Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(11)

“Good. Settling nicely,” she answered, careful to keep any hint of a lilt out of her voice. “Lyon loves it here.”

“That’s great,” Sofie said sincerely.

Faith clucked her tongue. “Must be horrible to find the love of your life and then have to live the rest of your life without her.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “Rae was one of a kind.”

Rae and Charlie may not have lived close to one another, but it didn’t stop Rae from being the most consistent person in her life. Charlie’s sister lived on the other side of the country—Texas last she’d heard—and their father… their father made it clear to his girls that they were on their own when their mother died. Charlie was seventeen at the time and graduated from high school. She had needed him then more than ever, but unable to deal with his grief over losing her mother, he just… left.

“She died right around when we met, right?” Sofie asked.

It took Charlie a second to realize she was asking about Rae and not her mom.

“Four years.” Four long years since Rae dropped to her knees in her hallway, taken by her weak heart, a condition doctors never knew she had until it was too late. “She was twenty-six.”

“Wow.” This from both girls. That one word said what they were all thinking: Too young.

A rap on the wall drew their attention to the doorway where the Evergreen Club’s manager stood. “About done, ladies? We have to set up for a bar mitzvah.”

“On our way out,” Charlie assured the manager, who left with a nod of his head. She turned to Sofie. “He’s cute.”

“Eh.”

“Come on,” Faith pressed.

“Yeah.” Charlie unscrewed the lens from her camera. “He’s fairly tall, has a nice… um… tie.”

Faith laughed and stood to fetch the padded camera bag.

“He’s so cute, why don’t you go out with him?” Sofie asked Charlie.

“Because I’m very busy and important.” And because she had no interest in diving back into the dating pool after Russell had dragged her to the deep end and left her there with an anchor tied around her neck.

“Not your type?” Faith craned a light eyebrow.

At the mention of “type,” a vision of dark hair, blue eyes, and a tilted smile popped into her head.

Well. That was… unexpected. Then again, who could help eyeing Evan Downey in a semi-tight white tee outlining his firmly muscled chest, revealing enough of those delicious tattoos to cause her heart to flutter? Not to mention the brash way he’d pointed out her, uh, assets. All while sporting a smile both lethal and charming.

He didn’t mince words, blurting out exactly what he thought. And he’d mentioned a grown man, a cold shower, something about a hot chick he’d come down to ask out on a date.

There was only one way to take that conversation.

He thought she looked hot.

She really didn’t know what to do with that.

“Um…”

“Mm-hmm.” Sofie, who eerily possessed the ability to read Charlie’s mind, hummed. Thankfully, she let her off the hook. “When will you have my brochure designed?”

Charlie shrugged. “A few days.”

“Friday?” she asked, lifting the case she had helped pack. “Your place?”

“Over wine,” Faith added. “My treat.”

“Friday,” Charlie confirmed to her friends. “Over lots of wine.”


*


The airport was bustling this afternoon, travelers moving through the crowds with tired looks on their faces, or studying the luggage carousel with far too much concentration.

Evan found himself relieved, as he had multiple times in his life, that he wasn’t a suit-wearing man outfitted with a briefcase and a tie around his neck. His cousin, Shane, and oldest brother, Landon, were those guys, but Evan had always been more like his dad and his brother, Aiden.

To him, the classes didn’t matter. Upper, middle, everyone had problems of a different scale regardless of how much money they hauled in. It was more the idea of how he wanted to live. Like Aiden wanted to spend time on a bike or under it—which was the very reason he’d purchased five motorcycle shops in Ohio—Evan had always wanted to make art.

Tattooing had chosen him, a form of art involving blood and surgical gloves, though most people only saw that he inflicted pain rather than relieved his clients of it. Beyond that, the artistry had always come first. The body was a more challenging canvas than paper, which he liked. He also appreciated the permanence of his art. A tat was carried wherever its owner went.

“The flight’s on time,” his agent, Glo, called out as she approached from the direction of the schedule board. She was Asher’s literary agent, too. For better or worse. “Where is he?”

“You know Ash. Probably christening a new stewardess into the Mile High club.”

“Gross.” Her brow dented over catlike blue eyes.

Evan let out a dry laugh. Like he could offend Gloria Shields. She could match any man shot-for-shot at a bar, and had a mouth like a sailor, which he admired the hell out of.

Plus, Glo was a knockout. A woman worthy of pinup status with a healthy curve to her hips and tits she put on a shelf for the world to admire. He admired that about her, too.