The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

“Holy hell, T,” Frankie said a few hours later in the kitchen when they were grabbing another round of beers. “Where did you find her and does she have a sister? Or better yet, has she figured out that she can do better than you yet?”

Tyler twisted off the cap on one of the beers with a little more force than necessary. “If she has, she sure wouldn’t be going for you.”

“And this is the one who’s been driving you nuts?”

“The very one.” Only now she was driving him to distraction.

“So how did all of this happen?”

Tyler took a long drink, taking the time to remind himself that Frankie loved nothing more than giving him shit just like Tyler did to him. “This?”

“Getting serious with Everly.”

“We’re not. We’re just having some fun.”

The look Frankie gave him was as close to pitying as the man could do. “Uh-huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, as if he didn’t know the answer.

“I guess I just missed all the other times when you brought a woman you were just having some fun with to poker night.”

“Very funny.” Yeah, the redheaded giant was a fucking comedian.

“I’m a riot.” Frankie grinned. “That’s why the ladies all love me.”

“Right up until they want to nut punch you.”

“Pretty much.” He grabbed four of the beers, two in each hand, and gave Tyler a serious look. “You sure it’s nothing serious between you and Everly?”

He nodded and forced his voice to remain neutral. “Completely.”

“So you wouldn’t care if I asked her out?”

The rush of oh hell no burned Tyler up from the inside out, and he took a step forward before it had even registered what he was doing. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Just having some fun, huh?” Frankie asked with a laugh and strolled back out into the other room.

Tyler grabbed the other two beers but stood in the kitchen sucking in some deep breaths and telling himself to get his shit under control. The competition of poker night must have been what had brought that reaction out in him. It had to be. He and Everly really were just having fun. That’s all it could be, and he was good with that. More than good. He was fucking thrilled.

…

The next cooking class happened at Wheat & Rye’s restaurant kitchen Saturday morning before it opened. Everly sat at the special VIP table in the corner watching Tyler’s third attempt at pasta. The man was hopeless, but he wasn’t giving up. That was more than a little sexy—just like the rest of him. Finally, he set down a plate of pasta with vodka sauce and two forks on the table in front of her.

“Feeling brave?” he asked.

She took a deep inhale of the mouth-watering scent wafting up from the plate. “Always.”

“I believe it.”

They shared a grin and dove into what turned out to be one of the best dishes of pasta she’d ever had. Heath joined them, and they had a fun lunch of restaurant gossip and laughter. By the time they left the restaurant, slipping her hand into his as they walked down the street seemed natural. This was trouble. She knew it, but it felt too good to pretend it didn’t. God, she was going to regret this at some point, but for now she was going to enjoy it just like they’d agreed. Even the sun was out and the wind had died down. It was like Mother Nature was smiling at them as they walked the ten long city blocks from Wheat & Rye to their building.

However, right as they turned the corner onto Eighth Avenue, a storm cloud in the form of Irena strode straight toward them.

The other woman stopped directly in front of them, forcing the couple walking behind her to swerve at the last second or slam into her. “Imagine running into you two.”

“Hello, Irena,” Tyler said, tension tightening his voice.

“I hear the island was productive,” she said with a smile as fake as the watches the street dealers sold to the tourists. “Alberto said he just can’t wait to talk to you about your ideas for the hotel expansion. I warned him that you brought some baggage with you, but he said he couldn’t back out of the meeting, since it had already been set up.”