Deep (Pagano Family #4)(11)
“India Pale Ale. So you brought me your boyfriend’s rejects, then. As a thank you.”
She blushed so hard at that, her face lit up like a warning beacon. She was really glowing now. He’d been teasing, so he let up and smiled. His expression eased hers, cooled her cheeks and widened her eyes, and she made that gentle chuckle again. “When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound all that grateful, huh? I guess I didn’t think it through. He’s not my boyfriend, but he is apparently pickier about beer than I thought. Okay, then. I’ll just slink back to my door in shame.”
Nick wasn’t sure what had piqued his interest, but it was piqued—at least, he wasn’t quite done with their little banter. His eyes kept returning to her mouth. “I’m not sure I remember your name. Is it Evelyn?”
“Beverly. Everybody calls me Bev.”
He’d been close. A name from the past. “Not many young women with that name, I’d guess.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve never known another one personally, old or young.” She fidgeted, shifting the box in her hands, and Nick made a decision and stepped back out of his doorway, into his apartment. He’d lived here five years without getting to know a neighbor personally, but this one charmed him a little.
“Well, come in, and let’s try some of your boyfriend’s rejects.” He’d heard her correct him about the ‘boyfriend,’ and he’d repeated it intentionally to see if she’d correct him again.
“Are you sure? I’m happy to just give them to you. I wasn’t angling for an invite.” She got a look in her eye—it flashed quickly and was gone—and added, “Maybe your girlfriend would like it.” Nick read that she had not expected to be invited in, but now that she was, she was digging a little into his availability. He’d make sure to control that line of interest before it got going.
“I never say anything unless I’m sure, Beverly.” He stretched his arm out toward the interior of his home, and she walked through the doorway.
As she came in, she headed straight for the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. “Well, I won’t say I’m not glad, because I didn’t want to be a loser and drink all alone.” She set the six-pack on the counter and then stared at his single glass of scotch. When she looked up, her blue eyes were wide.
Nick was enjoying this. She was so easy to read, she wasn’t just an open book, she was an IMAX movie in 3D. In most of his life, people tried to hide things from him. Even his friends and associates controlled their feelings. He found it refreshing to talk with someone this open.
“If you need an opener, it’s in the drawer next to the fridge.” He walked down the hallway into his bedroom and grabbed a clean t-shirt out of a drawer, then returned to the kitchen as he pulled it on. In the space of those few seconds, she had opened two bottles and was putting the remaining three in his refrigerator. As she closed the door, she looked at his chest, now covered with a t-shirt, and he saw her disappointment. He chuckled to himself as he picked up one of the open bottles from the counter and took a swig. The Pagano Brothers were investors in the Quiet Cove Brewery, so he’d had their IPA before. It was decent.
“So…what do you do, Nick?”
He turned and leaned against the counter, surprised and disappointed by her question. People knew him. They at least knew his last name, and considering that he normally got around in a blacked-out SUV with a huge cumpà for a driver, people made assumptions. Correct assumptions, in his case. So the question was stupid, for a lot of reasons.
“I work.” Wanting to turn the conversation over, he thought of the morning before, watching her on the beach. “You’re a yoga instructor.”
“Yes…that’s a thing I do.” Her smile around those words was wry. She was being coy with him, too. She had another job as well, but she was holding it back, retaliating for his vague answer to her question. Sassy. He liked it. He’d even forgive her for asking the stupid question in the first place.
He’d think through his interest in this woman later; for now, he decided to poke at her a little and take her measure. “I’ve seen you on the beach doing your thing. I’m surprised.”
“Why?” She took a long drink from her bottle. She hadn’t fussed about needing a glass.
“You’re not a skinny vegan type.”
She didn’t take offense at all. She lifted her eyebrows in surprise, but again he could read her clearly, and she wasn’t one of those women who collapsed into a puddle of needy insecurity at any kind of comment that wasn’t an affirmation of their perfection.
Her answer was clear and confident. “Health and strength isn’t about being thin. It took me a long time to believe that, but now I more than believe it. I know it’s true. So, no, I’m not skinny. I’m a hundred times healthier now than when I was skinny. Or when I was fat. I’m strong and fit.” She gave him a smirk—more sass. “Limber, too.”
It was a good answer. And she wasn’t fat. She was—he didn’t know how to describe it. He’d say ‘average,’ but that didn’t feel right. Her shape was somehow better than average in a way he could see but not explain. She fit her clothes really well—that was as close as he could get.
He had an impulse to take hold of her ass. He could get there, too. But he wouldn’t.