Sweet Southern Nights. Liz Talley
“No, not really. Just felt right to wait. Do you have rules for dating?” she asked, acknowledging with a wince the sun once again coming out from behind the clouds. Felt as if it was beating them down with the heat.
“Sort of. Having dating rules makes things easier for me,” he said with a smile, looking way too handsome.
Strange. Eva didn’t have real rules, just gut feelings. She sorta thought rules for dating were a bit too anal. “Like for first kisses, sex, what?”
“More like gifts, family, house keys. That sort of stuff,” he said, curving an arm around her waist, jerking her forward as a drunk guy stumbled their way. The weight of his hand felt good on her hip. Deep down even the most vehement feminist had to innately appreciate the protective instincts of a man. Or maybe it was just Eva who felt that way. She spent much of her time as one of the guys, subject to discussion on bodily functions and field-dressing a deer. Being treated like a woman felt nice every now and then.
“You okay?” Jamison asked yet again, concern etched on his handsome face.
“I think you’ve asked me that four times within the hour. Must be the whole doctor thing spilling over,” she said, pressing her hands against his chest.
His forehead crinkled, but he didn’t move his arm from around her waist. Instead, he grinned at her, his blue eyes growing almost smoky. “You know, you’re right. I say that a lot, but then again, I have to. Most women aren’t too comfortable with me. Hazard of the profession, and another reason I’m really glad you haven’t scurried away from me.”
“Maybe if I wore a paper gown?”
He snorted.
“Besides, you’re the pot of honey,” she teased.
He stared at her lips, and Eva prepared herself to be kissed, but Jamison must have decided against it. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “Honey?”
Eva tamped down the disappointment mixed with relief. She didn’t know if she wanted him to kiss her or not—or if she was insulted or not.
“Yeah, you’re a honey pot. Women swarm like bees around you.” She raised her voice into falsetto. “Dr. French, you’re so wonderful. Buzz, buzz, buzz.”
That made him laugh, and the man looked good laughing. His eyes crinkled behind the lens of his glasses, and his bright teeth flashed against his tan skin.
He said nothing more, merely turned his attention to the stage where a slim woman with dark hair, a lithe body and a helluva voice worked the microphone. The crowd cheered as the band shifted into a new song that showcased the singer’s raspy voice.
“She’s good,” Eva said.
“Yeah, that’s Morgan Cost.”
“No kidding! She was married to Jake’s sister’s ex-husband.”
“I didn’t know she married Cal,” Jamison said, clapping along to the song. “I mean I knew he ran off to California with her a few years back. Anyway, Morgan released a record last month, and it’s getting good airplay on country music stations. There was even an article in the Baton Rouge Advocate last week.”
“Huh,” Eva said, impressed by the woman’s voice but little else. Morgan had run off with Abigail Orgeron’s husband in the middle of a party they’d been throwing. Jake’s sister had been left with a daughter, a huge mortgage on a bed-and-breakfast and a scandal. In Eva’s eyes, Morgan would always have that black mark against her, no matter how talented she was.
She hadn’t known Jake back then, but he still got steamed when someone brought up the topic of Calhoun Orgeron. Eva didn’t like the man much, either, especially since he’d already hit on her at church earlier that year when he’d dragged his butt back to Magnolia Bend after Morgan had dumped him.
“Well, she’s definitely a good singer. I’ll give her that, I guess,” Eva said, joining Jamison on the clapping.
Hours later, after eating jambalaya, drinking another cold Abita beer and sharing a sno-ball with Jamison, who obviously didn’t mind swapping spit in that manner, Eva stepped onto the porch of the cute bungalow she’d bought in the Laurel Creek subdivision. Jamison trailed behind her, still giving off the breezy yacht-club vibe. The man’s pants weren’t even creased, and no sweat ringed the undersides of his shirtsleeves.
Eva pulled at the filmy material of her romper. The silly thing, bought in a moment of insanity, was plastered against her chest, advertising the wares a little too well. She found her house key and stuck it in the door. “Thanks for inviting me, Jamison. It was fun.”
“It was. I’m glad you went with me.”
“Would you like to come inside for a drink? Or to use the bathroom?”
Why had she asked that? Just because the beer had done a number on her didn’t mean he had to go to the bathroom, too. Jeez, she sucked at dating.
Jamison grinned. “You’re asking me in to pee?”
Eva never blushed, but she felt close to it in that moment. “Sorry, I know you have a bit of a drive home. That was stupid.”
“Nah, it was cute,” he said with another blinding smile. “I really should go, but I hope we can do this again.”
With Charlie about to come live with her, things felt uncertain in her life. But taking in her brother didn’t mean she had to quit being who she was. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Good. So maybe... Tuesday night? They’re showing Bringing Up Baby at the Grand. Want to share some popcorn with me?”
Eva shook her head. “I have some things going on early in the week, but maybe by Friday I can get away.”
“Well, that movie won’t be showing, but I bet we can find something to do,” he said. Any other guy would have made the last statement sound sexual, but not Jamison. He sincerely meant they’d find something to do. That thought almost made Eva giggle.
“That sounds great,” she said, twisting the key.
“It’s a date, then,” Jamison said, moving toward her.
Okay, so now he’d kiss her. She turned toward him, but he merely gave her a quick squeeze of her shoulders. “See ya then. Thanks.”
Then he was gone, moving quickly down the steps toward the new Mercedes he’d parked in her driveway.
Eva watched him before giving him a quick wave as he climbed inside the car.
Maybe Jamison was gay, but she didn’t think so. But what man turned away from a kiss—twice? She didn’t know many who would, but perhaps it was one of those rules for dating that he professed to have. Maybe kisses on the first date weren’t allowed no matter what. Or maybe he wasn’t into her. Maybe he was—
“Hey.”
Eva jumped, dropping her keys. “Jake, you scared me to death.”
Jake grinned like the devil he was. “You look alive to me...and I must say, damn nice in that short thing you’re wearing.”
Eva bent over to grab the keys she’d dropped, holding a hand to her bodice so the fabric didn’t gape and show her boobs to the man she’d always wanted to show her boobs to. “Um, thank you.”
“Guess ol’ Jamie didn’t appreciate it, huh? No good-night kiss.”
“It’s not night,” Eva said, twisting the doorknob and pushing into the blessed coolness of her house. She didn’t bother asking Jake to come in—she knew he’d do so anyway. The only thing she cared about was going to the bathroom.
He closed the door. “But it was a date, right?”
“I guess,” she said, dumping her cross-body purse onto the piano bench, setting her keys atop the instrument. “You want a beer?”