Chapter 17 #2
I text him the address and put him out of my thoughts. I do have to eat. I’m starving, actually. But that means he’s coming here. To watch me work. And eat with me. On a Saturday night. And he reminded me that he likes my body. That he likes curvy and, no. Just no! Liar!
He dates models. Tall. Skinny. Sharp bones.
I go back to work. Full-on goggles and gloves and tools. I pump my music up to full volume, having it slam through my AirPods and I go at it. Britney is followed by Rhianna, J.Lo, Shakira, Lady Gaga, Adele, and obviously TaySway.
By the time I’m recovered in sweat and unrestrained hip movements, I forget all about my mother. Tod. Ava. But I don’t entirely forget that Kaplan Fritz is threatening to drive out to Chelsea to bring me dinner.
But after an hour and no-show, I’m over it.
He likely changed his mind. Realized he’d rather not spend his Saturday night with a woman he refers to as the queen of all monsters.
I jump, my hand in the air as I spin around, rocking my hips to the beat.
My head bops flying left and right, allowing the piece I’ve been working on for too many hours to cool.
Then I strike the blowtorch again, rocking out to “Poker Face” as I flame up the metal, bending it exactly how I want it with my pliers.
“Baby, when it’s love, if it’s not rough, AH!
” A hand on my shoulder wrenches the scream from my lungs, mid-Gaga.
“Shit!” I set the piece and my tools down—glad I had already turned off the torch—tear a glove from my hand, the AirPods from my ears, and hit stop on my phone.
“The hell you doin’ sneaking up on a woman with hot metal and tools in her hands? ”
Kaplan Fritz. Six foot— four, five? —plus of huge. Cut muscles for days and sexy arm tattoos on display since the sleeves of his slate-gray shirt are cuffed to the elbows. Baby faced in the most absurdly gorgeous, sinful way. And what does he do with all that? He smiles at me.
Thump . Thanks, heart. Like I needed you to do that.
He’s trying to hide his amusement and failing miserably. “I told you I was coming with dinner.”
Yeah, but I didn’t exactly take you all that seriously. You know. So my heart and brain wouldn’t grow stupid on me. Like they are right now.
“I forgot,” I lie.
“Liar.”
“Stop reading my mind and go back to hating me while pretending I’m the bane of your existence and calling me the mother of all monsters.”
His eyes jolt open wide and yep, I said all that aloud. Awesome.
“Whatever. What food did you bring me?”
“Nice singing. And dancing. It was cute to watch even if you were horribly off-key.”
I roll my eyes at him as he sets a large take-out bag on a neighboring table, but his eyes are all over the piece I’m currently working on.
“Is this gold?”
“Yes.”
“Like actual gold?”
I roll my eyes again, this time making sure he catches it. “ Yes . I’m making a necklace.”
“ With gold?”
I toss my hands up in the air. “Jesus Henrietta. Yes! Obviously with real gold. Twenty-four karat to be exact because it’s the purest form without any silver, zinc, palladium, or other metals in it.
I want this neckless to really exhibit that with its color.
Plus, it won’t tarnish this way even if I have to be careful because it’s softer and easier to scratch. ”
He’s staring at me as if he’s about to wring my neck.
“What’s your deal?” I tilt my head, baffled.
“You’re in the middle of an abandoned warehouse and you’re dealing with precious metals. That’s my deal,” he yells.
“Shhh!” I hiss, glaring all around me, but the majority of the large studio space is vacant.
It is a Saturday night, after all. “It’s not abandoned.
It’s an artists’ warehouse, Mister Judgy Pants.
I don’t advertise what I’m using and I’m mostly alone over here in the corner.
But I’ve been playing with making jewelry more and more and I’m not going to do that with crappy metal.
It’s not like I buy gold by the bar. It comes in sheets and tubes and stuff. ”
“Do you have a stash of diamonds here too?”
“No.” But I had been contemplating getting some precious and semiprecious stones at some point. A few emeralds and rubies and topazes and other pretty things. I don’t mention that to him though.
“Christ.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to start having Slash follow you here. I had been contemplating it after that night in the restaurant when I made you Netflix and chill with me instead, but it felt intrusive. No more. You’re just asking to get mugged.”
“You’re being overly dramatic. I’m not the only one here who makes jewelry with precious metals.”
“Rosie the Riveter, come and sit with me so we can eat dinner.”
I touch the red bandanna on my forehead and stare down at the leather apron covering my crop top and high-waisted jeans. Okay. So he may have a point.
“What did you bring?”
“Cheeseburgers and fries.”
I moan. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, the scent of greasy fried food hitting me in a hard, delicious way. “If you’re doing this for a blow job, you’re actually getting yourself closer to that finish line.”
Kaplan chokes on the fry he’s in the process of chewing and I have to slam the butt of my palm into the center of his back to dislodge it. “Thanks for that,” he garbles, finally swallowing it down with a sip of his soda. “No more blow-job talk, okay?”
“So prude, Kaplan Fritz.”
A glare.
“Fine. No blow jobs. Want me to show you how to make art after we eat?”
He sits on the edge of one of the wooden stools that’s abutting a long metal table, totally fucking up his designer pants since nothing in here is clean. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
And a girl could totally fall for that. Especially wrapped in a package like Kaplan Fritz.
Especially a girl who hasn’t always gotten the best attention from her family and men.
But whatever. I’m starting to get the impression that despite his close-knit family, he’s a bit of a loner, possibly as lonely as I am.
Otherwise, why else would he be here with me now?