All recognizable characters belong to Janet Evanovich, I'm just playing.

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Chapter 15: Cal 2

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"Thanks for doing this for me."

"No problem." And it's really not. Steph continues to look out the side window, even as she gives me directions. I'm not entirely sure where we're going, but Steph asked for my company, so she's got it. She directs me to take another left and then a right, and then pull into a parking lot. It's a nice little duplex that's been converted into two businesses with the lawn replaced with tasteful brickwork in a herringbone pattern. On the left side is something called Sweet Dreams, and on the right, Angel and Evelyn. The sign for that one has well done drawings of a rose and a heart with a dagger bookending their names. If I had to guess, I'd say tattoo parlor, so we must be here for Sweet Dreams.

Steph continues to sit but starts playing with her hair. The silence starts to become uncomfortable before I finally ask, "Are you getting out?"

"Yeah, give me a minute."

Ok. I give her five, but we still don't get out of the rig, so I try again. "Are we here for a site walk through?"

"No."

More silence. She's been a little off since Ranger's been out of town the last week for a visit to the Boston office. She was originally supposed to go with him, but her grandmother had a health scare and she stayed back. Luckily, everything seems to be ok with her family now. She still isn't saying anything, but it looks like her thoughts are going a mile a minute. "You're gonna have to help me out here, Bomber. What're we doing?"

She lets out a huge sigh before words tumble out. "Just give me a fricking minute, ok? I have an aftercare appointment and there's someone I want you to meet, so I thought kill two birds with one stone. But I didn't really think this through and I'm just contemplating all the Steph's got a tattoo witch hunt shit I'm going to have to deal with and god damnit, I didn't mean to actually say any of that!"

That's a lot to unpack. She's gotten progressively louder by the end, before tipping her head back against the headrest and doing the sigh thing again. She briefly looks over at me before staring out the window again. "Sorry."

"You got a tattoo?

Steph gives me a duh look. With another sigh, she reaches for the door handle but stops when I put a hand on her arm. "You know I don't have a problem with tats, and I'll keep your secret. I just don't understand what the issue is."

She puts a hand over mine and gives me a squeeze. "You know I got shot in the ass back in the day, right?" At my nod, she continues. "I've just never liked the scar. With all the stuff with my grandma, I just figured life's short, you know? So why live with something I don't like if I have the means to change it? Then I remembered my friend Evelyn from school. She was super good at art, so it didn't really surprise me that she and her cousin opened up this place a couple years ago. Mary Lou and I had a couple drinks after grandma was in the clear and I decided it was time to do something about the scar."

When she doesn't continue, I ask, "Are you regretting it?"

"What? No. It's just private, something for me. And Ranger. And no, it's not a Batman symbol."

I nod, letting her know I get it. Fred's not my only tattoo, just the most visible. The rest have meaning, something other than a very visible reminder to never get that shitfaced again. "Ok, so why are we still in the truck?"

She bites her lip. "I want you to meet Evelyn."

"Okay…."

Steph does a very Steph eyeroll. "My track record hasn't been great for you. You said no spark for Sherry, and it didn't seem like things went much better with Whitney. Or Peyton. Ok, Peyton was just…not good. But I think you'll like Evelyn and I'm nervous."

Jesus. The Sherry shit show. Kong ended up racking out on my couch for about a month before he found a new place. He doesn't seem to hold any ill-will toward me, but damn that first week was seven shades of awkward. When word got out that he broke up with the girlfriend that he moved to Trenton for, I expected everyone to put two and two together, especially when it came out that he was staying with me while apartment hunting. No one seems to have linked that to my just not feeling it date, though. We've been paired up for jobs a few times and we've just rolled with it and the friendship that has formed is unexpected but not unwelcome. Which means he joined in with the rest of the guys in giving me shit when my date with Peyton went seriously off the rails. And by off the rails, I mean she was arrested in the middle of our date after her ex pressed charges on her for emptying his bank account and maxing out his credit card. She said he deserved it for cheating on her with the co-worker he swore he wasn't interested in. Maybe, maybe not, but her being led away in handcuffs and me getting left behind to face the stink eye again definitely ended things before they even began. Steph was horrified when she found out and it's taken her awhile to circle back to me for another go-round.

"Relax, Steph. I don't think matchmaking is an exact science or has a time frame. If I end up with someone, great. If not, it's not the end of the world. So, aftercare appointment? What day are you on?"

Her shoulders dip down a little. "Fourth. Evelyn told me to come back, and she or Angel would check on it for me."

I pop open my door. "Let's go get you checked out, then."

Steph falls into step beside me as we climb the three stairs and enter Angel and Evelyn. A quick glance shows a kitschy place with a cool 50s vibe. Numbered drawings line the walls, and a big photo album sits on a pedestal. I start flipping through pages, impressed with the detail and line work shown in the pictures.

"Hey, Steph, perfect timing. Angel has time to squeeze you in before her next appointment."

My eyes are drawn to the woman who just came out of one of the curtained cubbies. I give her a good look over from head to toe; a red bandana tied in her chocolate brown hair, tucked behind a perfect Victory roll, matches her cherry red lips. A tight, black, short-sleeved v-neck t-shirt shows off full sleeves of ink on both arms that I'd love to check out the details on, and her pegged jeans show off not only her gorgeous legs but also put her blocky, black ankle strap heels on display. She's a walking, talking, boner-inducing Rockabilly girl pin-up dream come true and fuck if I'm not onboard that train.

While I've been lost in my perusal, she's stepped close enough to be within touching distance. She clasps her hands behind her back, causing her gorgeous rack to stand out. My eyes briefly drop to her tits before I bring them back up, expecting to get the stink-eye. Instead, she's studying my tat. When she's done, she takes a step back, stating, "Nice piece. Someone's a pro with their shading."

"Thanks." Not much else to say to that; because of the circumstances I don't even know the artist who gave me Fred. I've always known that the actual art was good, just not the placement. Still, I'd rather have a tattoo than a giant scar from removing it.

I vaguely hear "Evelyn, Cal. Cal, Evelyn," before Steph disappears behind one of the curtains, a retro starburst design. Evelyn and I smile at each other before she offers her hand. "Nice to meet you, Cal. Steph's told me a lot about you."

If we were discussing anyone but Steph, my feeling of unease at not knowing what she told Evelyn would have been higher up on the panic meter. Instead, I allow myself to enjoy the spark of interest that's blooming between us. "Well, I'm behind on Evelyn info, so you'll have to allow me to catch up."

That earns me a small smile and she gives my hand a tug, gently pulling me toward a couple of mid-century design chairs by the door. After watching me sit, she takes a couple steps toward a cool as hell vintage Coke machine and says, "Pick your poison."

After asking for a Coke and getting handed a glass bottle and an opener, she takes the other chair, and we shoot the shit while I wait for Steph. Ten minutes in, I'm itching to ask Evelyn out. There's never a lull in the conversation, no awkwardness. She's not staring at my forehead tat, even though she asked if I had others. Having someone so completely comfortable with my appearance isn't something I'm used to, but damn if it's not a great feeling, not having to wonder what she's thinking. The spell is only broken when a skinny young kid comes in for his appointment. Evelyn gets him settled in a cubby before coming back to me. "Sorry, I have to—"

"Get back to work. No worries." We stare at each other for a few more beats. Fuck it, Wilson. Just ask. "Do you want to grab diner sometime."

"Yes."

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

Thank fuck. I pull out my phone. "How do you feel about steak?"

She smiles. "Love it. I hope your next question is if I've ever eaten at The Chop House."

We smile at each other. "It wasn't, but I can work with that. Seven o'clock?" She nods her head. "Can I have your number?"

"Yes."

"And address?"

"No."

I pause in typing out her name and lift an eyebrow. She shrugs. "I'll meet you there."

It's the smart play, even if I'm disappointed in missing out on time with her. "It's a date."

She rattles off her number before pulling her phone out of her back pocket. As her phone dings with my message of the details, she reaches over to the display counter to grab a pair of black cat's eye readers. She slips the glasses on to read the message and I have to shift to get my dick to behave. I should not be turned on by fucking reading glasses, but she makes even those look good. I am so screwed here.

Steph pops out from behind a curtain, saving me from making a fool of myself even more. Her eyes bounce back and forth between our phones, and she doesn't even bother to hide her smile. Evelyn arranges for her next aftercare visit and shoots me a wink and a smile, saying, "See you tonight!"

We're at the car before Steph lets out a happy squeal. "I thought you two would hit it off!"

I have to laugh at her enthusiasm. "Let me get through the first date, then you can be excited."

Her smile doesn't falter but she concedes, "Fair enough."

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The Chop House is located on the ground floor of one of the downtown high-rise hotels and worth every penny. Getting here ten minutes early allows me to people watch. It's an eclectic mix of old-money, hipster assholes, and blue collars dressed up for the night. All of them give me a wide berth. I suppose it's entirely possible none of them have ever seen a 6'5" dude with a flaming skull tattoo on his forehead and a crew cut, wearing a sport jacket and holding a bouquet of bright pink flowers. But, I mean, it's Trenton, so anything's possible.

Ignoring the woman with pinched features glaring at my forehead, I do another sweep of the lobby. On the second pass, I see her coming my way. Evelyn's hips are doing an enticing sway, probably helped by her sky-high heels. I expected some sort of swing dress, but instead she's got on a red body-hugging halter dress that conjures up images of Sohpia Loren. When she stops in front of me, I can see that it has tiny white polka dots, giving her a hint of sexy innocence. That's countered by her full sleeves of ink on display and it's a good look. Her hair still has that perfect Victory Roll, but the rest is down and pulled to one side over her left shoulder. White silk flowers grace the right side of the 'do, and perfect wing-tip eyeliner and those cherry red lips complete a very nice package.

"Fuck, you're beautiful."

That earns me a smile, and it kills a few brain cells. That's the only explanation for what comes next. "I swear to God, if you drove here in any sort of vintage muscle car, I'm going to blow my wad and ask you to marry me right here and now!"

Evelyn tips her head back and laughs and it hits me square in the gut. I swear it makes me want to pledge my fealty and to make her laugh every day. When she's got herself under control, her eyes twinkle as she admits, "Well, I'd love to say I drove my Pop-Pops '49 Oldsmobile Rocket 88, but that one only comes out for the odd car show. Does it make me less cool to admit I drive a 2020 Challenger?"

"Hell, no! That's still a sweet ride. I can't believe you have a Rocket 88, though. I bet there's a story there."

She smiles. "There is. I'll tell you after we're seated."

I dip my head and hold out the bouquet of Gerber something or other that the florist helped me pick out. Evelyn smiles as she takes them, and I find myself randomly thankful to Zero's high maintenance strike out for the idea of the flowers. My hand finds its way to the small of her back as the hostess leads up to a booth at the back of the restaurant. Without comment, she sits on the side that leaves me the view of the room. My relief must have shown, and it gets me another small smile.

Over stuffed mushrooms, she tells me about Pop-Pop and his amateur racing days that lasted from his youth all the way up to his golden years. It would seem she and her cousin got their love of all things 50s and vintage from him. "I guess you could say his house was like a time capsule and it just seemed so magical and different. I guess we embraced it but put our own spin on it."

It's definitely working for them. By the time our steaks arrive, she knows the story of Flaming Fred, my exit from the Corps, and landing in Trenton. We play the word association game and I nearly choke on my beer when she counters my sausage and eggs with taco. My shock brings out more laughter and I notice quite a few people staring at us. Some are trying to be subtle about it, others less so. One soccer mom is flat out looking at my tat with disapproval evident on her face. I should be used to it but every now and then it still fucks with my head.

Evelyn's foot taps against the side of my calf. "Ignore her."

I blow out a breath and sigh. "She's making it hard. Sorry for the attention aimed our way. I guess I'm mostly used it to it and don't think about the skull on my forehead until someone starts staring at it."

She shakes her head. "Cal, ignore them. They're staring at my arms as much as they are Fred. Let them gawk. It doesn't bother me. They don't pay my bills, put food on my table, or tuck me in at night, so fuck 'em. They can look and judge all they want." She leans forward and smiles. "Besides, it's Judgy McJudgersons like these assholes who come into the shop on the downlow for a walk on the wild side in the form of a cute little tramp stamp to spice things up a bit. As long as they pay their tab, I don't care about that, either."

With that, my tension ratchets back down. I love that she's comfortable in her own skin and doesn't give two fucks over people's reaction to my ink. Until now, I hadn't realized how much that mattered to me. We get back into a conversation groove, and over butter cake with caramel sauce, she asks where I see myself in five years. I admit that I haven't really thought much about it. I like working for Rangeman, and the pay is good. I ask the question back and she shrugs, and admits that overall, she's pretty happy with her life.

Drawing her fork through the remaining caramel, she asks, "What are your thoughts on kids and such?"

I put my drink down, giving her my full attention. "I guess I never saw myself with them so haven't really thought about it. You?"

She carefully watches me for a reaction. "Despite the fact that Pop-Pop practically raised us after my mom died and my dad lost himself in a bottle, I'm not jonesing to have kids at this stage. I'm coming up on 40 and the idea of a baby kind of wigs my shit. I know age is just a number, but I can't imagine doing high school graduation and retirement at the same time. I kinda like my independence and free time. I guess I'm selfish."

"Not really. Better to know what you want, or don't want, than live someone else's dream."

The soft smile aimed my way does not suck. "I think I like you, Cal Wilson."

I laugh. "That's good, because I'm hoping to see a lot more of you."

Evelyn laughs at the blush I know is settling over my cheeks. I didn't mean it the way it sounded, but I don't stammer and try and take it back, either. We linger over coffee, reluctant to say goodbye. Eventually, the server leaves us with the check in hopes of us leaving. Evelyn smiles and blows a kiss at an old man staring at us, causing his wife to tsk and look away.

By the time I walk her out to her car, which indeed is a sweet black Challenger, I'm a nervous wreck. I've been thinking about the potential for a goodnight kiss since dessert and now that the time is here, I don't want to blow it. I'm saved from overthinking by Evelyn running a hand down the front of my shirt, toying with the buttons. "I don't suppose I get a kiss goodnight before I turn into a pumpkin?"

Nervousness is replaced with excitement, and excitement is replaced with brain fogging lust as soon as our lips touch. All too soon, we both pull back, breathing hard. I don't even care that there's probably lipstick on my face. Evelyn takes a deep breath, patting my chest. "Yep, I think I like you Cal Wilson."

"I can work with that." She huffs out a laugh and shakes her head, like she's trying to clear her thoughts. I know I'm not quite 100 percent after that kiss. I run a finger along her jaw. "Text me to let me know you got home?"

I watch as she gets settled in her car before looking back up at me. "Sure. But I expect a call tomorrow."

I nod my head, already smiling again. Talking to her again so soon isn't exactly a hardship. Watching her drive away, I wonder if anyone bothered to put money down on second date.