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I forced myself to look down at my plate. We ate the rest of our meal in near silence, occasionally commenting on the texture or flavor of the food. I pretended he wasn’t looking at me with that piercing gaze—checking me out as though I were an item on the dessert menu.

And God, how I wanted him to place an order.

Every now and then, I peeked up through my lashes to steal a glance at his hands. Rough from years of practice and hard work. Lifting weights and throwing men around the ring. But his fingers wrapped so delicately around the fork I wondered how he’d handle
me
, if given the chance. Would he be rough and dirty? Or sweet and gentle? Maybe a combination.

A fan approached Evan, tapping him on the shoulder and saying his name politely, but still snapping me out of my sexually charged dinner-table fantasy. My silverware clattered to the plate, making a loud noise before it bounced onto the carpet underneath the table. Cheeks heating with embarrassment, I scrambled to pick them up, but the waiter beat me to it, bringing another set discreetly.

“I’m so sorry!” The boy—who couldn’t have been older than twelve—said, taking a step back, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Evan looked to me, and I gave a brief nod before he turned to the boy. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. We were almost finished with our meal, anyway.” His smile could’ve lit the dark room. Aimed straight at the kid, I was certain the experience made his entire month. “What’s your name?”

“S-Steven, sir. I’m a real big fan. I never miss an episode.”

Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Evan stood and held his hand out for Steven to shake. “It’s very nice to meet you, Steven. I’m Evan, and this is my friend Charlie.”

Steven’s eyes grew wide. “Is she your new girlfriend? What about Makayla?”

I could tell Evan was trying not to chuckle. “That’s just part of the show. In real life, Makayla and I are just friends.”

“Oh, okay.” He looked torn between relief Evan wasn’t cheating on his wrestling girlfriend and sadness upon realizing wrestling really
was
scripted. Relief must’ve won out, because he perked back up seconds later. “Can I have your autograph? And maybe, get a picture with you? You’re my hero!”

“Absolutely.” Evan pulled a small notebook and a pen from his back pocket and wrote a short note before scribbling what was probably his famous signature. I hadn’t gone that far down the Google rabbit hole last night.

Steven jumped up and down in the middle of the restaurant as Evan handed him the paper. Turning to face the table across from ours he asked, “Momma, can I use your phone for a picture?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I left my phone at home and your dad broke his at work yesterday and the new one won’t get here until tomorrow. We can’t take a picture tonight.”

Watching the kid deflate after being so happy moments before left me so upset, I had to do something to help him. I stood from my place at our table and held up my phone. “What if I take the picture? Does your mommy have Twitter or Facebook? I can post it”—I turned to face his mother—“with your permission, of course, ma’am.”

She nodded. “I have Twitter, thank you so much. You just made his night.”

I snapped a picture with Evan crouched down next to Steven, arm slung around his shoulders. When he picked Steven up and mimicked a wrestling move, I snapped another. And another. And another. Steven’s giggles filled the restaurant, and I could hear other people laughing, too.

There’s nothing so joyous or infectious as a child’s laughter.

Steven wrapped his little arms around Evan’s waist and hugged as hard as he could. “Thank you so much, Mr. Evan. My friends at school are never gonna believe me!”

Evan ruffled Steven’s hair and grinned. “Just show them the pictures. They’ll have no choice. It was very nice to meet you. But you should probably get back to your dinner. I think it might be getting cold by now.”

“Yes, sir. G’night!”

I wrote down the mother’s Twitter name and set a reminder to post the pictures later. I didn’t want to be rude and stay glued to my phone at the table, but if I didn’t set the reminder, I’d inevitably forget. Sometimes I had entirely too much going on in my head for one person.

“Does that happen often?” I asked quietly as I finished my risotto.

“What, fans approaching me? Or kids getting that excited?”

“Mmhmm,” I replied, my mouth still full of food.

He shrugged, “Sometimes. It’s happening more now that I’m up for the heavyweight championship belt. I haven’t quite gotten used to it yet. Don’t know if I ever will. I’m just one guy, you know?”

I nodded, but I didn’t actually know. I’d never been around that kind of fame before. And I wasn’t entirely sure his modesty wasn’t false—I’d only just met him the night before. How did I know he wasn’t just putting on a show to get me into bed?

Because not all guys are dickbags. I’ve already reminded myself once tonight. I can’t be a spinster forever. Two years is long enough.

Evan picked up his wine glass and sipped the Chianti, eyes closing as though he were drinking ambrosia. All I could focus on was his hand curved around the bottom of the glass. Imagining how perfectly his hand would fit the curve of my ass, or cup my—

I had to blink my eyes a few times to bring myself out of it this time, before I dropped more silverware.

“You okay?” Evan’s eyes were wide with concern.

“Yes…why?”

“I’ve called your name a few times. You zoned out.” As my face burned in mortification, his mouth curved into a grin. “Where’d you go? Anywhere special?”

I shook my head, making my hair fly and hit me in the face. “Nope. Nowhere special. Somewhere boring, actually. Very boring. Work boring. Because my life is all about work and I’m like a grandma, I’m so boring.” Why the hell was I babbling?

Hi, busted. Here I am.

He threw his head back and laughed. I didn’t know if I was offended or relieved, but the rich timbre of his laughter made me remember just where my mind had wandered. Clearly, Evan Rodriguez was a magician.

I crossed my arms over my chest, which pushed my cleavage to front center stage, so it probably wasn’t the best position for intimidation, but it was all I had at the time. “What’s so funny?”

Pretending to wipe away a tear, he chuckled a few more times before responding, “Imagining you as a grandma. Baby.” He looked pointedly from my red painted lips down to my breasts and back up, his tongue barely poking out to lick his lips. “You are
definitely
no grandma.”

Well, there goes any chance of arriving home with dry panties tonight.

It took a full thirty seconds before I could speak again, and my gaze darted around the table, looking for a way to change the subject. Clearing my throat, I asked, “Ahem…dessert?”

The dessert menu wasn’t super impressive, and the few times I dared try anything, I had to tap out two bites in. But, I had a bit of a sweet tooth, so I’d inevitably end up elbow-deep in confectioner’s sugar later that night. Fortunately, the guise didn’t make me sound like a sex-starved ring rat. Much… I was a professional, dammit. No one could ever call me anyone’s groupie.

“Normally, I’d say yes. But I’m full, and I don’t want to be uncomfortable. If you want something, I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing with you, though.” His fingers traced the rim of his wine glass, and I sat there gazing at his hands rather than the black and cream menu in front of me.

I chewed on my bottom lip as though in thought for a moment. “I don’t think I want any dessert tonight. You’re right; I’m full but not uncomfortable. Let’s not push it.”

He signaled for the check, leaving a generous tip and the autograph the waiter was too shy to ask for.

Despite it being nine in the evening, the temperature still hovered around eighty-two and the humidity was so bad it felt like we swam to the SUV instead of walking. I wish I could’ve said summer came early, but that was basically Houston weather all year round—hot and sticky.

In the car, we spoke a little more, talking about our favorite music and movies. He loved metal, country music, action and old war movies, while I preferred pop, blues, jazz, and romantic comedies. The one interest we shared was our love of reading. We’d both read anything put in front of us.

Even though we were getting along so well, I’d begun to talk myself into thinking the look in his eyes at the restaurant was all in my imagination until he pulled into a spot in front of my apartment and asked to come in.

“Of course you can come in,” I said shyly. “Would you like to watch a movie? Talk some more? I think I have a bottle of wine open; if you like white, it’s a pretty decent vintage.”

I was screaming at myself to shut up because I knew I was rambling again, but I couldn’t stop. Even when he rushed to open my car door and waited as I unlocked the apartment, I rambled. He patiently answered my questions, probably amused by my sudden nervousness.

“A movie would be nice, but I’d really like to keep talking…what if we put on some music and sit down with that wine?”

I had to stop myself from hyperventilating. “Sure, that sounds lovely.”

He made his way over to the stereo, bending down to reach the bottom of the entertainment center to turn on the music. I was suddenly thankful for the kitchen being so open, with an unobstructed view of the very place he knelt.

I smiled to myself as I turned to pull two wine glasses from the cabinet by the stove and got the bottle from the fridge. It took me a second to remember how much wine was appropriate to pour, since Mel and I usually filled the entire glass to reduce trips to the kitchen. At least, that’s what we claimed.

My couch looked tiny with Evan sitting on it. I stood in the space between the kitchen and living room for a moment, enjoying the sight of this gorgeous man in my home, before I made my way over to sit by him.

“Is one of those for me?” He held his hand out hopefully.

“Uh uh. You gotta go make your own. This is all mine!” I pulled both glasses to the side, away from him but nowhere near out of his reach. Evan’s arms were longer than my legs—there was no way I’d ever win in a game of
Keep Away
.

His mouth turned down in a pout. “But you said there’d be wine! I should take my toys and go home.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “Okay, fine. Here’s your wine. Big baby.” I handed him a glass, which he accepted with a wink and a smile.

He took a sip and listened to Corinne Bailey Rae sing about being breathless for a minute, a thoughtful expression on his face. It might not have been his first choice since it was definitely neither metal nor country, but it was the most played track on my iPod.

Game on, Evan.

He stood as he set his glass on the end table, then took mine and placed it next to his before holding his hand out. “Will you dance with me, Charlotte?”

This was unexpected but not unwelcome. “Of course.” I stood as he pulled me into his arms, nudging the coffee table closer to the couch with his knee to give us more room.

My hands slid along the length of his arms, up to his neck. Bending down to accommodate my height, Evan wrapped his arms around my waist and began awkwardly moving side to side.

After a minute, we both began laughing and had to stop dancing. “Maybe we should switch places with arm placement?” I suggested. This way is…weird.”

The moment we switched, it was like everything fell into place. Evan showed me just how well he could move, even in the limited space of my apartment.

He led me in a perfect box step, surprising me when he suddenly took one of my hands and spun me out, then back in against his body. The world flipped upside down as he dipped me low, laughing softly as I clutched his forearms in a death grip. My necklace hung behind me, lost somewhere in my hair, and landing in the middle of my back when he brought us upright again.

We stood there for a moment, frozen in the middle of the room and staring into each other’s eyes. Evan ran a hand down the side of my arm and up my shoulder as he looked down at me. I shuddered as he trailed his fingers over my lower back. A smile played on his lips as he did it again, testing whether or not I’d shudder again. I didn’t disappoint him.

The fire that had begun in my stomach spread lower, and I unconsciously pressed closer, surprised when I felt the hard length of his cock against my stomach through his slacks.

His hands made their way to cup either side of my face. He locked his gaze with mine before he lowered his head and brought his lips to mine.

The kiss was soft, something I’d never expected from “The Beast” Evan Rodriguez. I hesitantly moved my hands up his arms, over his back, to tangle in his hair. He ran his tongue over my bottom lip, seeking entrance. My mouth opened on a gasp, and he took it as an invitation. One arm pulled me tighter to him as he threaded his other hand into my hair, a low groan sounding in his throat.

We backed up toward the couch, and I barely registered the edge bumping against my calves as he lowered us across the cushions.

Careful not to rest his full weight on my body, he ran his hands down the sides of my arms, pressing himself against me. I let out a soft moan as his hand moved over my hips, down my thighs, then back up as he pushed the skirt of my sundress up.