14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
“ I thought ice cream was for sadness only?” I ask, pulling open the door to the Ice Cream Pizza Parlor and allowing Gigi to step under my arm and inside.
“I am deeming it acceptable for happy times, too,” she says. “We’re celebrating, Cade.”
“Right,” I reply, uncertain. “Makes sense.”
“You should be celebrating most of all,” she says, making her way up to the counter.
“What are we celebrating for?” EJ asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
At the same time, Gigi says, “I slept with someone. A few weeks back. But we’re just now celebrating.” She’s grinning.
“Oh.” EJ’s eyes go wide with realization, then he grins. “Hey, rock on, brother.” He holds up a fist.
“It wasn’t me,” I tell him.
“It wasn’t Cade,” Gigi says. “His name’s Shane. He’s an artist.”
“The guy from the coffee shop,” EJ realizes, looking at me in confirmation. I nod once.
“I knew you were spying on me,” Gigi says, her brow furrowing before she softens out again, laughing. “You are such a jerk.”
“I can’t help what I overhear,” my brother tells her with a sly smile.
Or if his brother indirectly asked him to do reconnaissance if she was ever at Beach Brew without him. He can’t help that.
I want to make sure she’s safe. That’s all. Guys are jerks—I would know—and I’d hate to see Gigi get herself into a situation she doesn’t want to be in for the sake of proving to herself she’s something that she’s not.
“Your usuals?” EJ asks.
I nod. “Please.”
It’s weird, spending enough time with Gigi to where at Brew and here—which we’ve appropriately named The Pizza Ice Cream Parlor for lack of a real name—we have usuals. We are regulars. Gigi and I make up a we . We laugh every time we sit down to eat here, because Gigi says something stupid, like, What if they didn’t change the name because they really intended on serving pizza-flavored ice cream?
And then I say, That’s ridiculous, princess. Clearly, they’re going for ice cream pizza and haven’t found their groove yet.
She doesn’t correct me about the nickname. And we laugh at our own stupid jokes, and I admire her smile and wish I could see it every day.
And the thought of that doesn’t make my heart race and my palms sweat.
The realization is for nothing, though, because I know myself. I’ll fuck it up in the end, break her heart in half, and then she’ll hate me forever. No matter how calm we feel around each other now, it’ll erupt.
I’m keeping my distance so that doesn’t happen.
I’ve tried to, anyway. We see each other at the diner three or four days a week. She’s been going out with her hookup a lot recently, so that negates the issue of seeing her after work. This is the first time since her third or fourth date with that dude that she’s sat down to debrief.
And I’ll admit, I’m bummed about it.
“Where do I start?” Gigi says as we sit at our usual booth.
“Anywhere,” I tell her, and I mean it. I’ve missed her these past few weeks.
“He painted me,” she says.
I nearly choke on my ice cream. “You hook up once,” I say, “and you get kinky and paint each other? Fucking weirdo.”
“No.” She laughs. “He painted a portrait of me. On a canvas.”
“Oh, wow,” I say. “That’s one way to get a girl’s pants off.” I usually cook dinner and offer a bouquet of flowers. This guy painting portraits is going to make the rest of us look bad.
“And it did,” Gigi says.
“He expected it to,” I tell her. “That’s why he did it.”
“He did it just from the few times he’s seen me on our dates,” she continues. “He didn’t have me stand there and model or anything. And it looked good.”
“And he did it,” I remind her, “to see you without your panties, princess.”
She frowns, her lip jutting into a frustrated pout. Seeing it, a jolt goes right to my groin.
“I thought it was sweet. It was super thoughtful.”
“Did he send you home with it?” I ask. “Like a memento?” Best I ever do is an accidental mark or two.
“No,” she says. “He held on to it. What if he wants to add to it?”
Or use it for source material later. That’s what I would use it for, if I had a painting of Gigi Knox in my house, and I was a deranged man.
“He might,” I supply. She smirks, satisfied. “Or he’s starting a shrine, and this is only the beginning.”
Her lips part. “Cade. He’s not starting a shrine. I thought it was romantic.”
“He painted a portrait of you to get you naked.”
“And he told me he wishes he could paint a portrait of me naked,” she adds, like that makes this any better. “It was hot.”
My jaw ticks. My stomach clenches, the knot pulling itself tight. “That’s all it takes to get you? Promises of naked works of art?”
She rolls those pretty blue eyes at me.
Thinking about some schmuck painting Gigi to impress her makes me want to scream. That’s some crazy length for an idiot to go through to get her attention, and I can’t believe it worked on her just like he wanted it to.
Lucky bastard.
Gigi’s got the afternoon off, but I’m working a shift at the diner after we get coffee. I can’t stop thinking about her with that guy. My thoughts get to a point of forming an echo chamber, so I pop in my ear buds to try to quiet my head.
Pop punk can only do so much. The monotony of doing dishes leaves a lot of time to think.
The kitchen door swings open, revealing Rory. “I’m still not used to seeing you here,” she says.
I pull out one bud. “I’m sure you’d appreciate if it was EJ,” I say. “Sorry to disappoint.”
She shakes her head. “You guys are driving me insane, you know that?”
“Why don’t you guys just date?” I ask.
“That would complicate my life. Why don’t you just sleep with Gigi? I’m sick of seeing you two look at each other the way you do.”
“I don’t look at her in a way,” I say. “I know better. She doesn’t want to sleep with me.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Rory says. “It’s working out well for you.”
“I think you’re just EJ’s type,” I tell her. “You both enjoy busting my balls.”
“Very much.” Rory grins. “But she’s starting to like the artist guy a lot.”
“She said she wanted a fling,” I tell Rory. “Just not with me. Artist guy is perfect.”
“Whatever. I’m just saying. You seem like you like her. I’m sick of watching you walk around the apartment depressed and bored without her to keep you company since she’s been so busy lately.”
“I don’t need her to keep me company,” I say. “And I like her, sure. You’ve got me. But we’re incompatible. I want sex, she wants love. It doesn’t work.”
“You don’t look at her the way someone who wants sex should look at her.”
“Did you know,” I say, “you eat a lot of food in EJ’s fridge for someone who doesn’t help with rent?”
Rory flips me off.
Gigi texted me a photo of an outfit for a boardwalk date with the artist.
Is this too much?
Her tits are nearly falling out of the tank top she’s wearing. She’s got on these wonderfully skin-tight black pants. I don’t know why she still wants my opinion. She found her guy. What I say doesn’t matter. She’s better off asking Rory.
You look good .
Thanks!
She replies, adding a kissy face Emoji.
Think you’ll get lucky?
She doesn’t respond immediately. When she does, it’s,
Oh, I know I will.
I’m not happy about the artist. I still think the painting is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard because, seriously, who the fuck does that? It’s even worse knowing he did it just to get in her pants.
I waste too much time thinking about her. I get tired of my own bullshit after a while and decide to call Eddy. I am here, primarily, to focus on getting the tattoo shop started, after all.
“Yellow!” He picks up after one ring.
“Hey, man,” I say. “I made it down to Geddington Beach. I checked out that building.”
“Building?” Eddy says. A pause. Then, “Oh, yeah. The other shop. Sorry, kid. You get old, your brain is the first thing to go.”
“Man,” I say. “Are you high right now?”
“Shut your ugly mouth, boy,” Eddy grumbles. “No. I’m just tired. It’s hard work running a shop by myself because you decided to go on a little vacation.”
“A vacation to expand the business,” I point out.
“Sure it is. How’s that building look?”
I explain how much I love the space. He doesn’t sound one-hundred percent, and that makes me nervous. I want the shop. I want the shop bad. And running it entirely on my own would be badass.
After a long pause, Eddy says, “Let me think it over. If all goes to plan, we should be able to get this settled soon.”
I perk up. “Sounds good.”
“Take it easy, kid. Love you.”
Eddy doesn’t usually say that. The L word is reserved for my aunt, and even then, he usually says it in a tone that makes me think the woman keeps a gun pressed to his side.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Talk soon.”
I’m feeling fucking fantastic after that call with Eddy, so I drive downtown to bug EJ at the coffee shop and get a beer at a bar afterward. EJ’s dealing with a rush of teenagers that all want something blended, so I head on to my next task: beer.
I can’t believe I’m getting my own shop. Things have been going well with Eddy, sure. I’m a quick learner, a good apprentice, and Eddy’s a great teacher. But damn, this is almost too good to be true.
And for some reason, I want to text Gigi and tell her. She’s a cool girl. Funny. We get each other. She busts my balls, she’s got nerve, and I can’t help but like that about her.
I order a beer. Drink it. I order another. Drink that.
Gigi would be excited for me. She’d say something sarcastic first, but she’d be excited.
I order another beer. Another. Another. I drink it. And the bartender cuts me off—what a bitch.
Then, I leave the bar to walk down to the boardwalk.
I’m telling the princess about the shop. My princess.