Page 81 of When the Smoke Clears

“Fine. But it’s my treat.”

He barks a laugh. “I won’t argue with you, Dr. Reichart.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Will

Just as I step outside, Everleigh closes the shed door. She’s wearing a sleeveless black one-piece shorts thingy that shows most of her gorgeous legs, and the V-neckline plunges so low it makes my dick twitch.

Sleek gold belt.

Gold necklace.

Hair silky straight.

Black heels that could bring me to my knees.

Why does God hate me?

I clear my throat. “I’m underdressed.”

Her white teeth peek through her red lips as she grins. “William, you always look sinful in jeans and a crisp white T-shirt.”

“Sinful, huh?” I slide my hands into my pockets while she hops on her toes from one stepping stone to the next to keep from stepping in the grass with her heels.

Good Lord, those fucking legs. She’s a magnificent creature, and she doesn’t even know it.

“It’s torture,” she says, looping her arm around mine.

The last time I walked arm in arm with her like this was at the wedding. But that night, I knew where it was headed. Tonight, things are different. We’re different. And life is just as complicated as it was back then. For a guy who’s never had a serious relationship, this thing between us feels more than casual. Maybe taxing is the right word.

I stop at the front of my Bronco. “I can’t open the door for you.”

She releases my arm and narrows her eyes. “Oh? Is it broken?”

No, but I am.

“Opening the door would feel like a date.”

“Gotcha. A date comes with expectations.”

“Exactly,” I say.

“Like a good night kiss?”

“Like a good night fuck.”

She giggles, heels clicking on the driveway as she heads to the passenger side. “I don’t have amnesia, William. I know you’re more chivalrous than that. But I accept your need to keep me at arm’s length. It’s for the best.”

As we head downtown, Everleigh suggests the Stables, her favorite wine bar and restaurant. I don’t argue since she’s paying. When we’re seated, do I order the fifty-five-dollar prime New York strip? Yes, I do.

“To your father,” she says, holding up her water glass.

I’m not sure I’ve ever toasted a dying person before now, but I keep listening.

“May he find peace in your presence, love in your embrace, surrender to faith in his last days, and see hope in the light when he closes his eyes for the last time.”

Jesus . . .