“Thank you. I appreciate that,” I murmured.
“But don’t think it’s because of something decent within my character. You’re not my type.”
I sputtered with indignation at his words. “That’s good to hear since you’re most certainly not my type either.”
Deacon merely grinned. “You know, Rev told me to tread easy when it came to you. He thinks you’re some delicate little flower I could crush. But he’s wrong.”
“Is that right?”
He nodded. “You’re a tough little thing when you have to be.”
“Life has done that to me,” I replied before I could stop myself.
“Doesn’t it to everyone?”
The tone of his words surprised me. I realized that within his statement there was insight into Deacon’s own character. I couldn’t help wondering what life had done to him. But I had the feeling I would come closer to unearthing a buried treasure in my backyard than learning Deacon’s secrets.
“I appreciate you meeting me today.” I stared pointedly at him. “I hope I’m not taking you away from your job.”
“No, you’re not.”
“What is it that you do exactly?”
Motioning his hand to the pawnshop, Deacon curled his lips into a smirk. “I would think my profession as an entrepreneur would be evident.”
“Yes, but it’s the type of businesses that you own that concerns me. After all, Ed Wigington, who owns the tire shop, doesn’t have to keep his son home from my class.”
“I co-own the pawnshop with my brothers along with Raiders Gym downtown.”
“That’s the one where boxers and MMA fighters train.”
“It is.”
From my uncle Jimmy, I knew a hell of a lot more went on there than just training. Allegedly, it was the legitimate front for gambling on fights. Deacon must’ve been reading my mind because he said, “No, Miss Evans, it’s not the type of place someone like you would frequent.”
“So you don’t deny the rumors that a lot of illegal stuff goes down there?”
With a teasing smile, he held up one hand. “I plead the Fifth.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“Would it be so surprising if I told you that most of the upstanding citizens of this town have tainted reputations?”
“I’m not concerned with anyone’s reputations other than yours at the moment and how that reputation affects Willow.”
Deacon surprised me by suddenly closing the gap between us. My breath fell in harsh pants as he loomed over me. I fought the urge to take a step back. He cocked his brows at me. “Are you insinuating that I’m involved in shady dealings?”
“Maybe.”
“I told you the other day not to stick your nose into my business.”
“I’m not.”
“Doesn’t seem like it to me.”
“I’m just concerned, that’s all. Somehow I can’t get it out of my mind that you’re like a modern-day Jesse James.”
Deacon’s dark eyes shone with amusement. “You think I’m an outlaw?”
Shaking my head, I countered, “Oh, I know you’re one.”
“Kinda makes you hot, doesn’t it?”
“Excuse me?” I demanded, taking a step back.
“Good girls always cream their panties over outlaws.”
“You flatter yourself. I’m certainly not”—I gulped—“creaming my panties over you.” Of course, the words were a blatant lie. The proximity of him, coupled with his words and his overpowering manly scent, caused moisture to dampen my panties. When he continued to stare at me like the Big Bad Wolf appraising his next meal, I shook my head. “I thought you said I didn’t have to worry about you coming on to me. Not your type, remember?”
With a wink, Deacon replied, “Maybe I lied. I’m not known for being very trustworthy when it comes to women.”
“Once again, that’s not surprising.”
“Although most of the girls down at the Lounge would give me glowing reviews.” He flashed me a grin. “That would be the gentleman’s club that my brothers and I own a stake in.”
Knowing that he expected a rise out of me at the mention of strippers, I merely replied, “Aren’t you the Donald Trump of Eastman?”
With a shake of his head, Deacon gave a bark of a laugh. “You know, I might actually be able to tolerate you, Miss Evans.”
“The feeling is mutual, Jesse James,” I replied.
He held open the clubhouse door for me. “Mmm, I love it when a chick gives me a nickname.”
Ignoring him, I headed inside. It momentarily felt like returning to the scene of the crime after our altercation from the other day. With the jukebox blaring a heavy metal tune in my ears, I surveyed the much smaller crowd. “Are you planning on me teaching Willow here?” I asked, trying not to sound horrified. I couldn’t imagine trying to teach phonetics over the music and the clanking of beer glasses.
Deacon laughed. “No, White-Bread. I don’t expect you to work in the middle of all this bullshit.”
“Thank you for being so considerate,” I replied tersely. I chose to ignore the fact he had once again called me white-bread.
“Actually, it was my mother’s idea. She thought it might be better if you guys had a place of your own to work. Some shit about making it seem more like real school. She made us fix up one of the guest rooms.”