It's All About Eve. Tracy Kelleher

“It was a lucky hit,” he muttered.

      “Oh, p-lease. Even his grandmother could have hit that high, outside pitch,” the woman’s voice responded.

      Carter smiled as he gulped his beer. Ah, a woman who knew something about baseball. Definitely a pleasing discovery. Turning, he sought out the voice, almost willing to forgive her misguided allegiance to the Bronx Bombers. It came from two seats down.

      And he almost didn’t recognize her at first.

      With her wet hair combed back straight from her forehead, wire-rim glasses slipping down her nose, and smooth skin devoid of any makeup, she could have been eighteen years old. In which case, she had no business sitting at a bar in New Jersey, a state with a minimum drinking age of twenty-one.

      But no eighteen-year-old had a cotton shift that stuck to curves quite that way. And this time, she wasn’t wearing basic black.

      “Lingerie and the Yankees. There must be a connection somewhere,” Carter said.

      A burly middle-aged man with thinning hair, a skinny ponytail and a large tattoo on his upper arm, stared at Carter. “You say something?”

      Eve looked over. She raised her eyebrows.

      “Sorry, I was talking to the lady.” Carter indicated Eve with the tip of his chin.

      The dark-blue entwined snakes on the stranger’s arm moved as he clenched and unclenched his own bottle of Rolling Rock. “As long as that’s the case. I don’t mind the part about lingerie.” He pronounced “lingerie” as “Lon Jerry.” “It’s the idea that you thought I was a Yankees fan. Can’t stand them. A bunch of overpriced prima donnas.”

      Carter nodded. “Couldn’t agree with you more.”

      “It just goes to show, not everyone can appreciate how ordinary things can be art forms,” Eve said.

      The ponytail swerved, and Eve got an eyeful of disdain. She backed off. “I was talking to him—” she pointed to Carter “—about lingerie. Mentioning underwear and America’s pastime in the same breath is practically a desecration—to baseball, that is.”

      Ponytail looked to Carter. “What the hell is she talking about?”

      Carter shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got me. She’s new around here and doesn’t know any better.”

      The man growled softly and turned his attention back to the screen.

      Eve leaned back on her stool and made a face at Carter. He leaned back, too. Don’t cause any trouble, he mouthed silently.

      Actually, trouble was staring at him straight in the eye. He would have had to be cryogenically frozen not to notice two enticingly damp spots, located right where her breasts strained against the light-blue fabric of her sleeveless dress. He also saw thin straps from an electric-orange bathing suit tied behind her neck. The combination of strategically placed wetness, skinny straps and scrubbed face produced a kind of girl-next-door/bondage look.

      Carter concentrated mightily on making sure his beer bottle reached his mouth. Swallowing came next—he nearly choked to death.

      Eve leaned around the large Phillies fan and pounded Carter on the back. Hard. And a very solid back, she couldn’t help noticing.

      He held up a hand to indicate he was all right, then covered his mouth and swallowed slowly. “Thanks. Must have gone down the wrong way.” He shifted on his stool and leaned forward. Say something clever, he told himself. “Did you just go swimming?” He groaned inwardly. This was like the cafeteria in high school.

      She leaned forward on her elbows to try to talk to him directly. “Swimming? Yup. Across the street at the community pool.”

      The man in the middle peeled his eyes off the game. “You two going to keep this up?”

      “Yes,” Carter said. “No,” Eve answered.

      “Well, maybe I should move?”

      “That’s not necessary.” Carter looked at him. “That’s very nice,” Eve replied.

      Ponytail looked at them both in disgust.

      “We could wait until the seventh-inning stretch, if that’s any better,” Carter offered.

      Ponytail harrumphed. “You sure she’s worth it?” He glanced over at Eve, then sat up straighter. The wet spots must have registered. Now he started leaning—toward Eve. And the snakes started dancing.

      Carter stood up. “Would you mind?”

      The snakes went still as their owner assessed his chances. Even a Phillies fan with a tattoo and ponytail apparently knew when to say no—it must have been the wisdom of his middle-aged years. “If you put it that way.” The man used two fists to heave himself away from the counter and off his stool.

      “Thanks.” Carter seated himself next to Eve and slid his beer over. His adrenaline was pumping in a highly juvenile but thoroughly satisfying way. And the wet spots and the curves were that much closer. “Now what were we talking about? Oh, yeah, the pool.”

      Eve looked to where their friend had banished himself to the end of the bar. She started to say something but thought better of it. She turned back to Carter. “Yes, the pool. It’s great, especially with the heat. It’s a good way to relax after work, and besides, I get to wear my merchandise.”

      Carter sat up straighter. “Merchandise?”

      “We sell swimwear as well as lingerie.” Eve pointed to herself. “I’m wearing one that we offer—a two-piece, really more of a bikini. You know, cut high on the leg, halter top.” She leaned forward to grab a peanut. The neck of her dress gaped open.

      Carter looked. Well, he kind of looked without looking like he was trying to look. He cleared his throat. “I can see where that could be a good advertisement for your merchandise.”

      “I like to think so.” Eve studied the bowl of nuts. “You’ve been swimming, too? Whenever I see you, you seem to have wet hair.” She reached for a peanut and popped it in her mouth, licking the salt off her fingertips.

      Carter grabbed his beer bottle. “Ah, no, I was playing tennis.”

      “Tennis? You don’t look like a tennis kind of guy.”

      He looked at his clothes. “Not dressed for the country club, huh?”

      Eve looked, too,—what woman wouldn’t?—at his ratty Cape May T-shirt and cargo shorts. “I suppose there’s that. But it’s more like you don’t look like someone who’d stay on his side of the net.”

      Carter considered his beer bottle. “I think I like that comment, but I’m not totally sure why.”

      “Well, you think about it.” Eve smiled. She saw the way his green eyes danced with an emotion that could in no way be classified as disinterest. She felt a sudden tightening between her legs. And she couldn’t blame it on her wet bathing suit riding up, since she only sold items made with the best fabric and stitching.

      No, she was attracted as well. But that didn’t mean she was going to do anything about it. She quickly avoided his eyes and focused on his nose. How could an olfactory organ be so dangerous? Dumb question. “Did you lead with your nose in a fight?” she asked.

      “Hmm?”

      “Your nose looks like it was broken. It’s got this bump and it’s a little crooked.” A decidedly sexy bump and a delightful crookedness.

      “You’re right. Happened back in high school. I was under the mistaken impression I could play football. A lines-man from an opposing team taught me otherwise.”

      Eve scrunched up her face. “Ouch.”

      “My feelings exactly. Interestingly enough, the injury seemed to skyrocket my stature among my female classmates. Here I thought proving my manhood on the playing