Page 18 of Space Crush
As if manifested by my brooding thoughts, the shop door opens, and the voicemail king himself enters.
“What areyoudoing here?” As the question echoes around the store, I move my eyes toward Rose.
“Don’t look at me.” Rose holds both hands up at my glare. “I’m team Kaley the Nut Crusher.”
“Rose didn’t know.” Evan, also holding both hands up—though his are more like trying to calm a wild animal than in innocence—steps closer. “Bodie told me where you were.”
“Son of a bitch.” Rose crosses her arms over her chest.
Evan, eyes cutting to Rose, cringes.
Behind Rose, the shop employee who greeted us upon entering starts making her way toward us.
I lower my voice, replacing my earlier surprise with seething frustration. “I don’t care how you got here, I want you to leave. I have nothing to say to the guy who mentions exclusivity only to have his phone blow up with possible matches from a dating app.”
Evan clasps his hands tightly, extending them forward. “Those weren’t my matches.”
I scoff.
“They were my mom’s.”
There’s a beat of silence as I try and fail to process that. “I’m sorry, what?” I replay the serious and heartfelt conversation we shared the night of our kiss. “But your mom…”
The shop worker reaches Rose. But before she can ask what’s going on or kick us out, Rose leans over and whispers in her ear.
Sharon—as her name tag reads—raises both brows at whatever Rose says and looks between Evan and me with interest.
Great. Another spectator.
Ignoring them, Evan holds my gaze. “My real mom died, yes. I meant my stepmother.”
I cross my arms, the shopping bag hanging on my forearm swinging in front of me. “You never mentioned you had a stepmom.”
“I never had the chance.” Evan runs a hand through his hair, the tawny locks sticking up at odd angels. “We closed down the restaurant right after I mentioned about my mom and then my dad.” He rests his hand on a rack only to jerk it back when he sees it’s a display of monokini negligees. “Then the very next day, you canceled our upcoming date and started avoiding me.”
The logic in his explanation only serves to make me more annoyed. “Evenifthe whole stepmom thing is true, how does it make sense that your stepmother’s dating app notifications are onyourphone?”
“This is getting good,” Rose whispers.
Employee Sharon nods, then glances at the strapped bodysuit inside Rose’s bag. “We have a matching riding crop for that.”
Without looking away from Evan and me, Rose nods. “I’ll take it.”
“Can we”—Evan steps closer, eyes cutting to our audience—“talk somewhere else?”
I frown at the shortened distance between us. “Why?”
“It’s just that it’s kind of hard to talk in front of”—he gestures at our surroundings—“all this.”
Sharon bristles.
Feeling insulted on behalf of her and my lingerie drawer at home, my anger rears. “And just what is wrong with ‘all this’?” I air quote, my shopping bag whacking into a display table of panties.
Sharon tuts.
“Nothing.” Hands out, he gestures around the shop. “I love all of this.” He nods to the employee as if in apology. Returning his gaze to me, he mutters, “I’d just rather not talk about my mom,or us, in the middle of it.”
Unmoved, and a little pleased by his discomfort, I hold my ground. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m talking to you at all.”
