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“It’s nice to know there are guys out there who appreciate the effort a woman puts into looking… presentable.”
Personally, I always thought that all feet were gross, but I tried to take care of mine.
“You’re still a walking thesaurus.” Evan chuckled. “Even when you’re drunk.”
“It’s the little things that count, right?” I laughed with him.
He playfully pinched my toes before rising to his full height again, towering over me like an angelic being—minus the wings.
“I’ll be right back, love,” he said. “Don’t move.”
Evan’s voice was so deep and soothing. Every time he spoke, something pulsed within me, as if he were reaching the darkest part of me; the part that I hid from the world.
I sat there for half a minute before the lights turned on in his living room. Evan returned soon after—minus our shoes and his blazer.
“I really love your crib.”
“It’s no mansion, but it’s spacious,” he said, washing his hands in the sink.
“It’s perfect.” I whipped my head around and met his eyes. We both smiled at one another.
“Mi casa es su casa.”
“Are you fluent in Spanish?
“No. Why?”
“Your accent sounded bang on.”
And hot.
He grinned and said, “Your tea will be ready soon.” Evan turned on the water cooker and opened one of his cabinets to pull out a packet of pre-grounded coffee.
“Mind if I look around?” I asked.
“As long as you won’t take a tumble. I don’t think I can reach you in time from where I’m standing. I’m no superman.”
Superman’s sexy… like you, I wanted to say but went with: “Batman’s my guy.”
“Don’t say that at a Comic-Con convention.”
“Noted.” I laughed dryly, lifting my weight off the counter.
Everything was still spinning, but not as bad as before. Entering his living room, I let my eyes wander, admiring the open concept design, especially his furnishings and modern artwork.
“I didn’t know you collected paintings,” I said.
“I have a passion for abstract and contemporary pieces. I bought those paintings from some street artists in New York. Sorry if you were expecting Picasso.”
“Not to discredit his talent, but his pieces don’t really resonate with me,” I mumbled. “Perhaps that will change as I age—love Michelangelo, though. When were you in New York?”
“About a year ago.”
“Too bad you couldn’t look me up.”
“It would’ve been cool if you gave me a tour.”
Expecting to see him in the kitchen, I turned around and was startled to find him standing right in front of me. “Oh, God!” I gasped, touching my chest. “You scared me!”
