It's All About Eve

Simone pounced. “You did. You bought something. I knew it. Well, fess up. What was it?”

Carter sat up. Buster gave him a droopy smile. “Some one-piece thing called a teddy. Kind of beige. Nothing too fancy, pretty tame really.” The price tag, on the other hand, had been eye-popping.

Simone raised an eyebrow. “I know the one you mean. It’s the type of thing that doesn’t look like much on a hanger—but put it on a woman’s body and ooh-la-la.”

Carter could easily imagine just which woman’s body. Only too easily.

“Pretty good taste, Carter.”

Carter raked his fingers nervously through his hair. “It’s for my mother.”

“Now as a criminal lawyer I find that very interesting.” She studied Carter carefully. “And as a woman, I would have thought it would have looked much better on someone younger, say late twenties, slim build, with dark hair and an attitude.”

“Speaking of women with attitudes.” Ted leaned over and whispered something into Simone’s ear. He saved Carter from having to respond.

Simone smiled knowingly and rose, wiggling her fingers goodbye to Carter.

Ted stood up. Buster did as well. “Sorry, Carter. You’re going to have to fend for yourself at Tonino’s tonight. ’Fraid the surprise just can’t wait until later.”

The dog wagged his tail. And he wasn’t the only one who was happy.

CARTER SHOWERED AND DROVE to Tonino’s. As soon as he opened the bar door, the air-conditioning hit him with the impact of a Minnesota blizzard. If he weren’t careful, his damp hair would form icicles.

Subarctic temperatures aside, life could be a lot worse. A baseball game was showing on the television, and beer was within striking distance. He commandeered a red leatherette stool and dug into a bowl of peanuts.

“Hey, Carter, What’ll-it-be? The usual?” The young bartender came over.

Carter nodded. “Thanks, Dave. And a large pepperoni pizza.” He suddenly thought of Eve Cantoro and her comment about secure men. He found himself smiling as he grabbed another handful of peanuts and turned his attention to the ball game, or at least his partial attention. The dark-haired storekeeper seemed to be occupying a significant portion of his thoughts, kind of like Otis Red-ding’s “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay” insinuating itself agreeably into his psyche, so he went through the day with his eyes half-closed and a devilish smile on his lips.

Still, women—even intriguing ones—came and went, and some, like Three Musketeers bars, melted in the heat of the summer. Baseball, on the other hand—and here, Carter munched philosophically on a peanut—went on forever. He studied the screen. It was an inter-league game—the Phillies playing the Yankees. This part of central Jersey tended to have divided loyalties, with the old-timers favoring the Philadelphia teams and the transplanted residents looking to New York. When the two teams mixed, Jerseyans tended to clash—loudly. Carter had grown up in Ohio with the Indians, so he couldn’t possibly root for another American League team, especially the Yankees. That meant he was a Phillies fan by default.

He tossed a peanut up in the air and caught it in his mouth as the popular Yankee second baseman came to the plate. Just don’t throw it high and outside, he thought. He tossed another nut in the air, catching it easily again.

About as easily as the batter met the high, outside pitch that the Phillies pitcher delivered. A lead-off homerun. Carter shook his head. This is what baseball taught you—humility, and the fact that you paid for your mistakes.

“All right,” a female voice shouted in triumph.

Carter reached for the bottle of Rolling Rock that Dave planted in front of him. “It was a lucky hit,” he muttered.

“Oh, p-lease. Even his grandmother could have hit that high, outside pitch,” the woman’s voice responded.

Carter smiled as he gulped his beer. Ah, a woman who knew something about baseball. Definitely a pleasing discovery. Turning, he sought out the voice, almost willing to forgive her misguided allegiance to the Bronx Bombers. It came from two seats down.

And he almost didn’t recognize her at first.

With her wet hair combed back straight from her forehead, wire-rim glasses slipping down her nose, and smooth skin devoid of any makeup, she could have been eighteen years old. In which case, she had no business sitting at a bar in New Jersey, a state with a minimum drinking age of twenty-one.

But no eighteen-year-old had a cotton shift that stuck to curves quite that way. And this time, she wasn’t wearing basic black.

“Lingerie and the Yankees. There must be a connection somewhere,” Carter said.

A burly middle-aged man with thinning hair, a skinny ponytail and a large tattoo on his upper arm, stared at Carter. “You say something?”

Eve looked over. She raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry, I was talking to the lady.” Carter indicated Eve with the tip of his chin.

The dark-blue entwined snakes on the stranger’s arm moved as he clenched and unclenched his own bottle of Rolling Rock. “As long as that’s the case. I don’t mind the part about lingerie.” He pronounced “lingerie” as “Lon Jerry.” “It’s the idea that you thought I was a Yankees fan. Can’t stand them. A bunch of overpriced prima donnas.”

Carter nodded. “Couldn’t agree with you more.”

“It just goes to show, not everyone can appreciate how ordinary things can be art forms,” Eve said.

The ponytail swerved, and Eve got an eyeful of disdain. She backed off. “I was talking to him—” she pointed to Carter “—about lingerie. Mentioning underwear and America’s pastime in the same breath is practically a desecration—to baseball, that is.”

Ponytail looked to Carter. “What the hell is she talking about?”

Carter shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got me. She’s new around here and doesn’t know any better.”

The man growled softly and turned his attention back to the screen.

Eve leaned back on her stool and made a face at Carter. He leaned back, too. Don’t cause any trouble, he mouthed silently.

Actually, trouble was staring at him straight in the eye. He would have had to be cryogenically frozen not to notice two enticingly damp spots, located right where her breasts strained against the light-blue fabric of her sleeveless dress. He also saw thin straps from an electric-orange bathing suit tied behind her neck. The combination of strategically placed wetness, skinny straps and scrubbed face produced a kind of girl-next-door/bondage look.

Carter concentrated mightily on making sure his beer bottle reached his mouth. Swallowing came next—he nearly choked to death.

Eve leaned around the large Phillies fan and pounded Carter on the back. Hard. And a very solid back, she couldn’t help noticing.

He held up a hand to indicate he was all right, then covered his mouth and swallowed slowly. “Thanks. Must have gone down the wrong way.” He shifted on his stool and leaned forward. Say something clever, he told himself. “Did you just go swimming?” He groaned inwardly. This was like the cafeteria in high school.

She leaned forward on her elbows to try to talk to him directly. “Swimming? Yup. Across the street at the community pool.”

The man in the middle peeled his eyes off the game. “You two going to keep this up?”

“Yes,” Carter said. “No,” Eve answered.

“Well, maybe I should move?”

“That’s not necessary.” Carter looked at him. “That’s very nice,” Eve replied.

Ponytail looked at them both in disgust.

“We could wait until the seventh-inning stretch, if that’s any better,” Carter offered.

Ponytail harrumphed. “You sure she’s worth it?” He glanced over at Eve, then sat up straighter. The wet spots must have registered. Now he started leaning—toward Eve. And the snakes started dancing.

Carter stood up. “Would you mind?”

The snakes went still as their owner assessed his chances. Even a Phillies fan with a tattoo and ponytail apparently knew when to say no—it must have been the wisdom of his middle-aged years. “If you put it that way.” The man used two fists to heave himself away from the counter and off his stool.

“Thanks.” Carter seated himself next to Eve and slid his beer over. His adrenaline was pumping in a highly juvenile but thoroughly satisfying way. And the wet spots and the curves were that much closer. “Now what were we talking about? Oh, yeah, the pool.”

Eve looked to where their friend had banished himself to the end of the bar. She started to say something but thought better of it. She turned back to Carter. “Yes, the pool. It’s great, especially with the heat. It’s a good way to relax after work, and besides, I get to wear my merchandise.”

Carter sat up straighter. “Merchandise?”

“We sell swimwear as well as lingerie.” Eve pointed to herself. “I’m wearing one that we offer—a two-piece, really more of a bikini. You know, cut high on the leg, halter top.” She leaned forward to grab a peanut. The neck of her dress gaped open.

Carter looked. Well, he kind of looked without looking like he was trying to look. He cleared his throat. “I can see where that could be a good advertisement for your merchandise.”

“I like to think so.” Eve studied the bowl of nuts. “You’ve been swimming, too? Whenever I see you, you seem to have wet hair.” She reached for a peanut and popped it in her mouth, licking the salt off her fingertips.

Carter grabbed his beer bottle. “Ah, no, I was playing tennis.”

“Tennis? You don’t look like a tennis kind of guy.”

He looked at his clothes. “Not dressed for the country club, huh?”

Eve looked, too,—what woman wouldn’t?—at his ratty Cape May T-shirt and cargo shorts. “I suppose there’s that. But it’s more like you don’t look like someone who’d stay on his side of the net.”

Carter considered his beer bottle. “I think I like that comment, but I’m not totally sure why.”

“Well, you think about it.” Eve smiled. She saw the way his green eyes danced with an emotion that could in no way be classified as disinterest. She felt a sudden tightening between her legs. And she couldn’t blame it on her wet bathing suit riding up, since she only sold items made with the best fabric and stitching.

No, she was attracted as well. But that didn’t mean she was going to do anything about it. She quickly avoided his eyes and focused on his nose. How could an olfactory organ be so dangerous? Dumb question. “Did you lead with your nose in a fight?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your nose looks like it was broken. It’s got this bump and it’s a little crooked.” A decidedly sexy bump and a delightful crookedness.

“You’re right. Happened back in high school. I was under the mistaken impression I could play football. A lines-man from an opposing team taught me otherwise.”

Eve scrunched up her face. “Ouch.”

“My feelings exactly. Interestingly enough, the injury seemed to skyrocket my stature among my female classmates. Here I thought proving my manhood on the playing field would get me to first base and maybe beyond. Little did I know that pain and suffering were far more likely to generate sympathy.” He smiled.

She smiled back. And felt the tightness escalate within.

“You got a bump, too.” He playfully pushed up the bridge of her glasses with his index finger and tapped the small protrusion on the side of her nose. The tip of his finger rested lightly on her skin.

It was just a slight touch. Really. Her throat constricted. Really.

Then he lowered his head. A fraction closer. Slid his finger down her nose, skirted her top lip, and rested it on her full lower lip. It was damp from the beer. Damp and inviting. And for a frantic moment, Eve was sure he was going to kiss her.

He almost did. Almost. Instead, he drew his hand back, clenched his fist, and quickly turned to search for his beer. He took a gulp. “So, did you play football in high school, too?” He motioned to her nose, only this time with a lift of his chin.

“Oh, no. I tried to break up a fight between my brothers.”

“Brothers?”

“Yup, four of them, all younger. This time it was the twins. What am I saying? It was just always the twins.” She looked heavenward, realizing that she hadn’t seen acoustic tiles quite like that in a long time. She turned back to Carter. “They were arguing over something completely stupid, like who was supposed to take out the garbage, when they started cuffing each other. I couldn’t take it anymore, so like an idiot, I stepped in.” She pointed to the bump. “I got bopped. Swelled up like a goose egg, and I had raccoon eyes for a good week.”

A collective shout went up from the bar, echoed by equally loud groans. Eve looked up at the television set to see what all the fuss was. An instant replay showed the Yankees’ third baseman had just clobbered a homerun.

“Looks like my team is once more showing its true colors.” She glanced at Carter and found him studying her.

Dave set a pizza in front of Carter. “Why is it every time I go to the kitchen to get a pizza, someone hits a homerun and I miss it? Oh, man, a grand slam!” He put the metal tray down.

“Maybe I should keep ordering more?” Carter offered. “That way, it’ll guarantee you a victory.” He looked at Eve. “You hungry? How about sharing my pizza? There’s more than enough.”

Eve frowned in thought.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about the pepperoni thing you were talking about earlier? Because really, I don’t mind a few well-placed dribbles.”

Eve smiled. A man who listened. “It’s not the thought of drips exactly.”

It was Carter’s turn to be confused.

“My suit.”

“Your suit?”

“Yes, my bathing suit. I liked the style so much I grabbed it, but it’s actually a little small for me.”

“That’s bad?”

“Let’s just say it’s not exactly built for any extra pressure. And the pizza, well, it might just put it over the top, or off the top, actually.”

Carter suddenly looked very alert. “You don’t say?”

“I do say.”

“What do you know? The things one can learn about your merchandise.” He pushed the pizza in her direction. “In the interest of personal research, why don’t you test it out?”

The pepperoni did look very tempting and the smell of spices and unadulterated fat was almost overwhelming. Was it worth it? She looked at his taunting little grin. The man knew he was irresistible. Was he worth it?

Worth it? The man was already taken. Now that had her sitting up straighter. “So, did she enjoy it?”

“Who? What?” Carter asked.

“Simone. What did she say about the camisole?”

“Oh, Simone.” Carter shook his head. “You don’t want to know what she said.” He held up some paper napkins. “You want some pizza or not?”

Eve shrugged. A woman had to live dangerously sometimes, especially when she was wearing a cover-up anyway. She reached over and took the napkins. “Self-discipline was never one of my strengths.” Actually that wasn’t true.

“I wouldn’t have thought that was true at all,” he said, watching her slip off her glasses and hook them over the neckline of her outfit.

She saw Carter notice the gesture. “Oh, I only need them, the glasses that is, for distance—you know, driving, television.” She reached over and broke off a piece of the pizza. A bit of mozzarella stubbornly held on, forming a slippery strand that finally broke off when she tugged at the slice. Holding the slice above her head, she tipped her chin upward and thrust out her tongue to catch the end of the cheese. She sucked in, swallowing the strand whole. Her eyes narrowed in deep pleasure. She inhaled slowly and turned her head toward Carter.

He held a slice of pizza in his hand. It was suspended halfway between the counter and his mouth—which had dropped wide-open. Dazed appeared to be the operative description.

“You okay?” she asked.

He blinked a few times. “Okay isn’t exactly how I’d describe what I’m feeling at the moment.” He blinked again. “Do you always eat pizza like that?”

Eve smiled. “Really, Detective.” She patted the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Sometimes a piece of pizza is just a piece of pizza.”

4

EVE WAS GOING TO EAT TWO pieces. But there was something about drippy cheese and oregano, and just sitting and talking with a really cute guy that whetted the appetite. How many men actually admitted—albeit sheepishly—that they knew all the lyrics to the Sound of Music?

So she managed to stop at three.

Carter had five. And it didn’t look like his waist—definitely flat and not a love handle in sight—had anything to worry about.

“So how do you like Grantham?” Carter asked, after she mentioned moving to town only three months ago.

“It’s a beautiful place, but different—that’s for sure. I mean, how many towns can boast that they give Nobel Prize winners parking tickets?”

The corner of Carter’s mouth turned up, producing that sexy little dimple. “On the other hand, you don’t have any parking tickets.”

Eve pulled back, surprised. “You checked?”

“You lodged a complaint. It’s all part of the routine.”

“So other than my life according to the police blotter, the DMV and the Better Business Bureau, what else do you know about me?”

“That you moved from Poughkeepsie and you’re single.”

She sat up straight. She found she was mildly annoyed and not sure why. “So you figured out I come from the land of vinyl siding and dine on Healthy Choice frozen dinners?”

“Hey, I come from Dayton, Ohio and I’m a whiz with the microwave, too. You’ve got nothing on me. Not everyone who lives in Grantham was born to the manor with a dedicated staff ready to whip up a crème brulée at a moment’s notice.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions.”

He waved off her apology.

No, but she was, sorry, that is. She was also nervous as hell. And attracted to him like crazy. And she couldn’t stop dwelling on the fact that he had mentioned she was single.

“You know—” He scratched at the label on his beer bottle, then looked at hers. “You want another?”

She shook her head. “I’ve had plenty. But you were saying…”

“Yeah, I was saying—” he paused in thought or indecision, Eve wasn’t quite sure which “—that, um, if we started to probe further—” the word “probe” leapt out in Eve’s mind “—we’d probably find we have more in common than merely an intimate knowledge of the frozen-food aisle.”

She cocked one eyebrow. “You think?” She wondered where this was going.

He took a sip of beer and wet his lips. Very nice, full lips, Eve noticed. “I’m pretty sure if we questioned each other, we’d find that to be the case.”

“Really? And you’ve figured this out because of some great intuitive powers or something similar?”

He shrugged. “Call it a cop’s instincts.” She looked dubious. “I tell you what, I’m so sure that I’m willing to make a friendly wager.” He held up his hand before she could protest. “Let’s say, we ask each other questions. How about a total of six? That’s a nice round number—not too many as to cause confusion, but sufficient enough to flesh out the facts. You have to admit that sounds fair, right?” Carter asked.

Eve thought that fair was a relative term here.

“And if we agree on all six, why—” a lazy smile stretched across Carter’s lips “—I get to collect.”

Now she was really dubious. “And what exactly are you planning on collecting?”

He paused. “A kiss.”

Eve raised her eyebrows and blinked ever so slowly. “A kiss? As in on the lips?”

Carter thought a moment. He really didn’t need to. “As in on the lips.”

“What about Simone?” she asked.

“What about Simone?”

“You don’t think she’d mind?”

“I think you’ve misjudged our relationship.”

Had she? Eve wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. Either way, the tingle in her throat just kicked into a higher gear.

“So, care to take me up on it?” he asked.

Eve thought a moment. She really didn’t need to. She nodded carefully. “Okay, but no hands either.”

“No hands? Any particular reason?”

“Just think of it as my contribution to the bet,” she answered. That, and a matter of self-preservation. She could already imagine how it would feel to have Carter’s hands running up and down her back. She set her mouth and looked at him with her best poker face.

He stared back, unfazed. Never try to draw an inside straight against this guy, she thought. “All right. You’re on,” Carter said, pushing his beer aside. “But I get to start.” Clearly the man played to win.

Well, she wasn’t exactly a pushover. Eve sat up extremely straight, arching her back strategically. Then she slowly rolled her neck a couple of times and looked over. His eyes were transfixed on her actions. She smiled—all innocence. “I’m ready.”

Carter cleared his throat. “All right. We’ll start with an easy one. Do you take your coffee black or with cream and sugar?”

“Milk. No sugar.”

He nodded.

“You, too?”

He nodded again.

Eve rolled one shoulder. It produced an immediate reaction on his part. It was almost too easy. “As you said, that was an easy one. Now my turn.” She thought. “Harpo, Chico or Groucho?”

“Harpo.”

Eve frowned. “I was sure you’d say Groucho.”

“Nah, I always liked Harpo’s horn.” So did Eve.

“I take it you agree?” he asked. Eve nodded. “My turn then.” Carter narrowed his eyes. “Gel or paste?”

Eve scrunched her forehead.

“Toothpaste,” he clarified.

“Oh-h. Definitely gel, cool mint. And you?” He flashed a toothy grin. “I see I have a fellow believer.” She leaned forward. “Now we get to the real nitty-gritty. Window open or shut?”

“When sleeping you mean?”

Eve nodded.

Carter frowned. “Depends on the season.”

“I see. A relativist.”

“Whatever you say. And you?”

“The same,” she said reluctantly, puckering her lips. She was supposed to be pouting, but since she had never had the time or the inclination to pout before, it looked more like she was making a fish-face.

Carter leaned toward her and whispered, “You’re making a fish-face.”

Eve cleared her throat. “I believe it’s your turn, unless you want to call off the wager?”

Carter gave her a noble profile, complete with square chin and resolute stare. “Never. Especially when it’s just getting interesting.”

“Please.” Eve rolled her eyes.

He put his elbows on the bar and leaned toward her. “Left side or right?”

That had her wondering.

“Of the bed? Which side? Left or right?” He raised his chin to look down through slightly slitted eyes.

She didn’t flinch. Though it took a superhuman amount of self-control just to remember to exhale. “Looking at the bed or in it?” she mustered with the aplomb of a French Foreign Legion officer facing the firing squad. The analogy wasn’t bad either.

“Looking at it for now. We’ll deal with in it in a moment.” He leaned closer on his forearm.

“Oh.” Eve gulped. Moments like these she wished she smoked. Barring that, maybe she would have another slice of pizza after all. “Let me see.” She did a mental check of her sleeping position. “Right side, I guess, though, I tend to hog the middle. And you?”

“I’m a left side person myself.”

“Ah, hah. We are different,” she said triumphantly.

He held up his hand. “No, complementary.”

She looked confused. “There’s a difference?”

“A big difference.” He paused. “And I find that sorting out possession of the middle of the bed can actually be a highlight—given the right circumstances.” He looked down his eyelashes, very long, thick lashes.

Eve tried not to squirm.

“Naked or clothed?”

She gulped. “Wait a minute. Isn’t it my turn?”

“This is a two-parter.”

“Since when do we have two-parters?” she protested.

“All’s fair.” He shrugged, unperturbed.