I cracked a smile. "Because women love a challenge."
"And what would the challenge be?"
"To change you."
"That's a waste of time."
"I agree. I bet you have that speech memorized."
"What speech?"
I cleared my throat and tried to deepen my voice to his level. I failed miserably but he got the gist. "I'm sorry, but I'm not a relationship kind of guy. This will never go further than what we have … blah blah blah."
He shot me an amused smile. "Is that you doing me?"
No, Evan, there would be no question if I was doing you. "I got your ticket. It's something like that right? What you say so if things don't work out, the girl can't blame you and you don't feel any guilt. You gave her fair warning. Am I right?"
He laughed, toasting his glass against mine. "No … Almost, but no. It's not if things don't work out. It's when things don't work out. Are you saying I'm a cliché?"
"You're not a cliché. The man who is wouldn't spend this much time trying to make me feel better."
He narrowed his eyes, his mouth quirking slightly. "Why do you trust that I don't have another purpose?"
"Because I trust my own judgment. And I already know that you can't expect someone to change for you, and you can't change for someone else. That's not the right way to find love."
"Why don't you school me, Price? What is love?"
"It's sacrificing for someone else, but they won't let you because they feel the same way."
"Sounds like a losing battle."
"I don't think so."
"And your boyfriend would do this for you?"
I clasped my hands on my lap. "Maybe I'm not the best person to ask about love after all. We broke up tonight."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, the smirk on his lips not matching the sentiment.
"I was wrong about him."
Now that I thought of it, although I didn't approve of his lifestyle, at least Evan came equipped with his own warning label. I wish all men did. It would save girls a lot of heartache.
"At least you figured out you were wrong before it was too late."
"It doesn't make me feel any better. Sometimes I have a great imagination and I make things up in my head. I made us out to be more than we were."
"That's a good trait for a writer."
"It's also my weakness."
"Did he cheat on you?"
"No, not yet. At least I don't think so." I made a mental note to get an STD test as soon as possible, just in case.
"I don't understand."
I took a deep breath, deciding although I didn't know Evan very well, we were alone in this dark corner of the world where honesty came forth with little regard and great relief. I told him all the sordid details of Preston and his upcoming appearance on Marriage Material.
"You're shitting me." Evan didn't even try to conceal his laugh.
"Seriously, I'm stripping my soul and you're laughing?"
"It's just so ridiculous."
"Tell me about it. I'm a fool."
He took my hands in his, rubbing my wrist. "Not on your part. On his."
The friction of that small act caused my pulse to quicken. In the dim light, his eyes appeared almost black, a severe contrast with his lighter hair. His rigid jawline made him look tough. His body, muscular but lean, gave off such incredible heat, diminishing the ample space between us into nothing more than a sliver. The man was so hot, I'd wager ice water would steam right off of him.
He licked his bottom lip, moving closer to me. A heady scent of fresh soap and sweat drifted toward me. Delicious.
He shrugged, downing his drink. "You're lucky. Things could have been so much worse."
"How?"
"What if he did propose to you? Close your eyes. I'm going to paint a picture for you."
I stared at him suspiciously.
"Trust me."
I closed my eyes, trying to relax. His deep, gravelly voice whispered in a trance-inducing cadence, "Imagine ten years from now you're married to this guy. You live in a beautiful house and drive around in a Beemer. You have eight kids."
"Eight? Are you crazy?" I asked, sitting up.
He stroked my arm. My skin prickled in response. "Yeah, eight. Just go with me here. Anyway, you have everything you want, yet nothing you need. You're unhappy but what can you do? Your life is quicksand."
"Quicksand?"
"You can't move forward, and you slowly sink lower with each passing year. The asshole makes little innuendos about your body."
"My body?"
"Yeah well, you've gained some weight on account of those eight kids and all. You wonder if he was always a dickhead and you never noticed it before, or if he became that way as time passed. Somehow, you pray that it was the second one. Your life lacks passion and promise. But you're a fighter, and you want to do anything to keep your marriage alive because you believe in love. No sacrifice is too small."
"You're using my words against me."
"I'm trying to be accurate. As I was saying, one day you decide you're going to rock his world again. You surprise him at the office, wearing nothing but a trench coat and a beautiful smile. Except, when you get there, he's already occupied … with his secretary."
"Ugh, this is an awful story."
"Yes and thankfully, you will never have to live it because he told you now. And you know what else?"
"What?"
"A guy like that … ? Well, he'd probably never even pay you child support for all those eight kids either."
"You're very dangerously good at this."
I blinked my eyes open. Evan stared at me so intensely I almost snapped them shut again.
"Does this work on all the girls?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
"Nope, not falling for it, but I do admire your technique."
He bowed his head. "As long as I made you feel better."
"You did. Thank you."
"There's something else I can do. My ultimate goal is to see a big smile and I haven't gotten that yet, but I've got your cure."
"What's that?"
"I'm gonna sing you a song and it's going to make you laugh."
"As much as I love music, I don't think there is any song that has the power to do that right now."
"You leave that to me, Price. This is the kind of song a man sings to a woman to let her know his true feelings." He jerked his head toward the stage. "When I'm up there, I'll be singing to you."
He sauntered with a slow, confident stride back to the stage area. I poured myself another shot. I couldn't imagine what song could do all of the things he promised.
"Hello, everyone," he said, adjusting the microphone.
The gaggle of girls swiftly made their way back to the stage area. His band mates all took up their instruments. He whispered something to the drummer and they both shared a chuckle.
"I'm dedicating this song to a very special girl, who's having a bad day." He looked in my direction, and I slid lower on the seat, wishing I hadn't taken the wig off. "It's a song which conveys how deep my emotions run, while having the power to show my true affections."
The beat was familiar, except he sang it with a rhythm and blues vibe. The crowd went crazy, their rowdiness reaching a new level. Some girls jumped on tables, swinging their bodies to the beat while others did the same thing with the guys, clinging against them like extra appendages. Hot in Herre by Nelly was the perfect song-perhaps the only one that could have made me laugh. But then he did the grunt. Oh God, that grunt radiated masculinity-low, feral and animalistic. Did he sound like that when he climaxed?
A girl started to take off her shirt, but Tilla managed to pull her off the table before she did, casting a stern glance at her.
Evan played a few more songs before they called for last round. I glanced at my watch, shocked how fast the time had disappeared.
I walked over to the bar to pay my bill, but Tilla told me Evan had taken care of it. I thanked him for it, but before he responded, Tilla smacked him on the back.
"I warned you not to play that song."
"I couldn't help myself."
"And you," she said, turning her gaze toward Mike. "You only encourage him. You're turning our bar into a strip club, and I'm trying to keep things classy around here."
Mike was almost as tall as Evan, with cropped black hair and a rugby player's build. He strode over to her with swift strides until he stood behind her. He embraced her, kissing her temple. "Baby, as long as you're here, we are classy."
"Mike, Tilla, this is my friend, Billie," Evan said, placing his hand on my shoulder.