Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
EVERETT
S he didn’t want to talk. She wanted a hot shower, then a cuddle. Her words, not mine. Honestly, I’m surprised she even asked. The girl’s been so skittish about her own wants and needs, having her voice her desires felt like a win in my book, so I gave her exactly what she asked for.
A hot shower and a snuggle.
No questions asked.
The sheets are cold now, though. I lift my eyelids and search my room, only to find it empty. It’s four in the morning. With a frown, I shift out of bed, heading to the kitchen. The lights above the island are on, and the fire is crackling, but otherwise, it’s dark. Raine sits on the couch, her bare feet resting on the coffee table as she balances an open notebook on her knees. Brows bunched, she tilts her head and glides her pencil across the paper, oblivious to my presence.
Fuck, I could watch her like this all night. Her concentration. The way her lips move. As if she’s talking to the drawing. Or maybe herself. Hell, maybe a song is stuck in her head or something, but it only feeds my curiosity .
A loud crackle from the fire snaps her out of her daze, and her attention shoots to it until she finds me leaning against the edge of the mantle.
The surprise in her eyes turns to warmth, and her mouth lifts in a smile as she whispers, “Hi.”
“Hey.” I push myself away from the fireplace and stride toward her. “Pencil this time, huh?”
“Figured I could use the backspace button today.”
“Is that what you call it? A backspace button?”
“I mean, it does the same thing, right? Gives you an opportunity to fix your mistakes.”
“Have you ever considered using an iPad or something instead?”
“Sometimes I do but only at work. I’m a sucker for paper.” She lifts her notepad and wiggles it back and forth.
I nod and motion to the cushion beside her. “Mind if I join you?”
She scoots a little closer to the armrest, giving me room, and I sit down. On the paper is a tree. It’s similar to the one from weeks ago. When I tracked her down at Lucian’s shop. The one with messy, twisted branches. But this one is…softer somehow. Less prickles. More leaves. Sunshine slips through the branches, casting light and shadows along the paper. Even the bark feels delicate somehow.
“What do you think?” she asks. I can hear her reservations. Her anxiety. The way she wants to clam up, like all the other times she’s shown me her art.
Tearing my attention from the drawing, I look up at Raine. At the little divot between her brows. The way she chews on the soft flesh on the inner edge of her bottom lip. The hesitant sheen in her eyes. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to erase her fears. Her reservations. To rip away the bullshit insecurities surrounding her brilliance in hopes of her seeing what I see. What I’ve seen since the moment we first met .
“It looks amazing, Stormie,” I tell her.
“You think?”
I nod. “You’re insanely talented.”
“You know, I think you’ve mentioned that a time or two.”
“Now if only I could convince you to believe it.”
She shrugs, then tears her gaze from mine and uses the side of her pencil to add shadows to the right side of the tree. “There’s always room for improvement, but thank you.”
Unable to help myself, I ask, “Did you do this before Drake?”
“Do what?”
“Shy away from compliments.”
Her lips purse. “I don’t shy away from compliments.”
“You do,” I push. “Especially when it comes to your art.” When she stays quiet, I add, “I Googled your dad, you know.”
A stray line of graphite taints the shadow she was working on, and her brows wrinkle with frustration. She sets the wooden pencil on its side and turns to me. “Oh?”
“He’s really good.”
“He is really good,” she agrees. “And with no formal training or anything. It’s kind of insane.”
“Says the girl who also has no formal training,” I point out.
“I mean, my dad is Milo Anders. He taught me everything I know.”
“Maybe not everything.”
With a laugh, she argues, “No, pretty sure it’s everything.”
“All right, let’s say it is,” I concede. “If that’s the case, how come your drawings look nothing like his?”
She frowns and looks down at the tree again. “Rude.”
I laugh. “That’s not what I mean. Humor me for a second, okay?” I reach for my laptop on the coffee table and open it, typing in Milo Anders and tree. Almost instantly, sketches upon sketches appear, and I click on the top result. Vibrant shades of green and yellow appear, along with a thick, sturdy trunk and roots winding beneath the surface in an intricate pattern. I shift the laptop toward her, making sure she has a front-row seat to the screen. Barely casting it a glance, she reaches for the top of the laptop and starts to close it, but I shift the computer away from her.
“Humor. Me,” I repeat.
With a huff, she asks, “What’s your point, Ev?”
“My point is, your tree looks nothing like your father’s, but both are incredible.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but?—”
“No, buts. You’re talented, Raine. And it's not because of your dad or the things he taught you. Yes, you might not be where you are today without his help, but he isn’t the one holding the pencil. You are.” I tuck her hair behind her ear, praying she’s listening. “You. Raine Anders. No one else.”
I can see it. The way her eyes glaze slightly. Or maybe it’s the firelight dancing in her forest-green gaze playing with me, but I don’t think it is.
No. This means something.
Leaning into my touch, she closes her eyes and whispers, “Thank you.”
“Do you have your machine here?”
Opening her eyes, she tilts her head, confused. “My tattoo machine?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, yes? But?—”
“You should go get it.”
Her eyes bulge. “Everett?—”
“I’m serious,” I push.
“So am I,” she argues.
“I want you to give me a tattoo. ”
“Everett, a tattoo is…it’s permanent.”
“So?”
“So, you don’t have any tattoos, which means you know how permanent they really are, and?—”
“It’s just a tattoo, Stormie.” I grab her hand and bring it to my lips.
“Is it, though?” she whispers.
“All right, let’s say it’s more.” I kiss her knuckles again. “I’m still in.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Positive. Besides, the idea of being your first is hot as fuck.”
She snorts. “So that’s why you want me to give you a tattoo.”
“No, I want you to give me a tattoo because you’re talented. Really talented. And if you can’t see it. If you can’t take the plunge without someone giving you a little push, I’ll do it. I’ll give you the push.” I lift my chin toward the hall. “Go get your machine.”
Sucking her lips between her teeth, she stands and scurries down the hall like a little mouse, quickly returning with a black box. “You’re really sure? I mean?—”
“Open the box, Raine,” I order.
Her nostrils flare, but she rounds the coffee table separating us and sits on the edge of the couch cushion beside me. Then, I watch in fascination as she spreads a bunch of things I’ve never seen out on the coffee table.
After straightening a black tube, she fidgets with a small clear bottle and asks, “Do you…do you know what you want?”
“Surprise me.”
“Ev,” she scolds. “I’m already going out on a limb by giving you a tattoo. Pull your weight, will ya? ”
Chuckling, I settle further into the cushions and stretch my legs out. “All right. I know what I want.”
“What?”
“A storm cloud.”
Her fidgeting ceases, and she peeks over her shoulder at me. “You’re joking.”
“Not joking.”
“You want a storm cloud?”
I nod. “Yeah, Raine. I want a storm cloud.”
“Is this because my brother bullied you, and you feel bad, and you’re trying to make me feel better? Because if anyone should apologize, clearly it’s?—”
I kiss her, stealing her unnecessary apology before it even has a chance to slip past her pretty pink lips. She tastes sweet. So fucking sweet. Dragging my tongue against the seam of her lips, I swallow her soft sigh, craving it more than my next breath.
When I pull away, she bites her bottom lip, her eyes shining with the fire’s reflection. It’s almost enough to distract me from the questioning look accompanying the flames. Almost. But I still see it. Her reservations. Her fear.
“Ask me, Raine,” I push.
“H-he didn’t scare you away?”
I shake my head. “Not going anywhere. Promise.”
She leans in for a second kiss. It’s softer. Sweeter. When she pulls away, her quiet breath falls on my lips, and she whispers, “Where do you want your storm cloud?”
My mouth lifts. “I mean, other than on my cock?—”
“Everett!” she squeals. Her hands fly to cover her face and her shoulders shake with amusement.
“I mean, you asked me where I want my storm cloud,” I remind her.
“I meant the tattoo!”
“All right, all right.” I grab her fingers, lower her hands, and lift my right arm, pointing to the inside of my bicep. “How ‘bout here?”
Her eyes fall to my arm. She sits up and caresses the skin. It’s gentle. Her touch. Like her fingertips are covered in silk. It only makes me want to feel her touch everywhere. Every single fucking inch of me.
“How big?” she asks. “How big do you want it?”
“Whatever you think.”
She looks up at me again and tilts her head. “Ev…”
Fuck, I love when she says my name like this. Soft and light and airy, but with a subtle undertone of…something. Annoyance? Nah. Interest? Probably not, but I’ll pretend that’s what it is.
“I’m your canvas, baby girl,” I murmur.
Her eyes soften even more at the nickname, but she doesn’t comment on it, choosing to fidget with the tattoo machine again like the damn thing’s broken. “Well, sweat can hinder the healing process, so unless you want to wait?—”
“No waiting,” I push. “I want it now.”
Her attention flicks up to me before she stares down at her machine again like it’s the most fascinating piece of equipment in the world. “Okay, then it should probably be something small since it’s the middle of the season.” She nibbles her lower lip. “First, I need to make a stencil?—”
I reach out and grab her wrist to stop her from standing. “No stencil.”
The girl looks at me like I’ve lost my damn marbles. “Do you really want to walk around with a permanent, wonky tattoo?—”
“Not gonna regret anything with you. Besides.” I hook my arm around her waist and kiss her again. Fuck, I can’t help myself. The girl’s gotten under my skin, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I force myself not to lean in and steal another taste as I remind her, “If I have to walk around with a wonky tattoo, then you do, too.”
Her eyes are a pool of green, and her teeth dig into the inside of her bottom lip again as she stares up at me. “You remembered that part, huh?”
“Yeah, I did.” I kiss her nose. “But even if it wasn’t part of the arrangement, I’d still want to be your first. Now, come on. Let’s see whatcha got.”