never let
him hear the end of it.
A burst of warm
air ruffled Jon’s lips. “Whatever, man,” he muttered, as if reading Dean’s
mind. “It’s your funeral.”
“When are you
going to see her again?”
Dean shrugged.
“Not sure.”
Shaun folded his
arms across his pink button down and stared off into space, thrilled to be talking
about something that didn’t involve dance recitals or yard work. “Here’s what
you do…stop into her bakery tomorrow morning and get a dozen muffins for some
meeting you have.”
Dean’s eyes
narrowed.
“Ask her out for
that night and take her somewhere nice, like PF Chang’s.”
Jon’s face twisted. “PF Chang’s? Man, you’ve been out of the game way too
long.”
“Trust me, Deano , girls hate it when you leave em hangin .
You gotta get in there and make it happen.”
Dean leaned back,
his chest rising beneath the white v-neck throttling his biceps as he inhaled a
thoughtful breath. He stroked the two-day-old stubble his face wore like a coat.
Tomorrow morning was too far away. He wanted to call her right now, but that
went against everything he had ever known. He was dying to know if she had even
given him the right number. Deep down, however, he already knew the answer. Had
seen it in her eyes, felt it in her lips, heard it in her voice. Dean knocked
back a slog of beer with Shaun watching him like a hawk.
Shaun lifted his
eyebrows. “In the meantime, who’s up for hitting a strip club? I need to see
some boobs that haven’t been manhandled by two kids yet.”
“I’m in,” Jon
responded automatically, sticking a finger into the gray sky.
Chapter
Six
Dean rested a
hand on the long door handle and hesitated, knowing it was too late to bail out
now. Evy had probably already seen him through the glass. His heart was beating
so fast he could barely breathe. He took a deep breath, wondering what his
problem was, and pushed. Soft music drifted over him from above as he stepped
inside, the smell of coffee and apple cinnamon permeating the air. The tables were
mostly empty, which wasn’t surprising at nine o’clock on a Monday morning. Brooke
grabbed a blueberry muffin from the glass case and started for the register.
She saw Dean and froze. Evy bumped into her from behind, knocking an iced mocha
from her hands. They jumped back, dodging the spill as it exploded across the
tiled floor. Evy slowly looked up from the mess to her sister, who stood gawking
at Dean as he quietly approached the counter. Evy followed Brooke’s stoic gaze
and her eyes widened.
When those green
eyes fell upon him, everything else faded down a long tunnel that stretched for
miles. His blood pounded thickly in his temples, driving the music from his
ears and replacing it with a pulsating thud. He crossed the black and white
checkered floor on rubbery legs. It was all he could do to keep from tripping
over his own two feet. He tried to focus but Evy’s hair spilled over her
shoulders like chocolate waterfalls and the need to run his fingers through it
consumed him.
“Hi,” she said, a
tentative smile pulling at her lips.
He finally reached
the counter and rested against it, struggling for breath after the long walk
through quicksand. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s all thumbs around
here,” he said, observing the chocolate colored mess on the floor.
She smiled in
embarrassment. “Her fault,” she said, jerking a thumb at Brooke. “She stopped
short.”
A black lady in
a pretty dress that masked her weight let out an irritable sigh, her long purple
nails drumming against the counter.
Evy apologized
and turned her mesmerizing gaze back to Dean. “Give me one second.”
“Take your time,”
he replied, watching her make a new drink and falling in love with the back
pockets on her tight fitting jeans. It seemed like months since he had last
seen her and he craved more.
“You look nice.”
His eyes snapped
over to
Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Martin A. Lee, Bruce Shlain