Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

REAGAN RAN OUT to the curb as the bright yellow taxicab pulled up alongside her building. An hour or so earlier, the sky had opened up and decided to dump enough water that there was practically a stream running down the sidewalk. Cursing, she retracted her pink and black umbrella, yanked open the door, and dove inside headfirst, trying to save the hairstyle she’d spent the last half-hour perfecting.

“Damn it.”

She shook the umbrella, the water droplets that had been clinging to it falling to the plastic seat she was sticking to.

“Perfect. This is just perfect.” Sighing, she looked at the eyes in the rearview mirror and said, “Thirty-eighth and fifth, thanks.”

The driver gave a slight nod, and as he pulled out into the traffic, Reagan unzipped her bag and rummaged around inside looking for her compact, but then remembered she’d left it on the bathroom counter. Settling back, she groaned.

How on earth was she supposed to win this stupid bet if she turned up looking like a drowned New York sewer rat? The answer was simple—she wouldn’t, and that meant Evan would win.

Win a date with me.

This was so not a good idea. She’d known it the second he’d opened his mouth and suggested it. But instead of saying no, like she should have, she’d done what she always seemed to do when it came to Evan James…she’d caved. And maybe just a small part of her wanted him to win.

Now that is a stupid fucking idea.

But there was no denying that even though she’d always had the upper hand when it came to men, Evan was getting under her skin in a big way. It was hard enough trying not to admit that to herself, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult not to show him.

It hadn’t even occurred to her until just now that they were going to a bar. To meet other people. People besides each other.

Which was no big deal. Really. It wasn’t like they didn’t meet others all the time. This would be easy, right?

Right.

As they neared the bar, she tousled her hair around her shoulders and then reached down to readjust her breasts so they were lifted in spectacular fashion. Number-grabbing fashion.

Take that, Evan James. Your ass is going down. Even if that’s possibly on me—nope, shut up. Not thinking it. He’ll just be bringing me coffee every day for a week, not orgasms. NOT orgasms.

The cab squealed to a stop in front of the bar, and Reagan handed him a twenty before pushing the door wide and opening her umbrella. She stepped up onto the pavement and scanned the crowd milling about under the awning. It didn’t take longer than a few seconds for her eyes to zoom in on tight-fitted pants hugging a perfect ass, a trim waist outlined by a tailored black button-down, and those broad shoulders encased in a jacket. Had it only been weeks since she’d dug her nails into those? Then he turned to face her.

Oh, who am I trying to kid? If he’s giving out orgasms…

“Blondie,” he called out, and lifted his hand in a wave.

She dashed over, out of the rain, and lowered the umbrella as she came to a stop in front of him. His eyes automatically zoomed in on her plumped-up breasts, and the first thought that ran through her mind was, Score one for me. Slightly juvenile, perhaps, but a much more appropriate thought than the ones she’d been having prior to getting out of the cab.

“I wasn’t sure you’d brave the weather tonight. Thought I might end up going stag.”

Shaking the umbrella, Reagan brought her eyes up to his and let her mouth curl into a wicked smile.

“Please, I’m at my best when wet.”

Evan’s eyes heated as he seemed to bite his tongue. “Already pulling out the big guns, I see.”

“Oh no, honey, I haven’t even started. I’m saving my true arsenal for the men who count.”

Evan cocked his head to the side, but didn’t appear offended as a small smile tugged his lips. “I see how it is.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. You’re gonna go all sex kitten, and I’m going to be stuck asking about feelings and shit.”

As they moved toward the door, and Evan reached for the handle and pulled it open, Reagan stopped and looked up at him.

“You do have feelings, don’t you, Evan?”

He leaned down until his mouth was by her ear and whispered, “I’m having a very strong feeling right now.”

Reagan’s stomach flipped, and she ignored the urge to flirt back with the man grinning at her, instead scoffing before patting his arm. “Well, you should make sure to tell that to the first young lady you sit down with.”

“If she’s a lady, I’m thinking she won’t appreciate that particular feeling.”

“Then what does that make me?”

Brushing past him, she felt his hand against her hip through the tight material of her dress. She didn’t have to have eyes in the back of her head to know he was staring at her ass.

“That makes you fucking dangerous.”

Stopping in front of a table full of labels and black markers, she gave him a sultry look and picked up a sticker. She scrawled his name and peeled the back off, slapping it on his chest. Then she repeated the move, locked eyes with him, and stuck it to her breast before smoothing her hand over it…slowly.

“Game on, Mr. James.”

She turned away from his perusal then, looking around the room and noticing men on one side and the women on the other.

“Looks like we part ways here. Don’t forget to ask about how many kids they’d like someday and what their dream wedding looks like. Women love that kind of thing.”

“Can’t wait. And what’s your plan, Miss Spencer?”

Reagan turned and gave him a mischievous grin over her shoulder. “Feel free to watch.”

With that, she joined the other women on the right side of the room, and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Evan walk to the crowd of men on the left. She realized then that she hadn’t even noticed what any of the guys looked like, so she made eye contact with each one as she looked them over. Evan seemed to be making friends already, chatting up his competition at the bar. Arrogant bastard.

Looking around her, she noticed a mix of women, early twenties to what she’d guess was late fifties, and all of them immaculate despite the rain.

“Welcome to Love at First Sit,” a loud male voice boomed through a microphone, causing the room to go quiet and bringing their attention to a flamboyantly dressed man at the head of the long center aisle of pushed-together tables. “Where you could be taking your first seat toward your future.”

Reagan tried not to roll her eyes as she glanced over at Evan to find him taking a shot. She probably should’ve followed his lead on that one.

“So as you can see,” the man continued, “we’ve got the love seats all laid out for you here. Ladies will be seated on the right, and the gentlemen will rotate the chairs on the left every time this bell sounds.” He paused as the woman behind him rang it and then said, “You’ve got three minutes to make your match. We’ve left pens and paper on the tables, should you want to exchange contact information, or you can choose to get together after the speed dating concludes, and mingle at the bar. Are you ready to find love, New York City?”

A few embarrassed cheers rang out, and he tried again.

“I said, are you ready to find true love, New York City?”

This time, Reagan looked right at Evan with a confident smirk and winked before chorusing out a “hell yeah” with the crowd. He returned the look, and then she took a seat at one of the open chairs and waited for her first victim.

The man who walked over was attractive enough. He was dressed in dark jeans and a lightweight, blue V-neck pullover. He smiled down at her and pulled the chair out, stumbling slightly as he sat.

Chuckling, he straightened in the seat and said, “Way to make a good first impression, huh?”

Reagan grinned at him, realizing nerves when she saw them, but figured she might as well put him at ease…after all, your first was always the most difficult. Why not make this memorable for him?

Leaning forward, she rested an elbow on the table, knowing full well it pushed her breasts together and gave her amazing cleavage, but to his credit, Mr. Stumble’s eyes remained on her face.

“So…” she drawled, wondering if maybe she, yeah, stroked a finger along her exposed collarbone his interest would be piqued. “I’m Reagan.”

She figured she’d clue the guy in since, apparently, he was hellbent on keeping his eyes above her neck. Well, damn, now she had to talk.

“And you are…” She dropped her eyes to his nametag. “Scott.”

“That’s right.”

His short answer made Reagan start to worry a little. What if this was harder than she originally thought?

She glanced over to where Evan was seated, three tables away, and the brunette he was opposite was all smiles and giggling. She’d even leaned in and touched his hand.

There was a slight cough in front of her, and she realized she’d completely ignored the question that had been directed at her.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Mr. Stumble looked down in the direction she’d been staring then back to her. “I just asked what you do for a living.”

Really? That’s what he’s going with?

Not understanding why this man wasn’t even remotely interested in her girls, she frowned and sat back. “I’m a lingerie model.” There, that should get his attention.

She waited for him to give her a thorough once-over, to see if she could in fact be able to model the skimpy items she claimed to, and what was he doing—he was looking at the damn tablecloth!

Seriously…

After a few more moments of awkward silence, she heard, “Okay, everyone, wrap it up. Thirty seconds until we switcheroo.”

Reagan couldn’t believe that her first shot out of the gate was a lame horse, but then she reminded herself this was about winning a bet, not getting a date.

So…what the hell.

“I’d love to meet up with you again,” she lied. “Would you like to exchange numbers?”

He looked down in the direction of Evan, probably wanting his own shot at the brunette, and then turned back to her.

“No. That’s okay.”

With that parting remark, Reagan’s mouth fell open, and the bell chimed. The men stood, about to move on, and she noticed the brunette out of the corner of her eye pass Evan what had to be…her damn number.

Well, hell. Evan, 1. Me? A big fat 0.

Straightening her shoulders and plastering a smile on her face, she greeted the next guy who sat down before her. Charles from Charleston was forty-two and never married, but was really looking for a down-to-earth girl to bring home to his parents. He also loved redheads and fly-fishing, and despised Manhattan.

This is the longest three minutes of my life.

Reagan nodded absentmindedly as she listened to him drone on and on, unable to get a word in edgewise. When he paused to take a swallow of his drink, she opened her mouth to say something, but just then the bell sounded, and he stood up quickly.

“Nice to meet you,” he threw out, and turned his attention to the next woman in line.

Okay, what the hell is going on…

She reached for the spoon by her hand, unwrapped it from the napkin, and brought it up to check out her reflection. Nothing out of place. Even her waves had somehow survived the humidity. The dress she’d chosen for tonight had worked so well in the past when on the prowl that she now only brought it out for special occasions.

Well, not that this was a special occasion or anything. She just needed numbers. And she needed them fucking now.

Evan took a seat at the table next to her, his three-minute date a couple of decades older than him, not that he seemed to mind. He oozed money, sex, and sophistication—three things no woman in this city could resist, and the smile he gave that woman probably had her ready to fling her panties at him in surrender.

Jesus Christ.

“So you must be Reagan.” The man across from her had already sat down and was watching her intently. Reaching his hand across the table, he said, “I’m Mike.”

“I am. Nice to meet you, Mike,” she said, returning his shake and sighing with relief that not every guy here was oblivious to her this evening.

“That’s some dress,” he said, not letting go of her hand yet.

Reagan leaned forward to put one of her elbows on the table, causing her breasts to inch further out of their confines. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Oh, I like it,” he said, and then glanced to his left.

She followed his gaze and noticed Evan’s eyes on their entwined hands. Immediately, Mike pulled away. Looking at Evan, she saw he’d gone back to winning over his date, while the guy in front of her had flushed and was looking everywhere but at her.

What the fuck, Evan?

“So, Mike.” She placed her chin on top of her clasped hands and looked at him under her lashes. “You’re obviously an attractive man, and I’m sure you have no problem with the ladies, so I’m curious…what brought you here tonight?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

Before she could answer, the bell chimed, and Evan was sliding a paper into his pocket and ushering Mike out of his seat.

“Okay, move along, time’s up,” he said, a bit forcefully, causing Mike to hold up his hands in a defensive gesture before moving to the next table. Evan sat down across from her, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and stretched out with a smirk on his face. “How’s it goin’, Blondie?”

Reagan narrowed her eyes and leaned across the table. “You’re a cheating asshole, you know that?”

“Dates not going so well?”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I’ve got three numbers and counting, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well. Yours tucked into your cleavage?”

“These guys are avoiding me like the plague, and there’s only one reason I can think of that that would happen.”

“Bad perfume?”

“Evan…”

“Not into blondes? Or maybe you’re too”—he looked at her chest—“out there?”

“Since when are those things a problem when you’re looking for a quick fuck?”

“Oh no, no,” Evan said, shaking his head. “No quick fucks here. We’re here to take the first step toward our future. Maybe you should readjust your attitude.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, her blood starting to boil. “Maybe you should—”

The bell rang and Evan stood up, winking at her. “Good luck, Reagan. You should probably start thinking about where you’d like to go next week.”

The next few dates passed by in much the same way as the first. A little small talk and a whole lot of running. Oh, and not one fucking phone number. She didn’t feel off her game, but clearly something was wrong tonight.

As the final bell chimed and everyone headed toward the bar, she stayed in her seat and sucked down the rest of her cocktail. She was no longer in the mood to socialize, too busy sulking over what she knew was a loss. If glares could kill, every one of those idiot guys would have a bullet in the back of their heads.

The scent of Evan’s cologne filled her nose before she saw him. He moved the chair next to her and sat down, putting his arm over the back of her seat.

“All right, Spencer. Show me your hand.”

Reagan let go of her glass and held her middle finger up in front of his face. “There you go.”

Evan laughed. “That’s not very sportsmanlike.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, along with everyone else in this stupid bar, I’m not a man.”

“Oh, we all noticed. Trust me.”

“Then what the fuck.”

Mike, the last guy—strike that, the only guy—who’d shown a spark of interest chose that moment to walk by, and when he caught sight of her, he stopped in his tracks.

“You know,” he said, looking back and forth between her and Evan, “I never would’ve pictured you two as brother and sister. Nice to meet you guys.”

Reagan felt heat flood her cheeks as she slowly turned her head to pin Evan with a look that screamed, Are you fucking kidding me?

“Oh, look at the time,” Evan said, looking down at his watch and pushing away from the table.

She followed, hot on his heels, as he walked toward the exit and didn’t stop even when the rain pelted her in the face. “Don’t think you won this round, jackass.”

Evan whirled around to face her. “I won fair and square. We never said we couldn’t play dirty. I just threatened them within an inch of their life if they touched my sister.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Well I was never gonna win with you dressed like that.” His eyes roamed her hungrily, and she realized every inch of her was wet and probably see-through. Struggling with the umbrella, she tried to push it open, but the damn thing was stuck somewhere, so she threw it in frustration.

“Do you feel better now?”

“No,” she exclaimed, feeling the water sluice down her neck and into her cleavage.

He took a step closer to her, so close she could see the droplets of water gathering on his lashes. “I’ve told you before, I get what I want. But just so the night’s not a total waste…”

He pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and held it in his fist before telling her, “Here’s the number of a guy who wants to know what that dream wedding of yours looks like and how many brats you wanna have. Four? Ten? A soccer team?”

She snatched the soggy paper from his grasp and tucked it into her purse.

“You still cheated,” she said, pouting. “I had that in the bag.”

“You did,” Evan said. “That’s why I’ll still bring you coffee with your name on it every day next week.

“No more Bob, huh? Aren’t you sweet.”

“Don’t let the nice-guy exterior fool you. My motives are never that pure—especially when I’m faced with a hot, wet woman I want to sink my cock into.”

Evan looked over her shoulder and raised his arm to hail the empty cab coming down the street. When it pulled over, he opened the door and told her, “Get in. Go home. Peel yourself out of that dress—alone.”

She didn’t put up a complaint as she slid inside the backseat, but when he shut the door and the driver pulled away from the curb, she turned to watch Evan standing there. As he ran his hand through his hair, watching after her, he’d never looked more like the boy she remembered.