Page 13 of Under the Influence

Driving to Barkley’s Steakhouse in Uptown, I’m worried I look too desperate. The skirt isn’t too short. The hem is an inch above my knees. Barely any thigh is showing. The outfit is dignified. Men have reacted well to my skirt and top without turning into horny apes. No reason for Duke to think I look trashy.

I find him standing next to his motorcycle when I pull into the parking lot. Duke is wearing all black and looking casually gorgeous. His tattoos peek out from his sleeves, and I’m curious to see them close up.

Duke glances up from his phone and levels his blue-eyed gaze at me. Seeing him makes me feel stupid for hoping. I wish I’d stayed in jeans and a T-shirt. I don’t want him to know how much I want him.

I know how club guys are and how much pussy they get from easy women. Once he sees me in a skirt, he’ll think he doesn’t need to work hard to win me over.

These are the moments when I wish I could voice my feelings to someone. I imagine my ma reminding me how I have a good life without a man. I feel my pa patting my back and saying nothing will get easier if I hide in my car.

I even hear my great-grandfather, Zeb Earlham’s advice. He’d look at me in his ornery way and say, “You’re fine looking for a spinster, Agnes.”

Feeling more like Edith Mooney than a fidgety nerd, I free my ass from the SUV and shake out my hair. Duke struts over to me, admiring me in that casual way grown men can do. No gawking at my breasts or sizing me up like a piece of meat. His gaze washes over me before focusing on my face.

“You look beautiful,” Duke says in a tone that takes a sledgehammer to the protective armor around my heart.

“So do you,” I babble.

Duke smirks, completely in control here. He pats at his chest and nods. “It’s a new shirt.”

Rather than get annoyed by his cocky expression, I smile at how he teases me over his fancy new black T-shirt. He isn’t dressed up, but he looks fricking perfect. I think maybe he’s gotten a haircut since I last saw him. Just a little tidier around the edges. I want to believe he did that to impress me, but he probably figured he ought to clean up before Lola’s wedding.

I have to remind myself how Duke’s been married before. He’s been a father since I was a kid. This isn’t his first rodeo.

That’s probably why I wear a pout as we walk inside the restaurant. My heart is on the line tonight, yet I feel like Duke holds all the cards.

DUKE, AKA STRUGGLING WITH A NEW REALITY

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Edith is constantly on my mind. I get a momentary distraction today when Val shows up at McGraw’s Diner to see Lola. Through the rumor mill, I learned my future VP danced around with his shirt off. He charmed the ladies and annoyed male customers.

I hit up the diner to find Val and Lola gone. Restless and wondering what the pretty dumbass is up to, I show up at my daughter’s apartment.

Something has shifted in Lola. She’s gone full-blown crazy over Val. They can’t keep their hands off each other. Val gets on one knee and proposes, despite their arranged marriage. He even buys her a necklace with a butterfly pendant. As startled as I am by Lola’s obvious feelings for a guy she never mentioned before the engagement, I’m floored by how Val Mercer barfs his hopes and dreams out for the world to see.

The fact I haven’t announced to the world what I feel for Edith makes me wonder if I’m not seeing things correctly. Is this need for her only a distraction created to avoid worrying about Lola’s wedding or the Charleston club? All these years since Kerrie left, I’ve never entertained ideas about a relationship. Loneliness hasn’t been an issue for me, either. I’ve enjoyed my life. I don’t need a woman.But I want Edith.

Any doubts over my desire for Edith end as soon as she exits her SUV at Barkley’s Steakhouse. She’s staggeringly beautiful. I’m shocked she hasn’t been snapped up by a man yet. Her body is perfection. She’s built like her tall, athletic mom. Her hair shines even under the dull parking lot lights. Her face is flawless. Her dark brows and lashes draw attention to her stunning blue eyes. Her skin looks like warm honey. I can’t believe she’s real.

Edith seems nervous when we enter the restaurant. I don’t know if she’s reacting to me or the people around us. No doubt she doesn’t want to be seen by anyone who will report back to her family. I can’t imagine Donovan Mooney would be thrilled to have his only daughter dating me.

We order parmesan-crusted steaks and espresso martinis. Edith keeps fiddling with her skirt as if it’s too short. I watch her glancing around nervously. She behaves differently than at the engagement party or even at the bar. Her gaze can barely hold mine. I suspect she’s realized this thing between us is doomed.

Yet, rather than end the date and keep my distance, I lean back and admire her bright blue eyes and pink lips. I can’t imagine a more beautiful woman than the one sitting across from me right now.

“I grew up hearing stories about Zeb,” I say when she remains silent. “Your great-grandfather’s reputation as a rabble-rouser made him a hero to rowdy kids like me. I met him once when I was a teenager. He was cussing and starting trouble in a Rockwell burger place. I found him funny. Never in a million years would I have guessed a man like Zeb would have offspring as lovely as your grandma.”

Edith’s pouty expression turns off instantly. “Christine believed in herself and followed her dreams.”

“Do you take after her?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she mutters before hearing her snippy tone and sighing. “I don’t know why I came tonight. I should have ghosted you. That’s the smart move.”

“It would have been smarter,” I say, wishing she wouldn’t voice the obvious.

“But I like you,” Edith says, still grumpy, “and I don’t like any other men.”

“Do you date often?”

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