Survival of the Fiercest (6 page)

His body unfolds to his full height, and I am glad for my own tinted shades as I drink him in. He looks freshly showered and ready for the day in a light-gray short-sleeve T-shirt that cuts his biceps just right, jeans, and black high-tops with a silver swoosh. Another pair of limited-edition kicks. I bet he has a serious sneaker habit.

Without hesitation, he takes off his sunglasses and gives me a full-body hug. I close my eyes and breathe the scent of beach and sea grass that lingers on his skin.

“Hey,” he says softly into my windblown curls.

“Hey.” I give a weak smile and finger my hair to look nonchalant, but my heart is racing.

“You look cute.”

“Thanks,” I say quickly, inwardly cringing at the word cute. Kids are cute. Suddenly I wish I’m in something more exciting than an off-the-shoulder tunic, skinny jeans, and my silver-studded Converse sneakers. I have a feeling I look like something out of
Flash Dance
. Tina would kill me.

Evan turns to the waiter and orders two coffees as I scoot into the booth. The fact that he didn’t ask me if I want some—regardless of the fact that I do want some—should be annoying, but I’m finding it ridiculously sexy.

“Well, well, Ms. Martine. It’s been ages,” Evan says, sinking into his seat.

“Far too long, Mr. Cain, far too long. I barely remembered what you look like.”

“Feel free to commit me to memory.” His smile is sexy. “So how was the rest of your night?”

“Not bad,” I say. “The naked flying girls were entertaining.”

Evan grins. “I’m surprised you caught that. You seemed in a rush to leave.” His eyes challenge me to go there.

“Just to leave the upstairs.” I smile sweetly. “I made time to stop and ogle your naked club angels.”

“They weren’t naked; they were wearing thongs,” says Evan. Our coffee arrives, and Evan makes sure to push all the condiments my way so I can take first. I feel his gaze on me. I whisper a thank-you and hide my flush. A colorful swirling tattoo on his upper arm sprawls out from under his left sleeve. Below it, along his inner forearm, is the black lettering that I glimpsed before. I make out the word this time:
Brother.

“That thong was so tiny that I could see inside her,” I say. “I think you need a permit to show that much vagina.”

“You’re probably right. There’s a fucking permit for everything,” Evan says. He grabs the carafe of water and fills my glass as I stir my coffee.

“You need a pussy permit,” I say, deadpan. The full burst of laughter that comes from Evan’s chest makes me deliriously happy.

“I’ll call the state pussy authority and get one,” he says, smiling into his black coffee.

“How about you? Any more girlfriend mix-ups?” I ask.

He stares at me. “The only mix-up was that I went from two girls to zero. But I don’t give up that easy.”

My insides shiver.

Suddenly two mimosas appear, along with a basket of mini baguettes. Evan rises from his seat, a huge smile on his face as a tall, attractive man strolls over to the table. “What’s up, Johnny, how’s it going?”

“I thought that was you, Evan.
Salut
.” Grinning broadly, Johnny clasps Evan’s hand in one of his and pats him on the back with the other. “I heard last night was
fantastique
!” Johnny’s French accent slips out on the last few syllables of his sentence.

Oh, right! Baie is French for bay. I grab the menu and see the miniscule italicized French translations under each food choice. I tingle at the thought of him choosing this place just for me. But he’s obviously friends with this guy, so maybe not.

“It was great, man. Too bad you couldn’t make it. Coming tonight?” Evan asks Johnny.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be there. Hello,” Johnny says to me. “I’m John.
Enchanté
.”

“Enchanté.
Je m’appelle
Lex.”

“Ahhh,
tres bien! Tu parles Francais
!”

“
Un peu
.”

Evan turns to me. “Johnny owns Baie.”

“Welcome and enjoy,” Johnny says.

“What do you suggest?” I ask. “Everything looks great.”

“Any one of the savory crepes. They melt in your mouth.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say.

“We’ll take six of your choice,” says Evan.

“Tres bien,” Johnny says before disappearing inside the restaurant.

Folding back into his chair, Evan slides my black-rimmed glasses toward me. “You dropped these.” He smirks.

I smirk back. “Thanks.”

“Contrary to your profile, I am a gentleman. I should probably apologize for last night, but I won’t.” He leans in. “Those lips are killer, Ms. Martine.” His gaze flicks to my mouth and returns to my eyes. My pulse jumps.

“Yesterday went too far. We don’t know each other.”

He leans in. “Then let’s get to know each other.”

“For what purpose?”

“So you’ll let me touch you again.”

We lock gazes. “You see why I called you arrogant?”

“Confident, not arrogant. If I see something I want, I go after it.”

Is he talking about wanting me? I take a few sips of my mimosa. “You sound like Maverick in
Top Gun
,” I say drily, trying to keep the words
“let me make you come”
out of my head.

“That’s a great movie,” he says, as if I have committed an offense against guy code. “I have it on DVD.”

“Of course you do.”

“You loved that movie too,” he says.

I look away. I did love it. I had a crush on Tom Cruise for years after that came out. “I may have felt the need for speed back in the day,” I say. “But I’ve learned that some things are better when you take your time.”

My favorite dimple appears with his smile. “I like you.”

“Better than the girl you mistook me for last night?” Sarcasm drips from my voice.

“Much better,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

I shake my head and laugh. Sexy and arrogant.

“
I can’t stop to play. Gotta keep working night and day
…” sings out as Evan’s phone rings. I flash Evan a surprised look and smile. That song takes me back, waaay back. I never would have pegged him for old-school rap, and yet I should know better. I’ve been judged by my skin color for years. Personally, I’d like to know more about this white boy who loves hip-hop and street art. His story seems more interesting than gossip about Josie Pink.

Apologizing, Evan excuses himself, assuring me he wouldn’t take it if it wasn’t urgent, and moves out of earshot. He comes back a few minutes later, frowning. His gaze shifts to the water as he tries to let go of whatever just bothered him.

“Gang Starr, huh?”

His eyebrow shoots up. “What do you know about Gang Starr, young lady?”

“Oh, I know Gang Starr. I have all four volumes of ‘JazzMatazz.’ And who are you calling young lady?” I ask, rolling my neck. “I am older than you.”

“How much older?”

“Almost four years.”

He smiles over the lip of his flute. “I love older women.”

A waiter arrives with our crepes and another round of mimosas. The golden wraps smell so delicious we both just pick one and dig in. Spinach, mushroom, and gruyere fill me with pure heaven. Evan stabs his meal with a fork and eats silently.

“God damn, try the salmon one,” he says. He slices off a piece of his and places it on my plate. I taste the salmon bite. God damn is right. When I look up, Evan is watching me.

I return the favor and put a piece of my mushroom crepe on his plate. He spears it and pops it into his mouth, making a sexy sound as he savors the small bite.

We both reach for our drinks at the same time, and he smiles as if he is having a private conversation about me in his thoughts.

“So tell me more about the unfinished art gallery behind the club,” I say.

“Sounds like you want to conduct another interview. Are you ready to exchange more questions?”

“That game is trouble.”

“I know.” He nods cheerfully. “Me first.”

“Ladies first. I thought you were a gentleman.”

“Your questions are boring. We need to get to the nitty-gritty.”

“What’s the nitty-gritty?”

“How would you describe your boyfriend?”

I roll my eyes. Why did I tell him about Pete? “That’s the nitty-gritty?”

“That’s what my readers want to know.”

I shrug. “Hardworking, sensitive…” I pause, unable to think of something other than unreliable, chauvinist, or narrow-minded. “Traditional.”

“My readers just fell asleep. That’s how you describe him? What does he like to do?”

“Not much,” slips out under my breath.

Evan cocks his head. “He’s a homebody?”

“Sort of. He likes to go out, but he doesn’t like to travel.”

“But you do?”

“Very much.”

“Where was the last place you went?”

“Brazil for a few weeks in February,” I say, popping another bite into my mouth.

“Rio?” he asks.

“No. Just Florianópolis during the last days of Carnival.”

“You’re kidding,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I was in Florianópolis on the last day of Carnival. I flew from Rio to see a friend who lives right by the beach in Praia Mole.”

“Wow. I rented a townhouse on Praia Mole, right at the bottom of the hill by this surfer shack with an amazing—”

“Food buffet? With the smoothies?”

“Yes. I had a smoothie every morning,” I say in amazement.

“I hate to think I saw you there, or on the beach, and didn’t know who you were,” says Evan.

For a brief moment, I’m lost in his eyes. To think I could have run into him across the world. I try to envision what he might have looked like at the surf shack—suntanned, hair mussed from the wind and sand, board shorts hanging from his hips…

Evan’s phone vibrates my way, and I spot a
J
pop up on the text before he scoops it up. Must be Jared, I think, until I see him frown. He texts something and puts the phone down, allowing me a glimpse of an image of black blonde-streaked hair and pink lips. I blink as a memory pushes into my head. Excusing myself, I go to the ladies’ room.

Flying into a stall, I pull my phone from my bag and bring up the picture of Josie and her secret lover. The faceless man is wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled. I zoom in on what I thought was shadow on the inside of his lifted arm. The letters O-T-H-E-R are fuzzy but visible.

Holy… Fucking… Shit!

Chapter Eight

My mind is racing when I come out of the stall. Evan and Josie! I briskly wash my hands and ponder my wide-eyed reflection. This guy is a piece of work. First the Latin girl, now Josie Pink? How dare he flirt with me! I’m disappointed that he’s turned out to be such a player, but I shouldn’t be so blinded by that smile. He’s a handsome and successful guy. I bet that club is like his personal harem.

Well, he’s trying to play the wrong girl.

Randy picks up on the first ring when I call. “Yes, ma’am? Did you see my hot pics?”

“Did you see that I already posted them? No, because you probably just woke up.”

“I did. I’m on my way to brunch and then heading back to LA.”

“Can you stay? I need you to do some research on Josie Pink and Evan Cain. I think they know each other…intimately.”

“Are we digging for dirt?” he asks on a hushed breath.

“The dirtiest.”

“Oooh, child, you’ve come to the right place. Okay, I’m on it.”

“Call me when you have something good,” I say and toss my phone in my bag.

Evan watches my every movement as I walk back, throw my bag on the seat, and drop into the booth with an aggressive slide. His quizzical expression is priceless. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great. It’s my turn for questions.”

He leans in, his gaze caressing my face. “Fire away.”

“How long have you and Josie Pink been sleeping together behind Big Skinny’s back?”

With a hard expression, Evan sits up straight and pushes away from the table. All semblance of playful Evan is now gone.

“So you snapped a picture of Josie and me together, and you think you have the whole story figured out?”

I blanch. Apparently I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought.

He continues, his expression dark. “First it was Jared and Josie, right? Now it’s me and Josie. What are you after?”

“What am I after? What are
you
after? You don’t need to be talking about my killer lips if you and Ms. Pink are an item.” A lightbulb goes off in my brain. “You brought me here to find out what I know, didn’t you?”

“I never pegged you for one of those bloodsucking gossipmongers.”

“Gossip isn’t necessarily false. And you sure haven’t denied it.”

“Fine. I’m not sleeping with Josie. Neither is Jared.”

We stare hard at each other. There is something behind his eyes that tells me there is more to this story. Whatever news he’s been getting from her hasn’t been good, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t up to something. Whatever the story, it feels like it’s the story that Viper wants.

“You don’t believe me,” he says. He takes a deep breath and looks at me under lowered lids. “You know, Lex, I’ve enjoyed meeting you.
A lot
. You do have killer lips, and they have been haunting me since last night.” His shoulders tighten, and his chin goes up. “But if you write a story about me and Josie, or Jared and Josie, I’ll sue you and Viper without hesitation.”

My eyes want to pop out of my head, but I keep my cool. Getting Viper sued doesn’t sound like it would yield a contract offer. “If you really aren’t sleeping with Josie, why threaten to sue?”

“I have a reputation.”

“For model banging. Porn star is just another notch,” I say. His mouth lifts a little as he rubs with exasperation at his brow.

“I have other projects in the works that wouldn’t accept my association with porn. And Jared’s wife knows it’s a lie, but they don’t need that in their lives. I meant what I said.” He’s stern but lighter than a second ago, and I decide not to push. “I know I am going to pay for telling you this,” he says under his breath. “Josie Vasquez and I have known each other long before she was Josie Pink. She is still with Skinny, but they are having problems. There is no affair. None.”

Oh, he’s good
. Trusting me with information. Reverse psych. But my journalistic spidey sense is still tingling. He’s not lying, but he is omitting something. And by the look on his face, it’s something big.