Page 27 of Someone Like Me
Holy shit.
I suddenly want to pound flesh. Who has been walking all over this girl? A boyfriend? A boss? I rake my eyes over her, seeing her anew. She’s long-limbed and lean, maybe five-foot-seven. But I’ll be damned if she weighs over one-twenty soaking wet. What could she do if someone tried to hurt her?
What if I wasn’t who I am? What if some other asshole got released from Angola and lived in the house behind hers. Some of those fuckers on the river aren’t there for life, but they should be. And when those guys get out, they’ll hurt people.
People like Evie Lalonde.
I step closer until the spikes of the chain-link fence dig into the skin of my abs. Evie has the good sense to step back, though her hands still grip the metal that separates us. Her green eyes are wide and watchful, and I silently hold her gaze for a long moment.
“Now listen up, Evie. All that compassion and generosity and gentleness you got by being born under the right sign? You just keep that to yourself until people you meet prove they’re worth it.” I stare hard to make sure she’s listening. She doesn’t blink, and I know I’ve got her full attention. “I’ve spent time with real monsters. The kind that would cut you open, reach inside of you, and steal your soul if they could sell it for one bump. And as packed to the gills as Angola is, it might as well be empty for all the bad guys who walk free every day.”
She holds my gaze but says nothing.
“You shouldn’t be talking toanyonelike me. Including me.”
Something flashes across her eyes. That ire.
“What if my gut tells me you’re not a monster?”
I push away from the fence. “You’d be wrong.”
As I walk away from her, it’s hard as hell not to look back, but I don’t.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVIE
“We should share the Wood Oven Roasted Merguez for two,” Drake suggests, smirking at me over the glowing votive on the table. “It’s incredible.”
I frown down at the menu and stifle a shudder. “Um… I don’t eat lamb. I was thinking about the Gulf Tuna Melt.”
I hear Drake shift against the leather upholstery of the booth where he insisted the hostess seat us. I get the distinct impression he’s waiting for me to look up at him, so I do, and I find him leaning back against the rich leather, his arm draped possessively across the back.
“Evie, I’ve taken you to one of the best restaurants in Lafayette.” He shakes his head, wearing a pitying smile. “You can’t order a tuna sandwich.”
I take a sip of my water and swallow the urge to comment. If Social is so posh, why do they serve tuna sandwiches? As a matter of fact, why would they have a whole section of the menu dedicated to “sammies?”
But I resist. It is a great restaurant. I haven’t been here in awhile, and I don’t want to be rude to Drake. We can have a nice meal, say goodnight as friends, and be pleasant to each other the next time we’re both at the studio.
“What about the Ora King Salmon?” I ask.
He glances down at the menu, and his eyes widen. Only then do I read the price. It’s thirty-two dollars. The twelve-ounce ribeye is the only item more expensive, topping out at a steep thirty-six.
“That’s… that’s an incredible choice.” I think he’s gone pale, and I feel terrible. Sure, I don’t really want to be here, but I’m not planning to bankrupt the guy.
“On second thought,” I blurt, scanning the menu quickly. “I think I’ll have the mushroom flatbread. That black truffle salt sounds really good.”
“Oh.” Drake almost sags with relief. “Yeah, that is good. The wild mushroom ragout is delicious.”
I smile, equally relieved, and when our server arrives, Drake orders for us, including asking for two Pickup Lines.
At my confused expression, he chuckles. “You’ll see.”
The drinks arrive a moment later, and I learn that a Pickup Line is a whiskey cocktail. I take a sip, and quickly decide it’s about eight parts whiskey, one part simple syrup. The stuff burns all the way down, and I can feel the blood vessels in my throat dilate with just one swallow.
I am not a whiskey drinker, so I nudge the glass away from me and wait for the ice cubes in the tin cup to melt and water it down a little. Silently, I wish I’d had the chance to order a glass of sauvignon blanc instead.
Fifteen minutes down,I tell myself. It’s really twenty-five if you count the ride over here, and I do. I’ve got at least an hour to go.
