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It wasn’t like I was trying to move him in with me. Hell, I wasn’t even calling him my boyfriend. Because he wasn’t. We were just friends with some seriously amazing benefits.

But as he pulled me against him and showed me just how much fire he had in his Latin blood—and movement in his Latin hips—I realized I no longer believed myself.

I’m in so much trouble.

Chapter Three

The morning of my interview at Mystique, the trendy new restaurant in Kemah, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and I had to put on three coats of deodorant after changing my shirt twice. After being let go from the paper, I desperately needed this job to pay the bills, but I also really
wanted
it.

All my life, I’d dreamed of being a chef. At five years old, standing just above my mother’s hip, I’d begged her to teach me how to cook. Of course, she only let me stir things, but I was so proud of myself I told everyone who’d listen—and some who wouldn’t—I was now a big girl and cooking for my family.

By ten, I knew how to chop properly anything put in front of me. I could cook a full Southern breakfast with biscuits from a can and Mom’s help on the gravy. Spaghetti had become a specialty early on, and I learned to experiment with different spices in the sauce as well as different vegetables for specific flavors.

Even though I’d gone to culinary school, I knew deep down it wouldn’t pay the bills the same way reporting would. After all, people would always read the news, right?

Apparently not.

I slid on a pair of plain black pumps that went with the simple black pencil skirt I wore. My pale blue button-up completed the look. Stepping back, I eyed myself critically in the bathroom mirror. My hair hung in loose waves down my back. Ideally, I should’ve put it up since I’d be wearing it under a chef’s hat every day, but I really liked wearing it down. Having it tied back all the time sometimes gave me a headache, and I didn’t want to go into a job interview with the beginnings of a migraine.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I decided to add my lucky earrings to the outfit—my grandmother’s small diamond studs given to me by my mother when I graduated from college. As I turned to exit the bathroom, I tripped over my own feet and faceplanted on the floor.

Please don’t let that be an indication of how today is gonna go.

When I pulled myself back to my feet, I noticed the small slit in my skirt now extended almost all the way up the back. If a breeze blew on my way in the building or a fan happened to be running, everyone and their dog would be able to see my ass.

I trudged back to my room and stripped off my beautiful pencil skirt to swap it out for slacks. I also kicked off the pumps in favor of more sensible flats. Since I never wore heels, I didn’t have much practice walking in them, and I was far less likely to break my neck walking across the room in these than in the death shoes. God only knew why I had them to begin with.

Once I was redressed, I did one final check to make sure I didn’t have any random dirt smudges or tears in my shirt before I headed out the door. I knew I’d get there about thirty minutes early, but I believed showing up on time for anything was arriving late. My insistence on being at least fifteen minutes early to everything had driven Kaleb crazy.

I guess a lot of things drove him crazy.

Locking the door to my apartment, I shook my head. There was no damn reason to think about him. Ever.

The drive to Mystique was only seven minutes, another reason for wanting to work there so badly. The drive to the main office of the Gazette had taken forty minutes with no traffic. And I never got off work in time to beat rush hour, so my drive home usually lasted anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours, depending on the number of fender benders that day.

I’d moved to a suburb of Houston to avoid the hassles of big city living, and that included the traffic headaches. So it figured my first move out of college would be to get a job downtown, smack-dab in the middle of the whole mess.

When I pulled into a parking spot at Mystique, I sighed in relief. Seven minutes exactly, and I’d caught every light on the way. What a wonderful commute. Please, oh please, let me land this job.

My phone chimed as I got out of the car, reminding me I needed to put it on silent mode before going inside. When I checked the message, I saw it was from Evan.

Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. Good luck on the interview. I know you’re gonna nail it! See you in a few days. –EMR

My face hurt with the ear-to-ear grin, but I didn’t mind at all. With one simple text, he’d managed to calm me down and give me the confidence boost I needed to go in and kick ass.

Thank you. I needed to hear (read) that. Perfect timing. I’m about to go into the restaurant to meet with the manager.

I glanced at my watch, wanting to make sure I stayed within the fifteen minutes early time frame. Then I did some mental calculating, tried it again, and finally gave up and asked Siri what time it was in Tokyo.

What are you doing awake at 4:30am? That’s insanely early, even for you. Also, what’s the “M” stand for?

The little dots popped up almost immediately, indicating his forthcoming response. According to my watch, I only had two minutes left before I had to walk in, so I hoped he’d type quickly today.

You told me your interview was at 3:00. I wanted to wish you luck before you went in. Gonna go back to bed in a minute. And I’ll tell you the next time I see you. Better head in or you’ll be 14 minutes early instead of 15. ;)

I rolled my eyes then remembered he couldn’t see me.
Brat. I’ll talk to you later. Get some rest so you don’t get hurt tonight!
:-*

Setting my phone on silent and placing it in my purse, I walked into the restaurant and, I hoped, my new life.

***

My interview for the position wasn’t like any other I’d ever been on. For starters, I’d never interviewed to be a chef. But I’d also never been required to prepare a four-course meal as part of the process, so that was definitely new. But apparently, I’d done something right because the manager hired me the minute he finished my dessert. He was actually still licking his fingers when he said, “You’ve got a gift, kid. You’re hired.”

I was so excited, I ignored the “kid” part. Brandon was only maybe five years older than me, but he was my new boss, and he didn’t have to take a chance on a completely unknown chef.

To celebrate my new job, Evan took me to the park for a picnic he claimed he’d put together himself when he got back from Japan. Overwhelmed by the sweetness of the gesture, I pretended not to notice the label on the container of potato salad he’d neglected to remove.

He serenaded me with some truly horrible off-key singing along to the radio after we finished our food, then got a strange glint in his eye before jumping off the blanket with an “I’ll be right back” called over his shoulder. I shrugged and sat back, enjoying the feel of the rare semi-humid, not
so hot my eyeballs are melting the minute I step outside
day.

Just as I started to wonder if I should put on more sunscreen and send out a search party, Evan stepped into my line of sight with a small spray of white flowers clutched in his large hand. Kneeling beside me, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Congratulations on the new job, beautiful. I’m so proud of you.”

I reached up and brought my hand around the back of his neck to bring him down for a proper kiss. I was certain he sometimes forgot how severe our height difference was, because I always had to stand on tiptoe or pull him to my level. Then again, he probably enjoyed it, judging from his responses.

“Thank you, Evan, that was very sweet.” I took the offered bouquet and looked down at the white star-shaped flowers more closely, then giggled.

“What?” Evan asked as he lay down on the blanket next to me, making sure to put his head in my lap so I’d run my fingers through his shaggy dark hair.

“You need a trim,” I said, setting all but two of the flowers down on the other side of me. “And I just think it’s funny. These little flowers are so pretty. They grow everywhere here in Texas, and they’re a common gift from children to their parents.”

He squinted up at me as I poked a hole in the stem of one flower with my thumb and threaded the other one through it before picking up another. “So, what’s funny?”

“The flowers are called Crow Poison.” I laughed when his eyed widened and he coughed like something caught in his throat.

“You mean I just gave you poison?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s actually poison. I can tell you I’ve picked thousands of these and never had any bad side effects.” My flower chain grew longer with each minute. “I used to give my mom so many in the summer, she’d start throwing them away behind my back. I never even noticed because there were at least six mason jars full to bursting with them on the windowsill.”

Completing the final link, I held up the circle of flowers to show Evan then placed it gently on my head.

“You make a beautiful flower child.”

“If you couldn’t tell, you’re already getting lucky tonight. You don’t have to do any more sweet-talking today. Though it is rather nice being treated like the queen I am.” I grinned to show him I was just teasing about the sweet-talking, but judging from the look in his eyes, he knew deep down I wasn’t.

***

By July, Evan no longer booked a hotel room when he had to fly into town for promotional appearances. We never talked about it; he just stopped making reservations when he knew he’d inevitably be spending every night at my apartment. He’d also somehow managed to score his very own drawer for clothes as well as precious, precious closet space.

It really was the most sensible thing to do. Having him stay at my place saved money and gave us unlimited access to each other while he was in town. Drawer and closet space meant he didn’t have to pack such a large bag and I never had to break out the iron—which I was pretty sure sat in the back of the utility closet, still in its original box—when he had to put on one of the suits that made my mouth water. Win-win, really.

“But it’s not a relationship,” Mel asked when she noticed his toothbrush in the bathroom and T-shirt in the laundry.

The only response she received was in the form of a middle finger aimed in her direction.

It wasn’t a relationship. It was convenient. It was fantastic, mind-blowing sex. It was fun. But it was most definitely
not
a relationship.

I’d go to my grave denying it.

Our first big fight occurred when we were Skyping while he was in Michigan or New Jersey or Canada. Somewhere up north where it snows and my southern ass would never be caught dead.

Keith was Evan’s roommate again—apparently they roomed together often since not many people could handle Keith’s energy level—and, as usual, he kept sticking his face into the camera and butting into our conversation. It wasn’t bothering me so much, since I figured he likely missed his girlfriend something fierce.

Normally, Evan would just brush off Keith’s antics with an eye roll and a few choice curse words, but that night he seemed more on edge than usual.

“I’m hungry,” Keith declared. “Are you hungry, Evan? I’m gonna order pizza. Hey Charlie.” He leaned down over Evan’s shoulder to put his face in the camera’s field of view. “Want some pizza?”

Evan’s face was already an impressive shade of red by then, but when Keith got into his personal space for the millionth time in less than half an hour, he turned purple. “Would you please just get the fuck out? I’m trying to have a conversation with my girlfriend, goddammit!”

I flinched back from my laptop as though Evan could jump out of the screen. Keith visibly recoiled into himself and nodded solemnly. “Sorry, bro. I’ll get out of your way. Just a little hyper tonight. I’ll…be back in a while.”

With that, he turned and walked away. The sound of the closing door was so quiet, I barely heard it.

We sat in silence for a full thirty seconds before I finally asked, “What the fuck was that about?”

He sat back in the chair and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. I just… I’m tired of being on the road. Tired of always having to babysit him. Tired of being away from you.”

The sound of screeching tires sounded in my head.
Back the truck up.
“What did you say?”

“I said I’m tired of being away from you.” Picking something up from the desk, he started fidgeting with whatever it was, no longer looking at me on screen. “I know we’ve only been together for two months, but this time with you has been really awesome. And I want to spend
more
time with you. Get to know you better. Meet your family.”

I need to sit down. Oh wait, I am sitting down. Maybe I need to lie down.

“M—Meet my family?”

Evan looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I want to meet your family? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you’ve been dating someone for a little while?”

I wondered if it was too early for a glass of wine. Or a bottle. “We’re not
together
though. We have fun. We go out. I told you when this started I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I meant it.”

What I now realized was a pen in his hands dropped to the desk with a soft
ping
. He rubbed a hand over his face and up into his hair, grabbing a fistful in what I assumed was frustration. “Charlotte. I have a key to your place. A drawer. Closet space. Shampoo in your shower. We basically live together while I’m in town, which is far more often than I’m at my own house these days. We talk every day, several times a day. We’ve been fucking like bunnies for two months straight. If that’s not a relationship, I don’t know what is.”