Smoke Show – Chapter 1 (Eve)

Copyright Amelia Simone 2023

“Wow. I love your costume. Very sharp. What are you?” I admired the teen’s suit and tie, pretty sure I recognized him. “A secret agent?”

A gamine grin spread across his sharp features. “Nah. I’m Principal Gleason.” He pointed to the tiny Grizzly mascot tie tack. “It’s a grrreat day to be a Grizzly!” He mimicked Brady Gleason’s tone perfectly – a touch of superiority buried under the upbeat catchphrase.

Cackling, I dumped an extra handful of chocolate into his bag. “Nice. Have you been to his house yet?”

“Yup.”

“And what is he giving out this year? Anything good?” I asked, finding it curious that the high school principal participated in Halloween traditions at all. Brady always seemed so buttoned-up; I wouldn’t have guessed anything as fun and frivolous as Halloween would be his thing.

The young man wrinkled his nose. “Dental floss.”

“Oh,” I said, nonplussed.

My trick-or-treater nodded sagely. “Yeah. The forecast calls for toilet paper later, with a chance of eggs.”

Biting back a giggle, I kept my face solemn. “Understandable. Let me know if you need an alibi.”

“You mean that?” he asked, eyes alight with mischief.

My friend Gwen, who also happened to be the town mayor, appeared over my shoulder. “No, Wes.”

Shrugging, he yelled a quick thank you, disappearing into the night, and I closed the door.

Gwen shook her head, making her green wig sway. “Give Weston Johnson an inch, and we’ll have another tagging scandal on our hands. The pavilion doesn’t need any new graffiti.”

I scrunched my nose, unbothered by her motherly chiding. “Sounds like Brady has it coming. Dental floss? Really? What is the man thinking?”

“Cavities,” Sophie mumbled around her Tootsie Roll Pop. She grinned, arching her brows suggestively as she struck a pose in her tooth fairy costume in my living room. “They’re every dentist’s nightmare.”

“Yeah, but he’s not a dentist. Or the tooth fairy.”

“True, but for teachers, the day after Halloween is the worst… Ask me how I know.” Sophie’s morose expression was at odds with her usual irrepressible grin. “I don’t blame him for not wanting to contribute to the madness. My second-graders are going to be exhausted, sugared-up little monsters tomorrow.” She pointed her sucker at me. “You’ll see. Don’t you have your first play rehearsal tomorrow at the high school?”

I slumped on my couch next to Gwen. “Don’t remind me.”

“It’ll be worth it,” Gwen reassured. “We need the high school space for the Winter Warmth Auction, and helping Brady with the play is the price of admission.”

“Yeah, but why am I paying it?” I grumbled.

Not that I really minded helping Brady out. Or, more accurately, helping out his students. Their drama teacher had retired unexpectedly, leaving Brady with a gaggle of teenagers eager to put on their winter play and no director. Or set help. Which was why he’d twisted my arm to join him behind the scenes.

Sophie waved her sucker around. “What other kickass artist do we all know? Hmmm?”

“I’m a tattoo artist, not a set designer.”

“But I’d bet twenty bucks you did drama when you were in high school,” Gwen said.

She wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t like talking about my past. My slate had been wiped clean when I moved to Campfire, and I liked it that way. Letting thoughts of my past life intrude only led to trouble.

“Maybe,” I muttered, not sure why I was complaining. Grumping just to grump wasn’t like me, but the idea of working so closely with Brady pricked at me. Mostly because he was a prick.

He’d made up his mind about me immediately. He took one look at the all-black leggings and oversized My Chemical Romance tee, my dark makeup and tattoos, and wrinkled his nose. While I was used to that reaction from the older Campfire residents who missed the whole emo movement, from a man as young and hot as Brady Gleason, the disdain still irritated me.

Once upon a time, I’d been more like Sophie, upbeat and innocent, verging on naive. But no more. I’d risen from the ashes of my old life with a totally different look. Dark. Earthy. Dangerous. Nothing that indicated I could be fooled. No hint that I might choose to believe only the good in someone, innocent to their darker motivations. Projecting toughness had become ingrained.

Seeing Brady live the image I’d given up annoyed me more than I could say. Because I knew it had to be a lie, and I’d come to hate the deception.

The doorbell rang, and I sprang into action, grabbing my candy bowl once again. I took an involuntary step back when I opened the door, the looming figure on my front step catching me by surprise.

“Rar.”

The throaty growl sounded suspiciously mature, but it was hard to assess my trick-or-treater’s identity in the giant blow-up costume. The inflatable T. rex was easily seven feet tall, the wearer disguised by the bulky body and camouflage face screen. But something seemed familiar. Rex didn’t seem inclined to make small talk, making me reconsider the hint of recognition. I tossed a handful of candy in the dino’s bag, wishing it a Happy Halloween and closing the door when nothing more than an appreciative growl seemed forthcoming.

I shivered. Something about the T. rex’s stance, the earthy rumble struck me, leaving me with the sense that I should have recognized the person behind the inflatable.

Gwen shook her head, snagging a Snickers from my bowl. “They seemed too old for trick-or-treating.”

I shrugged, hiding my smile when she pulled a second candy bar into her lap. “I don’t really care so long as teenagers make an effort to dress up, and those costumes crack me up.” I grinned. “What if I showed up to play practice in a getup like that tomorrow? I can just imagine Brady’s response: ‘Ms. Pendleton, kindly join us in this century and leave the costumes to the cast.’“

Sophie tossed a Twix my way. “He’s not that bad, Eve, and your British butler routine needs work.”

I reached for my remote, unpausing our movie, hoping to lose myself in the on-screen witchy shenanigans, instead of contemplating the task ahead of me: keeping on the right side of Brady Gleason long enough to get through the school play and the Winter Warmth Auction.

The newly elected Campfire Council had created four major events to bring more tourism to our small town. As our mayor, Gwen had led the name change and rebranding efforts. Our friends Izzy and Jo had been pressed into running for town council seats. They’d run on a platform of change, which had ruffled more than a few feathers. But our first event, the Fall Festival, had brought record crowds into town for the off-season, and the doubters quieted. For the most part. At least we had brought tourist dollars in, which had been the goal. There’d been more than a few mishaps in the process, which Sophie was eager to chalk up to bad luck and sour grapes, but I had a feeling it was more than that. Differences in opinion about the city’s future aside, who would want to sabotage our town?

“Can you pass me another peanut butter cup?” Gwen asked, jarring me out of my reverie.

I handed her another candy, digging for a Twix and coming up with a Milky Way instead. Brady’s favorite, if the candy dish on his desk at school was any indication.

Hypocrite. He’d probably bought a whole bag of Milky Ways just for himself, but only gave out floss to his trick-or-treaters.

As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone buzzed.

Brady: Don’t forget, first play rehearsal is tomorrow, 5pm sharp.

I couldn’t resist firing back.

Eve: Yes, Principal Gleason.

Brady: Good.

I shivered, not liking the way those words, even in text, evoked the fantasy of him calling me his good girl. Something about his deep voice, even when it was dripping with disdain, nipped at me. His reminder should have been annoying, the implication that I wasn’t an adult or his equal. He’d probably sent it with that intent. He didn’t seem to think much of me.

Telling myself I was irritated almost worked. Almost. Naming my real feelings would lead to complications I couldn’t afford. My mission was simple: help as art director for the play, gain Brady’s cooperation and support for holding the Winter Warmth Auction at McDonald High, and throw the best bachelor auction Campfire had ever seen. I had no business thinking of Brady Gleason beyond what was necessary to meet my goals. I’d left the woman who would have hung on his every word, bewitched by his maturity and style, behind.

New Eve didn’t put up with pompous men who thought they could tell me what to do.

Smoke Show – Chapter 2 (Brady)

After an early morning cleaning up toilet paper in my yard and a full day at school, I was bone-tired by the time our first play rehearsal started. It didn’t help that Eve Pendleton was my partner in hell. I scrubbed a hand through my short dark hair, wishing for the umpteenth time that Gwen had an artistic lick in her body. We’d been friends since kindergarten, and hanging out with her as I attempted to wrangle twenty horny high schoolers through play rehearsals would have been no big deal. Eve was another matter.

Something about her got under my skin. She moved like a tiny thundercloud, dark and dangerous, pestering me for gym space. As if I wanted her auction at my school. Especially a bachelor auction. Only the realization that I could use it as leverage to get some help with producing The Snow Queen made me relent.

A lean figure slipped in the back door to the auditorium, distracting me from my script. Eve strode confidently up the aisle, nodding briefly to acknowledge me. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, all black, with her dark hair caught up in a low bun. The short sleeves of her shirt showcased the ink along her forearms, inviting a closer look.

I glanced at my watch with exaggerated disapproval, secretly enjoying it when she smirked. Five-oh-two. Not exactly late, but not on time either.

“Attention, students. Places, please.” My voice boomed in our small auditorium, silencing side conversations. Slowly, the cast and crew turned their focus to me.

“Welcome to the first practice for The Snow Queen. With Mrs. Hernandez out, I’ll be taking over direction. Ms. Pendleton will be assisting us with sets. Crew, you’ll report to her. Those of you with speaking roles, please grab your scripts, and we’ll take it from the top. Our first show is in five weeks, so plan to be off script in three.” I glanced around my herd of budding thespians, noting that Lissie Garter and Caleb Thornton were already flirting with all the subtlety of ungainly giraffes, and sighed. “Places, everyone.”

It was going to be a long fucking month.

It took every ounce of my willpower not to watch Eve’s rounded backside as she gathered her flock and led them backstage. I’d give anything to be behind the scenes, working on sets, rather than being forced to listen to stilted dialogue, but I settled into my chair, nodding to the girl playing Gerda. She and Tia walked through the scenes between sisters, and other more minor characters added their lines, wrapping up the first scene.

We took a short break, mostly so I could be nosy. I found Eve in a circle with her students backstage. She seemed to have her small crew well in hand, sketching on her pad while they pointed at her page. The bird tattooed on the back of one elegant hand seemed to flutter around her notebook as she deftly diagrammed set ideas. A strand of her dark hair had escaped her bun, partially hiding her expression. The urge to get closer to tuck it back, to restore order, was nearly overwhelming.

Eve glanced up, as if feeling the weight of my attention. I froze, caught. Something about the gleam in her eyes made me feel guilty, like I’d been caught somewhere I shouldn’t have been. Her dark eyes whispered of secrets and mischief, making me want to dig deeper, discover what made her smile. Be the reason for it. The woman was a damned witch. One of her students giggled, reminding me we weren’t alone, and I straightened, breaking the connection.

“Going okay back here?” I asked, my husky voice still sounding overly loud amid their soft conversation.

Eve nodded, and I slipped out of her sight, returning to the cast.

Shifting my attention back to my students, I cleared my throat. “Places, everyone. Lissie and Caleb, your scene please.”

Keeping my focus on Caleb and Lissie, who stumbled through their scripts, was a chore. My attention kept slipping to Eve, kicked back in a folding chair, flipping through her notebook as her team discussed scenes and set design. That hank of dark hair mocked me, nibbling at my self-control.

Lissie held her hand against her forehead, drawing my attention. “I didn’t mean to make a snow monster. If kisses were snowflakes, I’d send you a blizzard.”

“I have a few inches I’d like to send your way too,” Caleb announced grandly.

My gaze met Eve’s across the auditorium. Her wide eyes and rounded mouth as Caleb’s words registered signaled that I wasn’t the only one with a dirty mind. Her stifled giggle threatened my composure, and I shook my head, trying to get myself under control. Really. We were meant to be the role models here. The temptation to join Eve was nearly overwhelming. A few of the minor characters tittered from their seats in our circle, and I coughed to hide my laugh, forcing my expression into stern lines.

“Caleb, that’s kisses, not inches,” I corrected.

Either way, it sounded naughtier than a high school play should. I flipped through my script, scanning quickly for any other potentially problematic phrases. What had Mrs. Hernandez gotten me into? Romance was supposed to be a minor aspect of the storyline.

When practice wrapped for the evening, I wished my students good night, calling out when I noticed Eve trying to slip out the back. “Ms. Pendleton – a moment?”

She grimaced, mangling my pride when she seemed irritated that I held her after practice, but at least she waited until I reached her at the back of the auditorium instead of sneaking out and ignoring me altogether.

It was impossible not to feel a new kinship with her after suffering through our first play practice together. Part of me had thought she’d flake out or half-ass our deal, but judging from her crew’s excited chatter as they left for the evening, Eve was taking her new responsibilities seriously. I could only applaud her commitment.

Up close, I could see the catlike sweep of her eyeliner, adding a mysterious allure to her dark eyes. Her ruby red lips pressed into a more neutral pout.

“How did it go?” I asked, searching her expression.

Up until now, I’d thought of her as a thorn in my side, another obstacle to navigate. She’d accosted me for weeks about using the gym for her auction, ambushing me at every opportunity. Maybe I hadn’t been graceful in turning her down, but her doggedness slowly won me over. Eve had grit. But that didn’t mean I’d just roll over and give in. Asking her to help with the play had seemed like a stroke of genius when the project landed in my lap. But I hadn’t factored in that I’d be spending weeks with a woman who barely tolerated me. One I found alarmingly sexy. Keeping my distance by calling her Ms. Pendleton had been my sanity’s saving grace. If I put her firmly in the “work” box, maybe I wouldn’t be tempted.   

She flipped a hand. “The kids are fine. We’ve got a plan to repaint last year’s sets to fit The Snow Queen.”

“Good, good,” I said huskily, unsure what else I could add.

Her eyes darkened at my throaty praise, and I cleared my throat. Had I been that much of an asshole that she found even the mildest compliment surprising? Guilt washed through me.

“Do you want to grab dinner and go over the rest of the schedule, the prop budget, that kind of thing?”

Eve paused, and I held my breath. My invitation had been as transparent as glass, but I couldn’t resist asking. She seemed to have an axe to grind with me, and I needed to make amends. Maybe we didn’t exactly see eye to eye when she first came to me asking to use the high school for Gwen’s harebrained bachelor auction, but I hadn’t set out to make her an enemy. She seemed to take my reluctance to offer the school personally. Maybe it had something to do with me extracting my pound of flesh, arm-twisting her into helping me with the play when Mrs. Hernandez needed leave, but I couldn’t be sorry for asking her.

She was perfect for the job.

“I think we can handle the rest via email, don’t you?”

Her cool dismissal pricked at my ego, but Eve didn’t owe me anything. She’d already more than saved my ass, helping with the play.

“Sure, if that’s what you prefer. I was just hoping to extend the olive branch, albeit in the form of a pizza.”

Her lips twitched, the first sign that maybe she didn’t hate me for forcing her into volunteering. She ran a black-nailed finger along her plump red lip, scrambling coherent thought and blazing through my good intentions.

“If you’re offering dinner at Slice of Heaven, I could be swayed,” she said, still sounding reluctant.

“I just want to get us back on good footing.” I held my hands up, palms out in front of my chest like I was surrendering. “Gwen is a friend from way back. I don’t want to be enemies.”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, sending a fresh wave of self-recrimination washing through me. Sure, Eve and I could be friends. Just as soon as I managed to forget that she was a secret fantasy come to life.

“I guess I could go for that,” Eve said softly, watching me as if she expected me to turn from Jekyll to Hyde in front of her eyes.

“Walk with me?” I gestured toward the door. She nodded, and I did a quick sweep of the auditorium, making sure that none of the teenagers under my supervision had found a convenient hidey-hole before locking the doors and ushering her outside.

Eve shivered as we stepped into the night, the action juddering through her tiny body, and I frowned. The sun had mostly set, casting long shadows across the sidewalk as we walked toward downtown. Her short-sleeved shirt didn’t offer much protection from the wind and forty-degree temperatures.

“Here,” I said brusquely, shrugging out of my suit jacket. Eve’s gaze seemed to trace the column of my exposed throat, touching on my red tie and white shirt with approval, even though I was probably the worse for wear after my long day. Slowly, I draped my jacket across her narrow shoulders, smoothing it into place. I pushed the strand of hair that had been nagging at me all afternoon behind her ear, stroking the silky soft skin of her neck.

My jacket wasn’t much, but the way she was shaking, I worried she’d fall apart before we made it the few hundred feet to Izzy’s restaurant, Slice of Heaven, for dinner. “You really should have a jacket,” I said, letting my hands linger on her shoulders a beat too long.

Eve shivered again, sinking into the heavy fabric. She turned her chin, sniffing delicately, before letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. “Thanks,” she muttered.

However much she didn’t like me, she’d at least accepted my small courtesy. My determination not to extend just an olive branch, but the whole fucking tree was renewed. Something about Eve drew me, and I was done fighting. Her grudging acceptance of my jacket told me I needed to take things slow. Like growing-a-whole-fucking-olive-grove-as-penance slow. I focused on our path, nodding hello to Mrs. Wise getting into her car in front of Campfire’s only hair salon.

I pulled open the door to Slice of Heaven, inhaling deeply. The scent of spicy marinara and beer permeated the old brick building. Izzy greeted us from behind the counter with a broad grin. Her blond hair was tucked away neatly in a long braid, and she sported her usual Slice of Heaven garb: jeans and a red shirt emblazoned with the Slice logo.

“Hey, guys. You fresh from play practice?”

Eve nodded, and I asked, “Can we please get a table, Iz?”

“Sure.” She grinned, glancing from Eve swimming in my favorite navy suit jacket to me.

“Thanks,” I said. “Ms. Pendleton and I have a lot to go over. I thought it might be more enjoyable over dinner.”

Eve’s shoulders tightened, and I winced. Wrong move. I’d thought my explanation might put her more at ease, put us back on professional footing, but it had done the opposite. Sometimes I struggled to drop school habits, even when the kids weren’t around. It was ninety-nine percent of the reason I didn’t date or have much of a personal life in Campfire. It was too hard to relax and be myself under the small-town microscope. I’d become so used to hiding any hint of my real self, breaking the habit was hard.

“Sorry, that came out way more stilted than I meant it to. Eve and I are mending fences.” I smiled self-deprecatingly. “I hope.”

Izzy’s glance slid from me to Eve, her grin never wavering. “Well, you can’t go wrong with pizza diplomacy.” Her nose wrinkled. “Unless you’re on different sides of the great pineapple debate.”

“Eve, what’s your favored position?” I asked.

One corner of her luscious lips quirked up, and I held on to my composure with all my might. I had not meant that to sound dirty. I could only blame the verbal slip on how distracted I was with her standing so close, snuggled in my jacket. She looked impossibly cute, and something about the oversized blazer on her had me envisioning distinctly more X-rated versions of the outfit.

“I like to consider myself adventurous,” Eve said lightly, dark eyes dancing. 

I nearly choked on my tongue as visions of her, naked except for my coat, flitted through my mind. I stood frozen, unable to respond, lost in the moment.

“Then you’ll have lots to talk about,” Izzy cooed, clearly delighted by my discomfiture.

Recently married, Izzy kept glancing between Eve and me, mischief in every line of her smile. I’d known Izzy almost as long as I’d known Gwen. She’d tagged along, following me and her brother around town. Adjusting to the idea of her being old enough to be married was hard enough without succumbing to the idea that she was matchmaking. Sweet, innocent Izzy seemed to revel in encouraging me toward her friend, no doubt scenting the attraction I was doing my best to ignore.

I followed Izzy and Eve to our table, studying the menu like it had changed in the last five years to avoid getting caught watching Eve with anything more than professional courtesy. Her lips were witchcraft, pure and simple. Too damn distracting.

I’d already made a fool of myself more times than I could count around her. She tested the bounds of my self-control, just by being herself. Add that to the fact that she low-key hated me, and it was a wonder she’d agreed to come at all tonight. I didn’t need to compound my gaffes by mooning after her. I’d pitched this as a working dinner, and I’d be professional if it killed me, dammit.

“Relax, Principal Gleason. It’s just pizza, not the SATs. Trust me, I’m easy.” I caught her brown gaze, the hint of devilry there kindling an answering lick of flame in me. “I like all pizza,” she said, gesturing to her menu. “We can’t go wrong at Slice.”

I could imagine all kinds of wrong at Slice. Diving across the table that separated us, I could easily devour her, if only she were interested. Again, wrong. Not the image I’d carefully cultivated, and not something she’d expressed any interest in.

Izzy appeared at my elbow, eager to take our order, reminding me that we were not, in fact, the only people in the restaurant. Mercy. At this rate, I’d make an ass of myself in no time, cementing my role in Eve’s life as the jerk she couldn’t wait to be rid of.

“What can I get you?” Izzy asked, her pen poised over her order pad.

“You choose,” I said, voice hoarse.

“How about your Campfire Special?” Eve asked, glancing at me. “That okay with you?”

“Sure.” She could have told me we’d be eating beetles, and I would have agreed. Simp. “And a beer,” I said, feeling desperate.

“Drinking on a school night?” Eve’s arched brows communicated her disbelief, and I pulled at my collar, striving for something I could say that wouldn’t escalate things further.

“I’m shepherding twenty angsty teenagers through a school play. Can you blame me?”

For the first time, Eve seemed to truly relax, shaking her head. “I would have thought you’d have enough on your plate with just your regular job as their principal.”

“What about you?” I asked lightly. “How do you have the time to help me, put together the Winter Warmth Auction, and run your shop?”

Eve’s nose wrinkled, the move impossibly cute. “I don’t. But if someone would let me out of The Snow Queen commitment, maybe I’ll be able to keep my head above water.”

Feeling like an ass, but unwilling to give up her help, I lifted my shoulders. “Sorry, Tiger, but I need you.” Rushing ahead to obscure how deep my neediness ran, I said, “And you need something from me too.”

Her expression cooled at the reminder. Part of me regretted putting us back on quid pro quo terms. The light of kinship died in her eyes as I reminded her that we’d negotiated a trade: her help for auction space. I wished I could have afforded to just give her what she wanted, but I’d been in dire straits with Mrs. Hernandez out. Only the fact that we were doing it for the kids eased my conscience.

Eve straightened, meeting my gaze. “Right.” Her lip tilted in a fake smile, the insincerity plain. “Well, let’s talk about those schedules, Principal Gleason. This play isn’t going to orchestrate itself.” She nodded to my phone, and I reluctantly picked it up, opening my schedule.

We chatted civilly about each set, the dates Eve needed to work with the crew, and my plans for getting the cast off-script in time for their performances. She surprised me, offering suggestions for exercises that would help. She seemed to know what she was talking about.

“You’ve done plays before?” I asked.

She paused, as if weighing whether I was worth this crumb of her past, before nodding. “Once upon a time.”

“Did you do community theater or high school drama?” I wondered if I could pry anything more out of her. Eve was notoriously closed-lipped about her life pre-Campfire. Her accent placed her on the west side, but she’d been vague about where she was from.

“Mmh,” she murmured noncommittally, smiling at Izzy as she dropped off my beer and her water.

“Your pizza will be out in two shakes,” Izzy said. “Need anything else?”

“No thanks, Izzy.”

“Have you thought about your auction offer?” Eve asked.

Watching her steadily, I was sure she’d changed the subject to avoid more questions about her past, but something about the stubborn gleam in her eyes dared me to try to backtrack.

“How about a courtside sofa date at a varsity basketball game, with delivery from Slice?” I asked, throwing out the first idea I could come up with.

“That sounds like something you’d offer as a pep assembly prize,” Eve accused, nose wrinkled.

“It is,” I admitted.

“Bra-dy,” she chided gently.

If she ever found out how much the slow cadence she added to my name grabbed me by the balls, there’d be no stopping her. It took everything I had to pretend indifference to Eve’s charms, to feign cool.

I arched a brow. “What?”

“It’s a bachelor auction, not a school spirit event. We want packages that are uniquely you.”

Telling her I didn’t exist outside of my job was on the tip of my tongue. And a lie. But I kept my secret summer life just that – a secret. Eve and I had that in common – a deep desire for privacy.

Leaning back, I spread my arm along the booth, projecting confidence. “Okay, Ms. Pendleton, then tell me – what do you think is uniquely me? Help me put together my package. What’s going to make the ladies of Campfire swoon?”

Was it my imagination that her attention dropped toward my lap as I enunciated the word “package”? Unless she’d gained x-ray vision, the table protected what remained of my honor, but that didn’t stop me from shifting a little at the thought of her checking me out. I held her dark gaze, warming to the idea of seeking her help, daring her to share her idea of a perfect night out with me.

Eve tilted her head, examining me from the short, dark hair to my Grizzly-red tie, seeming to assess the forearms bared by my rolled-up dress shirt. It was my one concession to being off the clock. What did she see when she looked at me? The stuffy high school principal, or the man who secretly thought she was hot?

Quiet stretched, pulling the invisible thread that linked us taut, until the tension was almost unbearable. Her breath stilled, and I felt the hint of change between us. Would Eve admit to the attraction bubbling under the surface, or snuff out the flame that licked along my every nerve anytime I was near her, aching to run wild?

“One Campfire Special, hot from the oven,” Izzy said cheerily, sliding the pan between us, breaking our silent staring match.

Mood broken, I shifted my attention to Izzy, trying not to let my chagrin show. “Thanks, Izzy. May I please get a fork and knife when you have a minute?”

The tiny frown arrowing between Eve’s brows brought me back to earth with a crash.

I may have wanted Eve, but that didn’t mean she could overlook the man she assumed I was. Uptight. Unbending.

Eve served herself a slice of pizza, moaning in pleasure as she bit into the spicy blend of meat and cheese, tomato sauce dripping from her chin in a messy exhalation of pleasure. Her pure abandonment captivated me. She ate with all of her focus, caught up in the simple joy of gooey cheese and tasty goodness. That kind of attention, even when it wasn’t focused on me, turned me on. I shifted in my seat, unable to tear my gaze from her.

What kind of sicko got an erection over pizza?

Me, apparently.

Dropping an extra napkin in my lap to hide the evidence of my arousal, I thanked Izzy for the silverware, grateful to have something to focus on other than Eve’s blissed-out expression.

Sure, pizza was great, but had she tried sex?

It was on the tip of my tongue to beg her to give it a go. With me, if that wasn’t obvious. But instead, I concentrated on cutting my pizza slice into precise bites, strategic about the sauce-to-cheese-to-toppings ratio.

Eve pulled a second slice to her plate as I forked my first bite into my mouth, chewing slowly. Her gaze dropped to the neat squares on my plate before zeroing in on my lips and jaw, working as I swallowed.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the self-restraint of a saint?” Eve asked, pausing in her bid to inhale her second slice.

I took a slow pull from my beer, holding her gaze before setting the pint down precisely on the coaster.

“Ah, Ms. Pendleton, that’s where you’ve got me wrong. I promise, underneath the surface, I’m all sinner.”

Eve paused mid-bite and stared.

I’d meant the words to be playful, sexy even, but her dazed reaction made me worry I’d overstepped. Screwed up. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memories. The stark reminder of why I took such care knocked the devil out of me.

When I fucked up, people died.

I couldn’t afford any more mistakes. My soul already had more than enough to answer for.

Suddenly exhausted, I gave up on the game of cat and mouse with Eve. She was as closed-off as they came, and I’d already made more mistakes than I wanted to admit to. I didn’t want to count her among them. Still, part of me couldn’t resist tweaking her tail.

“So, you didn’t say. What do you think I should do for my auction package?”

*** Check out Brady’s package in SMOKE SHOW ***