Текст книги "Truth in Watercolors"

Автор книги: Kimberly Rose

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“You know what?” I called out to muscle man. “I do have a few questions if you don’t mind?”

He turned back with a gorgeous smile, sans dimples. “Of course.”

“What kind of paint should I use on this?” I ask him pointing to the shorter piece of the lattice.

“Spray paint will give you the most even coat, and you will need to make sure you sand and prime it first so the wood doesn’t suck up all the paint,” he told me remaining completely professional. I had to admit it was refreshing. I was used to guys hitting on me far too often. I didn’t even know why. I was pretty plain as far as looks went, and I tended to be fairly reserved. Sometimes I thought maybe that I was too nice, maintaining a sweet, composed demeanor. They thought my smiles were for them, but they were more for me. With a smile on my face, no one asked any questions.

“And I’m guessing a latex one would be best?” I asked him.

“You got it,” he said cheerily, flashing me his perfectly straightened smile that elicited a smile of my own. “Anything else, let me know.”

“I’ve got it from here, homie.” I was startled by Wes’ voice directly to my right.

“Sir.” The employee nodded his head and looked at me. “Miss, have a nice day.”

“Dude, did you just check out her tits, yo?” Wes’ voice heightened an octave, and the employee shook his head giving Wes a look reserved only for the crazy train.

“Wes,” I hissed.

“No, sir. I was just helping the lady out, and I’ll be on my way.” He nodded again and took a steady step back like he was trying not to startle a bear. A crazy bear.

“Damn right, you will. And next time I catch you looking at her tits, I won’t let you off so easily.”

Oh, my God. “I’m sorry.” I waved apologetically at muscles then grabbed Wes by the side of his shirt and pulled him away. He jerked stiffly still reared up in territorial mode before he softened into his usual heavy steps along with me. “What’s the matter with you?” I hissed again trying not to make a scene.

“Dude checked out your tits, C,” Wes said.

“No. He did not. He was answering my questions like he is paid to do.”

“While looking at your tits.”

“Stop saying tits.”

“Would you prefer I say cock?” Wes’ voice took on a playful tone at the question, and I froze in an aisle somewhere between the mailboxes and trashcans.

“What?” I squeaked.

“Cock. Would you prefer if I told you that he was thinking with his cock while staring at your tits?” My pulse was jackrabbiting through my veins. Something about that word on Wes’ lips had always gotten to me, to a place in me that no spoken words had touched before.

The first time I’d heard him use the word, he was over at our house and hanging out with August. I was walking past August’s door when I heard the word and felt it tear through my body. I remained motionless in the hallway and listened to every detail about Wes getting a blowjob from one of the school cheerleaders. The tingling and warmth that overcame me was altogether foreign and addicting.

I walked back toward my own room on shaky legs that day, the same shaky legs I was attempting to stay upright on now. Ever since, the moment Wes uttered that word, those same feeling came rushing back to me. Only now, they were a pleasant annoyance, and clearly, he’d figured that out.

“That’s enough, Wes,” I hissed.

“Cock-a-doodle-do, C!” He looked over his shoulder with a huge grin and winked. I followed behind him and watched his ass rock beneath his long torso as he walked. Gah, he could be so aggravating.

“I’ll meet you at the car!” I shouted up to him and turned around, making a point to go in a completely different direction than he had gone.

Back in the car, Wes continued to irritate me further. First, he held my door open for me. I mean, what? Did he think I wasn’t capable of opening my own door? This was the twenty-first century. Women knew how to open and close doors. Then, he went and turned down his music so he could apologize. “I overreacted, Capri. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Wes.” I shoved the words out quickly, not wanting to discuss this with him.

“Why do you always have to have a dude?” he said staring straight ahead, but my head snapped in his direction. Say what?

“What? How is that any of your business?”

“It’s not.” He shrugged.

“Well, why do you always have girls hanging all over you?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“She wasn’t anybody important, Capri.” I rolled my eyes and let my head fall against the window.

“Who you hook up with is your own business. I really don’t want to hear about it.” I watched as we passed through the city back to SYC.

“I didn’t hook up with her, C. That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Wes leaned forward onto his steering wheel.

“You didn’t hook up with her, but you know intimate details about her bedframe?” I cocked my head at him.

“Stop.”

“I mean, how else would you know that? You obviously hooked up with her.”

“Capri, stop.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel, sending a ripple of tension from his forearm up to his bicep. His pulse thumped through the protruding veins on his lower arm in a quick and thunderous pace. God, that’s hot.

I shook my head.

“Of course, you did, Wes. It’s what you do! You hook up all the time! Every time I turn around, there’s another freakin’ girl!” Now I leaned forward flailing my arms around like a crazy chick.

“And every time I turn around, there’s another fuckin’ dude!” Wes bellowed at the windshield. I guess I had the same effect on him as well because he nailed crazy guy. I slammed back against my seat crossing my crazy arms over my chest and glared at Wes.

“Excuse me?” My words slipped coolly over my heated voice.

“You. You act like I’m out there hooking up with anyone and everyone. Meanwhile, you have a new boyfriend every week. How is that any different? What if I called all the chicks I fuck my girlfriends? Then what? Fuckin’ ‘em is suddenly okay?”

I squinted at his declaration. “Cool, so I’m a slut now?” I asked masking the bruise he’d just left on my heart.

“You calling me a slut?” He cocked an eyebrow but damn if he still wouldn’t look at me. You’d think the stupid windshield grew a pair of boobs with the way he was fixated on it.

“Yeah,” I said honestly. “Well, he-hussy actually.” I cocked my head proudly.

Wes’ eyes squinted, and I caught a hint of a smile peek out from his profile. “He-hussy?”

“He-hussy.”

Wes shook his head, chuckling lowly. His oversized body shook with gentle laughter and his grip on the steering wheel loosened.

Dammit. I smiled, too. I didn’t know what it was with this guy, but he smiled? I smiled.

“Look, Capri,” he said driving into a parking spot. He pulled on the emergency brake and shut the car off before turning to me and looking at me for the first time since we left the hardware store.

I breathed. Wes looked at me, and I could breathe again. I’d heard people describe the sight of someone taking their breath away, but to say that would mean life stopped. He has never taken my breath away. Every time I saw him, I remembered to breathe. I remembered to live.

“I would never, never call you a slut. Nor have I ever thought of you as one. Have I wondered why you date douchebag after douchebag? Absolutely. It drives me nuts, actually. Seeing you, this smart, gorgeous, and talented chick passing herself around like that. I don’t get it, and I sure as hell don’t like it, but I don’t have it in me to think such awful things about you. Especially you.” Wes’ expression was hard and firm. It was such a contrast to his usual carefree demeanor that I had no choice but to believe him.

“Oh.” I sighed and sunk further into my seat. I played with my hands in my lap for a few seconds, and then looked back at Wes. “Well, I’ve usually thought of you as a he-hussy,” I said shrugging a shoulder at him and turning my lips up to one side.

He leaned back into his seat in a healthy chuckle that brought me to giggles along with him. “Yeah, I figured as much,” he said shaking his head along with his laughter.

Who went to bars alone after work? This guy. I didn’t actually come to drink away my worries, so it was not as creepy as it sounded. I did have a beer or two, but I really just didn’t like going home to an empty place every night. Tommy’s was a pretty chill place and felt more like someone’s really big living room than a bar. So see, not creepy.

My afternoon with Capri had my mind flying around in my head like a tetherball. I freakin’ loved that game as a kid. I remembered that time I pounded Capri in the face with it. God, I’d felt awful. There was blood dripping from her nose, and her eyes were all watery, but she didn’t cry.

She kept reassuring me that she was fine, but I couldn’t stand to see her hurt knowing I did it. I ran into her house so fast I knocked August over onto the grass. I grabbed an ice pack and a towel for her and ran back just as quickly, stomping on August’s hand. I skipped out on working with Blue that afternoon because I couldn’t leave her until I knew she was okay.

I sat with her and August on the Hunter’s back step eating out of a tub of ice cream until Donna finally convinced me that Capri was going to be okay and she’d give me a ride home. She was okay, but damn she had a black eye for days. I could really kill it in tetherball. I bet I could still kill it now.

Anyway, I was certain I had a thing for her, Capri. I was certain I wanted to pursue said thing. When I was standing there in her presence though, I got jumpy.

She was so smart, so talented, and so Goddamn Beautiful, that I felt completely lame when I was around her. Our amazing to lameness ratio was way off. She was like a ten thousand in amazing, and I was so far below, I had no business trying to keep up.

I didn’t necessarily mean to tell her how much it bugged me when she was with other dudes either, but she got me all fired up. I couldn’t figure out why, but with each tool she dated, I grew more and more berserk. The more I noticed her, the more her boyfriends pissed me off. When they touched her, I wanted to break off each one of their weasely fingers, and when they kissed her, it took everything in me not to jump up and pull them from her. I’d been morphed into some crazed green monster on the inside, and I wanted to be in their shoes. Well, not literally because my Chucks were badass.

“Nice ink, Bro.” A dude a seat two chairs over distracted me from that beast inside that was churning up with my thoughts.

“Thanks. Yours is tight, too.” I nodded at the script wrapped around his forearm.

“Thanks, man. Just had it done.” He pulled up his sleeve so I could get a better look, and I took this as my go ahead to ask about it.

“What’s Bella Stella for?” I asked noticing how tight the shading was on his piece.

“Beautiful Star. For my girlfriend.” He pulled his sleeve back down.

“Girlfriend? Dude, must be legit then.” No one got tattoos for their girlfriends and boyfriends unless they were sure, like, more sure of this than I was on the length of my dick sure.

“Oh, I’m sure. She changed me for the better.” He nodded at the bartender when he set down a mug for him. “I was an addict when we met. She didn’t know for a while, though. I did an okay job of keeping it on the down low until I started hitting the harder stuff.”

“Dude.” Was that appropriate? I wasn’t sure what to say here.

“Yeah. When she found out, she told me get clean or she was out. I wasn’t sure she’d stick around, but I knew I had to try. She was my light. You know?” He squinted at me, and I nodded. I think I was finding out. “Anyway. I got clean. Took me a year, and she was there with me through it all. I got this for her ‘cause in my shitty life, she’s the star.”

“Dude.” Really though, that was beautiful.

“You got a girl?” He nodded at me, taking a sip of his beer.

“Nah.” I shook my head and clicked my tongue against my teeth. “I mean, I’ve got my sights on one,” I added but left out the part about probably setting my sights too high.

“That’s tight. She could end up being your star, man.” He held his mug up in silent cheers, and I picked mine up doing the same.

“Dude.” I nodded and took a drink, ‘cause that would be crazy.

I watched the paint smear under the brush. The deep pigment surrendered to the water dispersing into a translucent shade of gray. Watercolor. It was unforgiving, reckless, and lawless. No amount of change could erase the truths born unto the paper the moment it met with a brush.

I swiped the brush harshly against the paper towel and dipped it into the water before smothering it in black paint again. Putting the brush back to the paper, I gently dragged a line of the fishtail then pulled the brush back and watched the line blur. Dammit. I tossed the brush into the cup and stood up cracking my knuckles.

A tired honk sounded from outside. I shook my head and stood from my bed. Leaving the mess behind, I grabbed my purse from the hook before heading downstairs to meet Lennon.

At first glance, they all looked the same—all the people looked the same, all the cars looked the same, all the irritated expressions, as I stood still in the crowd, looked exactly the same. If I focused though, and paid attention to the fine details, then looking became seeing.

Some people sashayed while others shuffled. Others laughed loudly while a few pouted in contemplation. A woman to my left propped her hands on her hips and glared around the parking lot, searching for a wayward husband, I assumed. A little boy next to a vintage pickup slumped and flopped his tiny limbs behind his dad out of sheer boredom.

“Poor kid,” Lennon chirped from next to me. “He’d probably rather be home playing with his Skip It, and he’s stuck here looking at cars with all the old people.”

“A Skip It? Do they even make those anymore?”

She shrugged. “They should. It was great exercise.”

“And weren’t they more of a girl toy?” I asked scanning the rows of cars looking for Wes’ Chevy.

“Don’t pigeonhole the kid. He can play with whatever he wants.” She scanned the rows of men looking for shaggy musicians.

Every year, the tattoo shop Wes worked at put on a car show fundraiser.

I’d never come to one of the car shows before, but I’d heard it advertised on the radio for the last three years. Not that I was opposed to the good the fundraiser did. The best part of the event was that the money went to local kids in need.

I was more opposed to seeing the tall tatted man who aided in the event. Especially with the way we left things off at the youth center the other day. After our argument in the car, we painted in an awkward silence that got worse when my “sexy times” playlist came on. I hadn’t seen Wes since he left when NERD’s “Lap Dance” came on. Okay, I might have made a point to sing some of it out loud, but that was his fault. He made me sassy.

“You see Wes around here anywhere?” I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail. Eighty-degree temperatures in January, it was a pleasant outcome of living in Southern California.

“Please, like you wouldn’t immediately find him in a crowd.” Lennon scoffed at me and pulled a French fry out of a passing guy’s paper bowl. When he turned to say something, she winked at him, stuffing it into her mouth. Just like that, her thievery forgotten.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. Wes wasn’t even here.

“Oh, please. One of these days you two just need to bang it out.” She wiped her salted hands on the thigh of her skinny jeans.

“There will be no banging, Len.” Seriously, where was he? I turned behind me to take in the crowd at our backs. Person, person, thin person, short person, broad solid shoulders, person, wait. I traced my eyes back. Sexy saunter with long gait. “There he is.”

“Uh-huh.” She turned toward Wes smiling sneakily. Oh, no.

“Ladies.” Wes smiled taking each of our hands to place a kiss on our knuckles. I watched in equal parts horror and anticipation as his full lips descended upon my hand. I thought to pull it away before they made contact and felt my fingers flinch within his grasp, but the second his lips touched my waiting skin, I was limp to his touch. I gave up.

The tenderness of his rough lips deepened to a firm purposeful kiss. I pulled my eyes from the spot where his mouth rested to seek out his. I was not sure what I was searching for, but he didn’t kiss Lennon in the same way. He gave her hand a quick peck, but he took his time with my hand as if trying to tell me something. When his eyes met mine, their usual warmth tinged with a bright, mischievous glow. Oh, hell.

He parted his lips then, so slightly you wouldn’t know by looking, but just enough for me to feel the heat of his mouth against my already fevered skin. The warmth flared across its surface on a direct route to my stomach, which tightened in response, stealing my breath in slow, shallow pants. I should move, but I couldn’t physically remove my hand from his, and I didn’t know that I wanted to.

He pulled his lips away and brushed his thumb softly against my fingers before releasing them. My arm fell listlessly to my side, and my hand was lost. He’d completely seduced it with one kiss. He owned my knuckles.

“So Wes, how do you feel about banging?” Lennon asked tearing me from my euphoria.

“I love it.” Wes grinned back, not missing a beat. I stepped back putting some distance between us, feeling a little embarrassed by the way my body had reacted, and a lot disappointed at the obvious fact that he did not have the same reaction.

Lennon whooped out a laugh and put her fist out to pound his. Wes reciprocated and watched her become immediately distracted and prance away to a guy strumming a guitar on the tailgate of a pickup truck. Awesome. They were like twinsies.

Still chuckling, Wes nudged my shoulder with his elbow. “C’mon C, let’s go hang by my sweet ride.”

“Yep.” I followed his lead, but he fell back and waited for me to catch up.

“So, um…” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked a rock across the asphalt. “Whaddya think?” He waved his hand flippantly in the air.

I smiled over at him. “This is great, Wes.” I felt guilty that I’d never come before. Staying away from Wes used to be more of a priority. I’d have to reinstate that ASAP.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Really,” I reassured him, truly impressed with the turnout.

“Thanks, C.” Wes smiled and suddenly hip checked me. Being much larger than I was, that nudge sent me careening into the car to my right. I landed on the front end with a thud, and my heels wobbled from underneath me, sending my ankles collapsing in on themselves. Before I fell to the asphalt, I grabbed onto a giant headlight in a panic.

Wes laughed. He laughed when I teeter-tottered. He laughed when I slipped. He laughed when he helped me up from my perilous position dangling from a headlight.

“You all right?” he choked out. Ah. He speaks.

“About as all right as I can be after being hurled into a boat,” I said righting myself onto the point of my heels with his help.

“Okay, that’s not a boat. That’s a ’54 Buick Skylark.” Wes gestured toward the car like Vanna White.

“It looks like it has a nose.” I dusted the pebbles off my butt.

“It does, huh?” Wes laughed, staring at my butt. “Most of the Buicks here today have noses.” His eyes found mine again. “C’mon. Let’s take a walk. I’ll teach you a thing or two about some classics.” Wes tapped my butt.

“Wes!” I hissed looking around to see if anyone had seen, but truly trying to hide my panicked blush.

“Shouldn’t we get to your car?” I asked fanning my cheeks from behind him, careful not to catch up until I’d reined in my emotions.

Wes turned before I had the chance and dangled his keys in the air before shoving them back into his pocket. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” I breathed, feeling the coolness of the sea air on my face again. “School me, Wes.”

“Oh, I can scho—” I shook my head and put my hand over his mouth mid crude comment, but not soon enough to stop the eyebrow waggle. Then, there it was, the moist, balmy tickle. Wes licked my palm.

“Eww, Wes.” I pulled my hand away, laughing in disgust, and wiped my hand down my jeans. “That was gross.” His reaction was to stick his tongue out at me and waggle it profusely. My eyes zeroed in on its movements and widened in shock. Then, instead of being disgusted, I became irritatingly turned on.

“So that over there,” Wes pointed casually just ahead of us, and I was thankful, so damn thankful, for the diversion. “Is a Ford Thunderbird. It looks a lot like my Bel Air, but if you know your cars, you can see the difference immediately.”

“Besides the emblems on the front that say what they are?” I asked proud of my recovery.

“Yeah, smartass.” He chuckled lowly. “See the fin on the back?” he asked walking toward the rear of the car. “The Thunderbird’s fin is horizontal. When we get back to mine, you’ll see the fin angles down.”

“I like horizontal,” I said pointing at the Thunderbird. I swore Wes stifled a laugh next to me, but I was immediately taken by the smooth edges of the car and the way the light reflected off the paint.

“How do you feel about vertical?”

“Seems like it wouldn’t be very effective.” Wes snorted behind me. “I mean, I imagine if the fins were straight up and down, they’d catch too much wind.”

“Depends on who’s driving. I could nail it,” Wes said confidently. I bet he could. If anyone could, it would be Wes.

“Okay. What about parallel? Ohhh. Or perpendicular?” Wow, he was really into this, which was kind of cool since I was enjoying it, too. There weren’t many people who I could talk with like this. Well, there was no one I talked to like this. I found that unless you had the mind of an artist, discussions in shape, texture, depth, or anything like that lost people to boredom fast.

We walked away from the Thunderbird and strolled through the aisle again.

“Ummm, I guess, perpendicular? Is that even possible?” I questioned Wes.

“So possible, C. I’ll show you just how possible it is.” Wes’ laugh pitched like a little boy at his response, and immediately, I realized what he was doing.

“Oh, my God, Wes!” I punched him in the arm. “What’s wrong with you?” I scoffed over a hidden laugh. “You’re aw—”

“—some. I know. I’m super awesome.” Wes laughed and draped his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into him. I went willingly and reminded my fluttering heart that this was a brotherly gesture.

“Sometimes,” I grumbled snuggled up in the crook of his arm.

“Just sometimes?” he said aloud. “I guess I’m gonna have to try harder.” He squeezed his hand over my shoulder and ran it softly down my arm tickling up goosebumps. That was so not brotherly.

My nerves kicked up, sending slightly chilled blood through my veins. I clenched and unclenched my fists to settle them and caught a glimpse of my heartbeat through my palms. To my surprise, it wasn’t erratic. It wasn’t pinging off the walls of my chest. It was strong, and it was steady.

“Marilyn!” Wes’ arm dropped when turned toward the haggard voice.

“Heya, Bluebell,” he called over his shoulder and placed his hand on the small of my back, clearly driving me away.

“Awww, c’mon. Find a pretty lady, and we ain’t nothin’ anymore?” another voice shouted up at us mixed in with a deep laughter. “And here I thought we were somethin’ special.”

Wes shook his head smiling and waved the guys off but kept nudging me forward. “Who are they?” I asked, though I was more concerned with why he clearly didn’t want me to meet them.

“Those are the guys from the shop,” he said as he kept ushering me away.

“So why don’t we go say hello?” I pressed my feet firmly into the ground. “Why don’t you want them to meet me?” I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my eyebrow at him.

“Not want them to meet you? That’s ridiculous,” he said mimicking my stance. “They can be really vulgar and… well, they’re assholes. I thought you might be uncomfortable.”

“Now, that’s ridiculous,” I said unfolding my arms and passing Wes to retrace our steps back to the group.

I put my hand out to the first one, an older gentleman with a long, scraggly beard and long hair tied back into a low ponytail. “Hi, I’m Capri,” I said when he put his warm and calloused hand in mine.

“Blue, sweetheart.” He smiled kindly at me. “This here is Trace.”

I smiled back and shook Trace’s hand. “Nice Mohawk.” I pointed to the blue stripe down the middle of his head.

“Makes him feel taller,” Wes said coming up from behind me and rubbing his hand across the top of it. The height of the Mohawk did add a few inches to his otherwise short and round frame.

Trace batted Wes’ hand away. “Nice of you to show up late for your own event, Marilyn.”

“I’ve been here, shorty. I was showing Capri around.” He flicked Trace’s hair with his fingers.

“Your event?” I tilted my head back to Wes, but he ignored me. Or maybe he didn’t hear me because he was mumbling something to Blue whose eyes jumped up in a glimmer to mine.

“What? He didn’t tell you this here is all his?” Trace’s question brought my attention back to him where his stocky arms spread out wide.

“No, he didn’t.” I folded my arms and cocked my eyebrow up at Wes. “So, what? You plan all this?”

He stuffed his hands in his pocket and shrugged.

“Every year? You set this whole thing up?” I had no idea. “That’s amazing.”

“It’s nothing.” He pulled one hand from his pocket and scratched at his beard.

“Of course it’s something, Wes.” He fidgeted nervously under my stare, but I couldn’t stop watching him. As well as I thought I knew him, there were still heart-stopping, tender layers I hadn’t seen yet.

“Ya should bring her to the next drink in the street.” Blue shoved a cigarette into his mouth and turned his head from the breeze to light it.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Bluebell.” Wes shifted on his feet and scratched his head.

“Why not?” I straightened my back and glared at Wes.

“It’s just a bunch of us sitting around in lawn chairs in the middle of Rocco’s street,” Wes said. “He lives in a cul-de-sac.”

“Which one’s Rocco?” I asked him.

“Good question. Where is Rocco?” Wes asked Trace.

“Fucker’s at therapy. I’m with Wes though, Blue. I don’t know if drink in the street is this pretty lady’s kinda thing.” Trace crossed his arms over his chest and puffed it out a bit. I had a feeling I was being tested.

“Yeah, I dunno, can she handle talks about tea bagging, docking, and spit roasting?” Blue widened his stance and puffed out a billow of smoke. This was definitely a test.

“Bro—”

“I don’t care what you say about dicks as long as I don’t see yours in action.” I cut Wes off who gasped next to me.

“Did she just say dick?” he whispered. “She just said dick.”

I ignored him. “As long as I don’t have to bear witness to any of these things, I can handle any talk of things such as Eiffel Towers and sausage hostages you decide to partake in.”

“Holy shit!” Wes laughed out.

“Woo wee,” Trace whooped.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Blue tossed his cigarette onto the asphalt and smashed it with the toe of his boot. “Bring her next time.” Blue gave Wes a weak punch in the arm. “See you soon, sweetheart.” He winked at me.

“It was nice meeting you.” I smiled. “You, too,” I said to Trace.

“Likewise. Give this fucker hell,” he said before clasping hands with Wes and following Blue away.

“Did I pass?” I grinned up at Wes.

“C, you didn’t just pass, you got your motherfucking degree.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder again and pulled me in close. His lips met my forehead. “You’re awesome, you know,” he mumbled into me. I closed my eyes sighing inwardly.

“Sometimes?”

“Nope,” he said, lips still pressed gently against me. “All the time.”