Tracy Kelleher - It's All About Eve

Carter cleared his throat. “All right. We’ll start with an easy one. Do you take your coffee black or with cream and sugar?”

“Milk. No sugar.”

He nodded.

“You, too?”

He nodded again.

Eve rolled one shoulder. It produced an immediate reaction on his part. It was almost too easy. “As you said, that was an easy one. Now my turn.” She thought. “Harpo, Chico or Groucho?”

“Harpo.”

Eve frowned. “I was sure you’d say Groucho.”

“Nah, I always liked Harpo’s horn.” So did Eve.

“I take it you agree?” he asked. Eve nodded. “My turn then.” Carter narrowed his eyes. “Gel or paste?”

Eve scrunched her forehead.

“Toothpaste,” he clarified.

“Oh-h. Definitely gel, cool mint. And you?” He flashed a toothy grin. “I see I have a fellow believer.” She leaned forward. “Now we get to the real nitty-gritty. Window open or shut?”

“When sleeping you mean?”

Eve nodded.

Carter frowned. “Depends on the season.”

“I see. A relativist.”

“Whatever you say. And you?”

“The same,” she said reluctantly, puckering her lips. She was supposed to be pouting, but since she had never had the time or the inclination to pout before, it looked more like she was making a fish-face.

Carter leaned toward her and whispered, “You’re making a fish-face.”

Eve cleared her throat. “I believe it’s your turn, unless you want to call off the wager?”

Carter gave her a noble profile, complete with square chin and resolute stare. “Never. Especially when it’s just getting interesting.”

“Please.” Eve rolled her eyes.

He put his elbows on the bar and leaned toward her. “Left side or right?”

That had her wondering.

“Of the bed? Which side? Left or right?” He raised his chin to look down through slightly slitted eyes.

She didn’t flinch. Though it took a superhuman amount of self-control just to remember to exhale. “Looking at the bed or in it?” she mustered with the aplomb of a French Foreign Legion officer facing the firing squad. The analogy wasn’t bad either.

“Looking at it for now. We’ll deal with in it in a moment.” He leaned closer on his forearm.

“Oh.” Eve gulped. Moments like these she wished she smoked. Barring that, maybe she would have another slice of pizza after all. “Let me see.” She did a mental check of her sleeping position. “Right side, I guess, though, I tend to hog the middle. And you?”

“I’m a left side person myself.”

“Ah, hah. We are different,” she said triumphantly.

He held up his hand. “No, complementary.”

She looked confused. “There’s a difference?”

“A big difference.” He paused. “And I find that sorting out possession of the middle of the bed can actually be a highlight—given the right circumstances.” He looked down his eyelashes, very long, thick lashes.

Eve tried not to squirm.

“Naked or clothed?”

She gulped. “Wait a minute. Isn’t it my turn?”

“This is a two-parter.”

“Since when do we have two-parters?” she protested.

“All’s fair.” He shrugged, unperturbed.

Eve quickly did the mental math. “But that makes six questions in all.”

“Naked or clothed?” He didn’t back down.

If she answered the question, they’d complete the terms of the bet. She hedged. “I own a lingerie shop. What do you think?”

Eve really wished she had asked for another beer. She could have used something hard to grab on to. She shook her head. No, banish that thought. Hard was definitely not where her brain should be going right now. She swallowed with difficulty. “I tell you what. You answer first.”

He smiled, feeling pretty confident. “All right. But what do you think?”

She looked at him. Those terrific emerald eyes had turned a darker shade—a verdant, forest-primeval green. She felt like she had stumbled into uncharted territory. Eve inhaled deeply. “Naked. You definitely sleep naked.”

“Correct,” he said softly. “Now your turn.” His voice was barely a rumble.

Eve’s insides were in shambles. She looked around. And saw Dave heading their way to check on things. Thank God. She turned to Carter. “Did you want any more? Otherwise I think it’s time I got out of this bathing suit.”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think you can wriggle out of it that easily. To quote a famous baseball sage—a Yankee, I might add—‘the game’s not over until it’s over.”’

“I think Dave’s waiting.” She pointed to the bartender.

Carter crossed his arms. “Don’t think this means we won’t settle up—at the right time.” It didn’t sound like an idle threat. He looked at the remaining slice. “I’ve had enough, thanks, unless you want more?”

Eve patted her stomach. “If I had any more, I’d burst.”

“You sure? I’m asking purely in the interests of science.”

Eve gave him a long-suffering look. “Please, Dave, take it away.” She pushed the pizza in his direction.

Dave scooped up the tray in one hand and the empty bottles in the other. “I’ll wrap up the leftovers for the dog and be back with the check.”

“You have a dog?” It was the first she’d heard of it.

“No, a friend does.”

“Oh.” And she was pretty sure that friend was Simone. Maybe she hadn’t misjudged the relationship? A guy, a dog, leftover pizza and a camisole. She could picture it now. The giddiness of a few minutes ago suddenly vanished. She made a show of following the ball game, even though the outcome was already a foregone conclusion.

Dave returned a few minutes later. Eve reached for the check. “Here, let me.” Paying the tab might help to erase her guilt at poaching another woman’s man.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Carter signaled the bartender with his index finger.

“No, I insist.” Eve bent down to reach the nylon satchel at her feet and set it on the counter. She pulled out a beach towel, a racing cap, goggles, a glasses case, sunscreen.

Carter eyed the growing pile. “I see you like to travel light.”

Eve found a tortoiseshell barrette. “So that’s where that disappeared to.” She stuck her nose back in the bag and foraged some more. “Ah hah!” She held a black wallet aloft.

Dave looked at the small mound in front of Eve. “You planning a garage sale or something?”

“Or something. Here, I’ll take that.” Eve motioned to the bill in his hand.

“No, it’s my treat,” Carter countered and took the bill from Dave.

“That’s crazy.” She looked at Carter and realized immediately he wasn’t going to budge. “Well, at least let’s split it.” She held her hand up. “Let’s see the total.”

“Please, Phillies fans never go halvesies.” He held the check tight to his chest.

“Halvesies? You sound like you’re playing jacks.” She waggled her fingers toward the bill.

“Jacks? Are you questioning my manhood?”

No, there was no question about his manhood. Eve hesitated. What was really at stake here? Twenty bucks? Her pride? Her sense of guilt? Not to mention an unresolved wager. “Well, if you put it that way.” The check was the least of her worries. “Thanks.”

Carter turned to Dave and handed him some bills. “Keep the change.”

Eve slipped down off the stool and scooped everything into her bag, careful to retrieve her glasses and put them in the case. She stood for a moment, watching Carter fish his keys out of his shorts and stand up. This was it—the end to her evening with Carter Moran. He stepped forward. She cleared her throat. “Well, thanks again.” She turned to head for the front door.

“Ah, Eve?”