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"No, don't do that." I paused, soaking in the combination of his scent surrounding me and the earthy husk in his voice. He smiled, the gesture creating adorable dimples bracketing both sides of his mouth. "There's a good girl."
I should have hated it. I wasn't his "girl." The way his words made my heart race and my hormones pop until I had to hold back a shiver told a different, more shameful story. I thought I'd moved past being taken in by a pretty face and a cool attitude, but apparently I softened with the tiniest bit of praise.
I bit my lip, debating stripping off his jacket, as if that would remove my discomfort with the way Brady made me feel: itchy and hot, and totally out of line.
"Keep it," he urged. "It's not like I won't be seeing you soon."
Threat or promise? My hormones votedpromise. Apparently, those thirsty bitches hadn't learned their lesson.
Straightening, I shrugged, doing my best to play my moment of delusion off as nothing.
"Sure. Whatever works."
"Can I walk you home?"
I bolstered my defenses, shaking my head. Was it my imagination that he looked disappointed?
"Goodnight then. Walk safe."
"Night, Brady."
I headed up the block, toward Fierce Ink and home, resisting the urge to glance back and watch Brady stride back to school.
Fierce Ink was more than just my business – it was also my refuge. I ached to climb the stairs to my small apartment above the studio and strip off my jeans and shirt, slipping into pajamas. I paused at the curb, checking traffic on Main, glancing back toward Slice.
Brady raised a hand from where he'd paused in front of the restaurant. I couldn't imagine a reason for him to linger, unless it was to make sure I made it to Fierce Ink safely? Something about the protective gesture warmed the dark cavern I used to call a heart. I lifted a hand to return Brady's wave, before walking the last half-block to my shop. Sure enough, he waited until I'd unlocked the door before turning on his heel and heading back toward the high school.
Slowly, I climbed the stairs. Maybe Brady's gentlemanly side shouldn't have surprised me. While not exactly friends, we weren't enemies either. More like loosely affiliated acquaintances and reluctant partners. He reminded me of everything I'd left behind, which is how I excused my unrelenting urge to needle him.
Brady Gleason, educator and administrator, hit every one of my danger buttons. Hot. Smart. Successful. Part of the very fabric of Campfire society.
Andthank God, single. There, at least, I'd learned my lesson. Not that I'd known that Scott had been married when I met him. Sweet, innocent Evelyn hadn't had a fucking clue. That came later, when it was too late. Maybe it had been cowardly to abandon my teaching job, pick up and move across the state to get away from everyone who considered me the 'other woman,' but at the time it had seemed like the best way to survive. I'd reinvented myself, rebuilt my strength brick by brick, emerging as Eve. Evelyn Pendleton, pampered art teacher in the richest school district in Washington had been replaced by funky and fierce Eve, who'd never be made fool of again.
I stripped away my black jeans, pulling on my softest pink pajamas before grabbing my laptop and settling on the couch. If I was going to devote prime tattoo client booking hours to the play, I'd have to work extra hard on my graphic design commissions to cover the missed revenue. I lost myself in Photoshop, clicking and dragging to my heart's content until my eyes were leaden with fatigue. Every time I let my eyes close, I could see Brady, standing in front of Slice, supervising me to safety. Maybe he'd been pompous, but he was also surprisingly sweet. Evelyn would have fallen for him instantly. Shoring up my resolve, I saved my file, shutting down my laptop. No-nonsense Eve didn't have time for fooling around with the local high school principal. She still had a business to build. Distractions like men with winning dimples and excellent table manners didn't belong in the new life I'd crafted for myself.
If I didn't let him in, he couldn't hurt me. After all, what good was impenetrable armor if you gave up and let the enemy slip underneath it?
Chapter 4
Brady
Walksafe?Ugh. No wonder Eve looked at me like I had two heads. Scratch that – more like I was missing my head altogether. I’d shown all of the finesse of a toddler pleading for a later bedtime. My students had stronger game. Still, I couldn't stop myself from watching her walk away, ensuring she made it to her door.
Creep, party of one.
Shaking my head, I scowled down at my dress shoes as I walked the few hundred feet to my SUV, still parked at school. A therapist would ask all kinds of insightful questions about why I felt the need to go so hard protecting the people around me. I could pretend not to know the answers, but I'd be lying. Joe's death had changed me. Turned me into a man who couldn't abandon vigilance. And something about Eve triggered every protective instinct.
She was beautiful. Hauntingly so. But something about her hinted at a broken past. Maybe it was the way she avoided conversation about her life before Campfire. She'd just appeared one day, setting out a sign for Fierce Ink, and moved into town at warp speed, all dark clothes, heavy makeup, and fragile spirit. Townspeople gave her a wide berth at first, but slowly, Eve had woven herself into the tapestry of the town. Once Gwen took her under her wing, Eve hadn't stood a chance. Gwen was a champion at recruiting people to her cause. She and her sisterhood of the wine-soaked campfire not-so-secretly ran the town. Gwen had finally made it official, becoming mayor.
The transition of power and subsequent renaming of Colville had created quite a stir at the time, but most everyone seemed to have settled into the change. I'd been relieved by the shift in town leadership, as they played a role in appointing the school board and superintendent. Overall, I was happier under Gwen's leadership than the previous administration. Mrs. Pruitt, Mrs. Wise, and Mr. Martinez hadn't been bad, but they'd been set in their ways. None had seen the inside of a classroom in decades, and it showed.
I parked in my garage, closing the garage door before braving my cat Trouble's complaints about being left to fend for himself for the evening. Trouble, his fur a haphazard patchwork of black, orange, and white, meowed his discontent, winding around my ankles until I did his bidding.
"Here you go, Trouble," I said, adding a scoop of dry food to his bowl.
It was impossible to deny him, even if it was his second helping. I'd found him when he was just a kitten, abandoned behind the high school. It made me furious that someone had just left him there by the dumpster, so small and helpless, mewling pitifully. The wiser move would have been giving him to Davis, who ran a kitten rescue operation out of his farm, but one look at Trouble’s liquid green eyes, and I knew I’d take him home instead.
We'd become buddies, him livening up my life with the occasional puke surprise, and keeping me from becoming too rigid at home. True, I kept lint rollers in my car, my desk, and by the front door to counter his feline shedding, but thanks to my meticulousness, I doubted anyone else even knew I had become a fur daddy. Trouble was my closest friend and confidant. Only he knew I'd snuck out on Halloween, fully incognito, to walk the neighborhood. It wasn't like I needed to worry about trick-or-treaters helping themselves to more than one floss package. There'd been plenty to go around. Maybe it was macabre, but Joe and I had loved Halloween. While I was far too old to trick-or-treat now, going out made me feel closer to him. The opportunity to shed my usual responsibilities, if only for a few hours, was just a side benefit.
