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“Actually, no, forgot about the judges. Maybe next week I’ll take the night off and join you guys afterwards.”
Most of the guys meet for a few beers after the pickup game, but I usually head back to the restaurant.
“Sure thing. We can celebrate. Will you know by then if you’re officially nominated?”
I shrug. “Not sure. I haven’t really kept up with the awards scene. I’ll have to find out.”
Cole stands and shakes my hand. “Good luck, man. Sounds like it could be a great opportunity.”
“Thanks.”
I make my way from Cole’s office building onto Main Street, passing businesses that have been here my whole life, and even some that are new despite their vintage appeal. The strict zoning laws that keep Bridgewater looking like a blast from the past are the same ones that might give me some trouble down the road. But if Cole isn’t worried, I’m not going to get excited. For now, after being in the restaurant all morning, I’m taking a break. After this past weekend, I could use a few hours off.
Thinking to head down to Gian’s office a block away, I stop. Knowing what’s behind me.
Keep walking, Tris.
But of course, I don’t. Instead, I turn around and head in the opposite direction until Mama Leoni’s comes into view.
I’ve eaten here plenty of times throughout the years. I wonder exactly what kind of renovations Evie made to the place.
Is she there now?
As if I have no other choice, I find myself standing at the window, peering into an empty space. Closed, of course. It’s Monday. It’s easy enough to see inside the large picture window, and the renovations aren’t obvious.
And then, a movement behind the bar. She’s reaching up, pulling down a bottle.
Evie.
It looks as if she’s running bar inventory, but that doesn’t seem right. Her bar manager should be doing that.
Doesn’t matter. She’s here.
Why do we do things when we know we shouldn’t?
That questions runs through my head even as my hand clenches into a fist and knocks at the window.
When she sees me, Evie doesn’t hide her surprise.
She strides to the door looking as she had these last few days. Jeans, tee, ponytail. Honestly, the woman could wear a potato sack and I’d be doing much the same as I was this morning, cock in hand, thinking of her in the shower.
Which is basically my new favorite pastime.
Evie opens the door.
17
Evie
He’s here.
Tristano is the last person I’d have expected to be knocking on the front window. When I turned toward the sound, my mind occupied with numbers, my traitorous body jolted with awareness.
The man oozes sexiness through the damned glass. How the hell am I supposed to resist that?
Resistance is futile.
“What’s so funny,” he asks as I open the door.
