“Mind if I grab a glass of wine?” I asked. “It’s been a long day.”
“Go for it,” Trey replied.
“I’l take one, too.” Cary joined us by the breakfast bar. He was wearing loose-fitting black jeans and an off-the-shoulder black sweater. The look was casual and elegant, and did a phenomenal job of offsetting his dark brown hair and emerald eyes.
I went to the wine fridge and pul ed out a random bottle.
Trey shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, talking quietly with Cary as I uncorked and poured.
The phone rang and I grabbed the handset off the wal . “Hel o?”
“Hey, Eva? It’s Parker Smith.”
“Parker, hi.” I leaned my hip into the counter. “How are you?”
“I hope you don’t mind my cal ing. Your stepdad gave me your number.”
Gah. I’d had enough of Stanton for one day. “Not at al . What’s up?”
“Honestly? Everything’s looking up right now. Your stepdad is like my fairy godfather. He’s funding a few safety improvements to the studio and some much-needed upgrades. That’s why I’m cal ing. The studio’s going to be out of commission for the rest of the week.
Classes wil resume next Monday.”
I closed my eyes, struggling to tamp down a flare of exasperation. It wasn’t Parker’s fault that Stanton and my mom were overprotective control freaks. Clearly they didn’t see the irony of defending me while I was surrounded by people trained to do that very thing.
“Sounds good. I can’t wait. I’m real y excited to be training with you.”
“I’m excited, too. I’m going to work you hard, Eva.
Your parents are going to get their money’s worth.” I set a fil ed glass in front of Cary and took a big gulp out of my own. It never ceased to amaze me how much cooperation money could buy. But again, that wasn’t Parker’s fault. “No complaints here.”
“We’l get started first thing next week. Your driver has the schedule.”
“Great. See you then.” I hung up and caught the glance Trey shot Cary when he thought neither of us was looking. It was soft and fil ed with a sweet yearning, and it reminded me that my problems could wait. “I’m sorry I caught you on the way out, Trey. Do you have time for pizza Wednesday night? I’d love to do more than say hi and bye.”
“I have class.” He gave me a regretful smile and shot another side-glance at Cary. “But I could come by on Tuesday.”
“That’d be great.” I smiled. “We could order in and have a movie night.”
“I’d like that.”
I was rewarded with the kiss Cary blew me as he headed to the door to show Trey out. When he returned to the kitchen he grabbed his wine and said,
“Al right. Spil it, Eva. You looked stressed.”
“I am,” I agreed, grabbing the bottle and moving into the living room.
“It’s Gideon Cross, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah. But I don’t want to talk about him.” Although Gideon’s pursuit was exhilarating, his goal sucked. “Let’s talk about you and Trey instead. How did you two meet?”
“I ran across him on a job. He’s working part time as a photographer’s assistant. Sexy, isn’t he?” His eyes were bright and happy. “And a real gentleman. In an old-school way.”
“Who knew there were any of those left?” I muttered before polishing off my first glass.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry, Cary. He seemed great, and he obviously digs you. Is he studying photography?”
“Veterinary medicine.”
“Wow. That’s awesome.”
“I think so, too. But forget about Trey for a minute.
Talk about what’s bugging you. Get it out.” I sighed. “My mom. She found out about my interest in Parker’s studio and now she’s freaking out.”
“What? How’d she find out? I swear I haven’t told anyone.”
“I know you didn’t. Never even crossed my mind.” Grabbing the bottle off the table, I refil ed my glass.
“Get this. She’s been tracking my cel phone.” Cary’s brows rose. “Seriously? That’s…creepy.”
“I know, right? That’s what I told Stanton, but he doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Wel , hel .” He ran a hand through his long bangs.
“So what do you do?”
“Get a new phone. And meet with Dr. Petersen to see if he can’t talk some sense into her.”
“Good move. Turn it over to her shrink. So…is everything okay with your job? Do you stil love it?”
“Total y.” My head fel back into the sofa cushions and my eyes closed. “My work and you are my lifesavers right now.”
“What about the young hottie bazil ionaire who wants to nail you? Come on, Eva. You know I’m dying here. What happened?”
I told him, of course. I wanted his take on it al . But when I finished, he was quiet. I lifted my head to look at him, and found him bright-eyed and biting his lip.
“Cary? What are you thinking?”
“I’m feeling kind of hot from that story.” He laughed and the warm, richly masculine sound swept a lot of my irritation away. “He’s got to be so confused right now. I would’ve paid money to see his face when you hit him with that bit he wanted to spank you over.”
“I can’t believe he said that.” Just remembering Cross’s voice when he made that threat had my palms damp enough to leave steam on my glass. “What the hel is he into?”
“Spanking’s not deviant. Besides, he was going for missionary on the couch, so he’s not averse to the basics.” He fel into the couch, a bril iant smile lighting up his handsome face. “You’re a huge chal enge to a guy who obviously thrives on them. And he’s wil ing to make concessions to have you, which I’d bet he’s not used to. Just tel him what you want.”
I split the last of the wine between us, feeling marginal y better with a bit of alcohol in my veins. What did I want? Aside from the obvious? “We’re total y incompatible.”
“Is that what you cal what happened on his couch?”
“Cary, come on. Boil it down. He picked me up off the lobby floor, and then asked me to fuck. That’s real y it. Even a guy I take home from a bar has more going for him than that. Hey, what’s your name? Come here often? Who’s your friend? What are you drinking? Like to dance? Do you work around here?”
“Al right, al right. I get it.” He set his glass down on the table. “Let’s go out. Hit a bar. Dance ’til we drop.
Maybe meet some guys who’l talk you up some.”
“Or at least buy me a drink.”
“Hey, Cross offered you one of those in his office.” I shook my head and stood. “Whatever. Let me take a shower and we’l go.”
I threw myself into clubbing like it was going out of style. Cary and I bounced al over downtown clubs from Tribeca to the East Vil age, wasting stupid money on cover charges and having a fabulous time. I danced until my feet felt like they were going to fal off, but I toughed it out until Cary complained about his heeled boots first.
We’d just stumbled out of a techno-pop club with a plan to buy me flip-flops at a nearby Walgreens when we ran across a hawker promoting a lounge a few blocks away.
“Great place to get off your feet for a while,” he said, without the usual flashy smile or exaggerated hype most of the hawkers employed. His clothes—black jeans and turtleneck—were more upscale, which intrigued me. And he didn’t have fliers or postcards.