I finish off my bite and take a sip of my shake. “You like it?”

He takes his time, swallowing carefully before he answers. “It’s incredible. Will they deliver?”

I wipe my mouth carefully, thinking Mina would probably make the exception for Evan. “No, but you can always ask.”

We return to our food, but as soon as we both take the next bite, we’re back to eyeing each other and smiling. I reach for my purse on the floor when Mina drops off the bill, but Evan takes it first.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “I told you this was my treat.”

“I can’t allow you to pay,” he says. “You’ve already done enough.”

“What do you mean? You’re the one who dropped over seventy grand on a car.”

He smiles, dimples and all. “I meant by spending time with me I didn’t realize I needed.”

I should argue, snag the bill, crack a joke, something. This was my idea and another thing I do to thank my clients for their business. But what he says hits home.

This time with Evan was different. Easy. So I let him pay, realizing maybe I needed this time, too.

We don’t say much on the way back to the dealership, unless you count tying up the loose ends on his purchase. I walk him out to his Jag and offer him my hand. “It was a pleasure doing business with you. I’ll call you as soon as your new toy is in.”

He takes my hand, curving it along his fingers as he bends forward. “The pleasure was all mine,” he whispers along my knuckles.

His lips graze my skin. It’s barely a kiss. Barely anything, stopping before it can really begin. But it’s enough. Oh, Jesus, is it ever enough.

Ripples of desire surge through me, making me shudder and widening my eyes.

He releases my hand, watching me as I lower it to my side. I think I’m safe, and that maybe I can walk away with nothing more than a good memory of an even better day, despite how my nipples are now pointing to heaven and my Great Aunt Chloe who—God rest her soul—is probably giving me the thumbs up.

“Have dinner with me,” he tells me.

So much for that.

“I don’t really do that,” I say.

“Eat?” he offers. “You could have fooled me with how much we ate at your friend’s restaurant.”

His smile is small, but there, even while mine is notably absent. “I mean I don’t date my clients,” I explain. It’s the truth. But for him, I’m almost willing to break that rule. Almost.

The thing is, I’m pretty screwed in the head right now. The shit with Bryant ended more than a year ago. Never mind. That’s a lie. I dumped his ass more than a year ago. That didn’t stop him from finding me in Atlantic City months later on my way to a club. He seemed to come out of nowhere, acting like he hadn’t taken advantage of me, and pissed when he thought I was meeting another guy.

“You’re nothing but a whore,” he’d told me. “No one’s ever going to fucking love you.”

Holy shit, and didn’t that set me off after what he did to me. I was livid and fought back. It was brutal and ugly, and something I’ll never forget. I thought I moved past it, and that he was finally out of my life. Then today came . . .

---