The Play Mate (Roommates, #2)

Evie

I was a walking cliché. The once-ugly duckling who had shed her baby fat and awkward phase but was still too chickenshit to believe she was pretty.

I let out a heavy sigh, checking my appearance one more time. I might not like what I saw in my reflection, but that was silly, right? Smith saw me that way. He saw me as a sexual woman who’d wanted to explore, someone smart and capable and funny. He even said I’d look beautiful in that lacy peach lingerie. We worked in the business of seductive undergarments, but I’d never let myself believe I would be wearing them for a man, let alone Smith, of all people.

Fuck it.

Turning on my heel, I grabbed my purse and strutted from my apartment.

I wouldn’t know unless I tried . . .

Smith

Meet me at Restaurant Saint Germaine at seven on Friday.

I glanced at my text to Evie once more just to confirm the time and then checked my watch. Five after. She was always punctual, if not early, and I was starting to think I was about to get the blow-off.

The week at work had gone by at a snail’s pace. Once I’d smoothed over the whole cock-up with Arabella, largely helped by the fact that Evie had indeed hit the ad campaign out of the park, there had only been mundane number-crunching to focus on. That left way too much brain space for me to think about Evie. The kiss in the copy room, and most of all, our date tonight.

I settled into my seat at a corner booth of the famed restaurant and glanced at the door again.

If there was even going to be a date.

She’d said yes when I texted her the other day, but maybe the weirdness of witnessing Cullen’s response to our exchange had finally gotten to her and she’d chickened out. I wouldn’t blame her one bit. It was fucking weird for me too. But things had escalated to the point that I was past caring. We would deal with Cullen when the time came.

For now, I knew that I was on the cusp of something with Evie. Something special. Something I’d never felt before. Something that was equal parts intriguing and maddening. Something that had the potential to quiet the demons inside me that whispered in the dark of night that I was unlovable and bound to be alone for life.

It might even be-This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

“Hey, you!”

I looked up to see Evie standing next to the table wearing a cream-colored blouse and a black leather skirt that fit like a second skin. Her hair was up in an elaborate twist that made me want to yank out the pins just to see those curls go tumbling around her shoulders.

My heart stuttered in my chest, and I stood. “You look amazing,” I murmured softly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. I breathed in her scent while I was at it, and my cock stood at immediate attention.

“Thank you,” she replied, her smile a little shy. “The skirt is a little much for me . . . kind of racy, but I figured what the hell?”

What the hell, indeed? I resisted the urge to skim my fingers across the buttery-soft leather and cup a handful of ass, and instead gestured for her to sit.

“I wish you’d let me pick you up next time,” I said, sitting back down across from her.

“After the close calls we’ve had with Cullen lately?” she said with a snort. “Our luck, he’d be pulling in for a surprise visit right as we walked out. Uber is fine. If you want to take me home tonight, though . . .”

She trailed off, her eyes blazing, and my pulse raced to warp speed.

“Ma’am, may I off-air you a beverahge?” the waiter who had magically appeared asked in the thickest, most put-on French accent I’d ever heard.

Evie blinked up at him, her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

He smiled, but there was an edge of annoyance as he replied. “I said, what may I get you to drink?” His accent was no less obnoxious, but this time, she understood him because he added a pantomime of a person drinking from a glass, his pinkie extended.

“Uh, sure. I’ll have . . .” She shot me a glance and I shrugged, motioning to my Scotch. I’d been spared this fake-accent routine because I’d ordered mine at the bar before sitting, so she was on her own. “A glass of chardonnay, please.”

He bent in half in a deep bow, nearly beaning his head on the corner of the table, and Evie winced.

“I weel return momentarily weez your libation,” he said before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

Evie stared after him and then turned to me. “Holy crap,” she murmured, and burst out laughing.

I’d always loved that laugh. It rocked her whole body and rang through the room. Apparently, though, not everyone was as impressed. A pair of diners a few seats away sent disapproving glances our way. I kept the grin on my face and raised my glass to them before taking a deep swallow.

Fuck them. If Evie’s contagious laugh didn’t charm the pants off them, they were clearly raised by wolves.