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“I missed you, Evie.”
He might be tired but those reflective Aviators make him even sexier.
“I missed you back.”
His thigh muscles contract and release under the black khaki pants when he shifts gears. I wonder what they’d feel like under my hand? I vote for hard and ripped.
He turns down a smaller four-lane highway. In a few miles it narrows to two lanes. We zip past subdivisions filled with upscale tract houses on large grassy lots surrounded by marshland. Ducks and geese make their homes here. Another ten minutes and we’ve left the suburbs behind for the country, passing farmland and hacked off corn fields.
It’s yellow and green and lush and relaxed out here. So different from the grit, grime, and hustle of the city. Wouldn’t it be nice to be doing this for real? Motoring down a rural road in a convertible, sunshine bathing my shoulders, hair flying about in the breeze, a handsome guy who seems to like me seated next to me in the driver’s seat? I could get used to this. “Where’s the game?”
“The Schillinger Batavia Estate and Inn. Historical landmark. Pretty place. Built by a robber baron as a summer home for his beloved mistress.”
“His mistress?”
“Yes.” He turns into a driveway and cruises up a black top road toward a three story Victorian mansion. “Schillinger kept the wife and kids tucked away on a lake front estate north of the Chicago,” he says. “There’s sixty miles between the two properties – a proper distance between his two lives.”
A former 1800s mansion lies tucked back from the road on twenty-five acres of thick, lush Midwestern woods and farmland that now looks like an arboreteum. I didn’t grow up with money, but I’ve seen plenty of it in pictures. This place could pass for one of those magazine spreads – it’s big money – no wonder Dylan’s request was for country club casual. I twist my hair back up into a loose updo and secure it with a few clips.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“Not really. Why?”
“Lots of hair fiddling going on.”
“Good thing you’re the one playing poker and not me.”
He smiles. “That remains to be seen.”
We sip on bubbly water in a cozy dark bar inside the 1800s mansion, sink back into old, comfortable leather chairs and fall into easy banter, just like the first time we met.
“Do anything interesting and different since last time I saw you?” he asks.
“Kind of.”
“Cheer me up. Share.”
Probably best not to confide I rocked out an orgasm fantasizing about his mouth on my sex. “Drinks at a sports bar with some friends.”
“Sounds like fun,” he says.
“It was. You?”
“Nothing all that interesting. I’ve been having difficulty concentrating lately.”
“Tell me more.”
He checks his watch and rises from the table. “I will. After the game.”
We make our way down a cedar-chipped path through manicured lawns with a smattering of flowers, to a refurbished barn on the back of the property.
“Sorry,” he says. “No gift for you this time.”
My hand flies to the diamond pendant resting on my breastbone. “I’m already wearing the pretty one you gave me.”
“And yet you’re missing something.” He reaches down into a bed of flowers, and plucks a daisy. He catches strands of hair between his fingers and smoothes them behind my ear. “Thanks for coming out to see me again. I think I gave you mixed signals the last time we were together and for that I apologize. The game’s getting to me.”
“We’re cool.” Wow – he realized it. This is good. Better than good – excellent. “Can I help?”
