“Good.” But she didn’t hang up. Unlike him, she wasn’t someone who avoided the difficult conversations. “After you do this for Theresa, we need to talk. About what happened between us in the library.”
“Yes,” he said as visions of her gorgeous eyes, lush mouth, and silky skin landed one after the other, until he was damn near ready to turn the car around and drive straight to her. “We do need to talk.” If only he could figure out how to discuss it without wanting more of her.
“Be careful, Evan.”
“I’m always careful.” Except with Paige, when he kept throwing caution off the highest skyscraper.
“Call me tonight and let me know how it goes.”
Evan knew that if he called—when he called—he’d have no more excuses to avoid examining what was happening between them. Which meant he had until tonight to get his baser urges fully under control.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’ve got a patient now.”
He wanted her to stay on the line, wanted to tell her that her voice centered him. That she made him feel like everything would be okay. And that somehow, in the very same breath, he was terrified by how much he was starting to need her.
Instead, he ended with, “I’ll call you.”
The GPS led him to Greg’s front door. He’d imagined he’d have to worry about the Tesla getting stripped while it was parked, but the neighborhood was middle class, with kids riding bikes on the tree-lined street and the houses neatly kept. Even the car in the driveway wasn’t the beater he’d expected.
It took two tries on the doorbell before anyone answered.
The man wasn’t precisely what he’d expected either. He’d envisioned the guy drinking his way through daytime TV while sitting in a stained, threadbare lounger. But Greg Littman was dressed in brown slacks and a yellow polo shirt. His face was clean-shaven, his clothing uncreased and stain-free. He was fairly trim with only a slight beer gut, and at least ten years younger than Theresa.
But despite the clothes and the fresh shave this morning, he smelled like the inside of a brewery. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose had the fine red lines of someone who drank too much. Or snorted too much cocaine.
“Who the hell are you?” His words ran slightly together. Drinking his way through daytime TV wasn’t a bad guess after all.
“You recognized me easily enough on TV a couple of weeks ago.”Greg’s bloodshot eyes widened with dawning realization, and Evan identified the meanness Kelsey had seen. “Mr. Money Bags,” he drawled.
“Yeah. So invite me in,” Evan said, like a vampire who needed an invitation before he took your soul. He intended to crush this guy if he ever went near Theresa again.
“Sure, why not?” Greg backed up and allowed his own personal devil into the living room.
The room had a big leather sofa and a large flat-screen TV, its volume muted on the replay of a hockey game.
“As I understand it, my mother—” Evan used the title only for effect. “—has ended her relationship with you.”
“I apologized,” Greg said with a shake of his head meant to correct Evan. “She forgave me.”
“You apologized.” Evan gave the appearance of mulling it over. “So you believe leaving bruises on a woman is fine as long as you apologize.”
“It was an accident. Didn’t realize my own strength.” Greg puffed up his chest. “Told her it wouldn’t happen again.”
“You’re right. It won’t happen. Because you aren’t seeing her again.” He stared the guy down. “Ever.”
Greg snorted, then bunched his fists and clenched his teeth with all the bravado he could muster. “That’s up to her to say.”
“She’s already said it. You just don’t listen well.” Evan crowded a step closer. Greg stumbled a step back. They were the same height, over six feet, but Greg was stooped, and Evan towered over the older man. “Don’t go near her. Don’t try to talk to her. And especially don’t touch her.”
“I didn’t do anything.” The skin beneath Greg’s eyes sagged from the abuses to his body.
“Right. Her bruises just magically appeared.” Evan took another step, until Greg backed into the coffee table. “I see who you are. A pathetic loser who takes his frustrations out on women. The only way you can feel like a big man is to rough up someone smaller than you.”
“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You’re rich as Bill Gates, and you got no idea about having it tough.” Spittle appeared at the corner of Greg’s mouth, and his pupils had dilated with fury.
“I know exactly what it’s like. And I know that only weak men hit women and children. Only weak men can’t control their drinking or their anger. Only weak men have to use their fists on their wives and their kids.” He pointed his finger in Greg’s face. “You yell and you browbeat and you enjoy everyone’s fear of you. It makes you feel big, like you’re important. But inside you’re just a scared little wuss who can’t even handle his liquor.”
“I’m not pathetic. I’m just having a hard time right now because I lost my job.” The man’s expression set sullenly. “So, fine, you want me to leave your ma alone. Then pay me to get out. Isn’t that what rich guys do? They write checks to get rid of their problems. Write me a check, and I’ll leave her alone.”