His Curvy Enemy - Curvy Girl Dating Agency

“Some,” she said breathlessly and I tried not to imagine her tugging a pair of fitted jeans over that round ass and those rounded hips, all the good parts jiggling gorgeously. “The two landscapes are mine,” she said, her voice suddenly behind me.

I turned with a start, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth at the sight before me. Eva wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful. She wasn’t just sexy, she was a fucking bombshell in tight black pants and a soft pink sweater that showed off more than it hid, and that had my fingertips itching to reach out and see if it felt as soft as it looked. “Oh.”

Her lips curled into a grin and she shrugged, mistaking my inability to speak as a lack of interest. “The others were gifts,” she said and turned away, searching for shoes, I assumed.

“You look hot.” The words just kind of came out, shocking me more than Eva. I was a smooth guy, one who had plenty of game when it came to women, but one curvy gray-eyed woman could tie my tongue in knots.

Eva, for her part, blinked in surprise. “Your compliments are improving. Thanks. Ready to kick some ass?”

It was my turn to be surprised again. The prim and proper Southern belle hadn’t just sworn, she also had a competitive streak. Yeah, she was growing hotter by the second, and it was all because of those damn black jeans. “I’m always ready to kick ass.”

She laughed and shoved me lightly out of the door so she could lock in. “Let’s go, then, John McClane.” At my stunned silence, Eva turned with a raised brow. “What? You thought you were the only one with a love of old-school action flicks, Mr. March? You know what happens when you assume,” she said with a laugh and trotted down the stairs.

“We’ll get back to you being a Die Hard fan in a minute. Can you walk in those things?” The shoes were sexy as hell, but they were also a health hazard, not to mention at least four inches tall.

“Yes, and if I can’t, I’ll take care of it. Let’s go.”

“A guy can’t win with you, huh?” The hard-ass ball buster had returned.

Eva’s dark brows crinkled in confusion. “Win what, exactly? You were worried about my feet, which is very considerate. Thanks. But I am a grown woman, Oliver, which means if I wear shoes that hurt my feet, it’s my problem to solve. Not yours.”

My instinct was to be offended, but I wasn’t. She was right. Shit, she was right. “Okay.”

She nodded and the topic was settled. “How’s your relationship with your mom?”

“Another profile question?”

“No,” she said sincerely. “You confuse me sometimes Oliver and I’m genuinely curious.”

“She’s great and we’re close, but all of her friends are having grandchildren all over the place and her grandma biological clock, if that is even a thing, is ticking.” Hearing Eva laugh was incredible, like the sun shining after a heavy rain, and I loved being the cause of her laughter. Even when it was at my expense.

“That’s just a mom thing. Mine has been after me since my first serious boyfriend after college. But I’m sure it doesn’t help that your career thrives because you’re single and unattached.” The lack of judgment in her tone surprised me.

“You don’t think that’s a problem?”

Eva shook her head. “Not if you don’t. I want to help people find what they’re looking for, whether that’s love or a secure home or just stability. I have no interest at all in pulling reluctant bachelors into matrimony, Oliver. My only problem with you, really, is your determination to ruin my business.”

“That’s what you think?” I shouldn’t be surprised that she didn’t get it—hell, I barely got it most days. “I just like riling you up.”

“Then you must be very happy most of the time,” she said with a playful smile that told me she wasn’t as angry as she pretended.

“I am, thanks for asking.” She laughed and rolled her eyes, offering a nod of thanks when I held door open for her. We stepped inside The Mayflower and into a wall of heat with the distinct smell of cold beer and greasy food.

“Wednesdays sure have a different vibe,” she said, looking around with a studious eye. Probably trying to pick out all the single guys in the room so she could drop off her card.

“Too low-brow for your tastes?”

She arched a brow my way. “Only since you walked in,” she shot back with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get registered and then we’ll get a drink, yeah?” Eva nodded and followed behind, smacking into my back when I stopped abruptly at the sight in front of me. “What are you guys doing here?” Most of my friends occupied a big round booth with a great view of the row of dartboards that dominated the back half of the room.