Page 56 of Home Sweet Home

He leaned back in his chair, looking at her like she was a test subject in his lab and he was synthesizing the results of his experiment. “Well, I’m trying to understand why you would volunteer for this job when you don’t give a shit about the sport.”

The temperature of Evie’s blood bumped up a few degrees. She wasn’t sure what it was about Rich that could do that to her. Maybe his obvious privilege. Maybe how clear he’d made it that everything and everyone in Creek Water was beneath him. How he’d encouraged West to take steroids so he could heal faster all for his own benefit. But something about him rubbed her the wrong way. “I didn’t volunteer. I’m here because I’m paid to be here. Not all of us make millions of dollars a year.”

Rich’s right eyebrow ticked up a few millimeters. She didn’t know why. But apparently he wasn’t done. “There’s lots of women in LA.” He continued stirring, ice clinking the sides of the glass. “And I mean a lot. Fans after games. Reporters who interview him. Even waitresses.”

Cold washed over Evie, like someone had pumped up the air-conditioning and she was only now feeling it.

“He’s the same with all of them. Funny nicknames. Make them feel special.”

That first day on the field after sign-ups, West had asked the reporter,‘Okay if I call you Red?’

“Nothing lasts for longer than a few weeks. And those women could be models. I mean, it’s LA.”

At the bar, West threw his head back, belly shaking at something one of Kenny’s friends said.

“I just wanted you to know.” He took a sip of his drink, eyes not leaving hers. This time he didn’t grimace. “So you don’t get your hopes up.”

A golf-ball-sized lump sat in Evie’s throat, thick from the beer, and the jalapeño poppers she’d eaten churned in her stomach. The tension was broken only when West sank back into his seat, clapping his hand on Rich’s back. “What’d I miss?”

Rich looked straight at Evie, a glint of victory in his eyes. “We were just saying how nice it is to be among old friends.”

* * *

“God, he’s an asshole,”Kayla said, blowing a strand of lavender hair out of her face as she wiped down the counter, which ten seconds before had been covered with salt from a group of teenagers who’d decided to unload almost an entire shaker onto the surface for shits and giggles.

When Evie showed up at Joe’s, what Rich had said niggled at her still, enough that after things had calmed down, she’d told Kayla. The look that had crossed her face was one of murderous rage.

Kayla swept the rag off the counter, spilling an avalanche of salt into the trash can. “Don’t listen to him. It’s a miracle his mouth hasn’t frozen into a condescending sneer yet.”

Evie nodded, but she was still fixated. She wished she could just push Rich out of her brain without wasting any of her precious bandwidth on a man who clearly had a self-serving agenda.

Because he’d been the only damper on an otherwise-perfect night with West, even though they didn’t have any alone time, except for the ten-minute walk home he insisted on making since they were both too intoxicated to drive. He’d held her hand the entire way, and it had felt so good that she had pinched herself a few times, when he wasn’t looking, of course, to make sure it wasn’t all a very lucid dream brought on by all the stress she’d been under the past few months.

But when he’d kissed her outside her front door, the warm tingling in her belly was so visceral, she decided there was no way it was a dream. She’d been a few seconds away from inviting him inside when she’d heard Josh rustling around in the kitchen, and so he’d left her there. When he’d walked away, each step he took toward his front door felt like miles between them, even though she knew they would both fall asleep less than twenty feet away from each other.

The door on the diner chimed, and as if the universe could hear her thoughts, West walked through the door. When she saw him, it was like someone had hooked her up to an IV of pure dopamine. And when he smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in the corners and full of adoration, the familiar pull in her stomach reemerged.

A few seconds later, a woman came through the door and stood next to West, looking around like she was taking in the place. She was very pretty, with long blond hair, out of a bottle but the kind that looked expensive, with subtle highlights that were just visible. She was wearing skinny jeans and an eyelet lace top under a hot-pink blazer, with pointy white flats. Evie loved the look of white shoes, but she never bought them because they got dirty too fast.

Is this West’s girlfriend? Did he lie about not seeing anyone?Evie’s mind drifted back to what Rich had told her, the confidence in his voice and face as he’d said the words that she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Evie could tell Kayla was wondering the same thing because she’d stopped what she was doing to look the woman over from head to toe. Then a customer in the corner motioned for the check, and Kayla gave Evie’s shoulder a squeeze before she walked away. Evie was swallowing the lump in her throat when West strode up to her.

“Hi,” he said, and when his hand came to her waist, touching her hip lightly before rustling the strings of her apron, she exhaled.Of course he didn’t lie.If he had, he was beyond stupid to be flirting so openly with her in front of this woman, whoever she was. “Have I told you how cute you look in an apron?”

Evie’s face burned as her eyes darted around the diner, but no one was looking their way. The blond woman’s eyes were fixed on her phone. Evie turned her gaze back to West’s. “Your hair gets any longer, people are going to start mistaking you for Fabio.”

West grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Can’t even remember my last haircut. Been a little busy.”

She gently tugged on a wave that had come loose from his baseball cap. “It’s cute. But if you want it cut, I know just the person.”

A shadow eclipsed Evie, and the blond woman was standing behind West, unblinking as she took the two of them in. Evie took a step back, tucking her hands in the pockets on the front of her apron, wondering if the woman had seen everything that had just happened. West turned a second later, and when he saw the woman, he moved to the side.

“This is Regina Banks,” he said. “She writes for ESPN.”

Regina held out her hand, perfect light-gray manicure glinting underneath the fluorescent lights. It was the kind of manicure Kayla would have cooed over, but she was deep in conversation with the customer she’d gone to give the check to. Evie made a mental note to tell her about it later. “Nice to meet you.”

“Evie.” She held out her own hand, really hoping she didn’t have maple syrup residue on her palm from the family who’d all ordered pancakes earlier. “Evie Cauley.”

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