Chapter 6 #2
“Once, when I was telling him about Dad. It was clear he was uncomfortable. He kept looking around, like he was hoping for something he could use as a distraction. It’s not his fault, some people just aren’t great at dealing with other people’s emotions.
He tries. He’s a sweet guy, and he has good intentions, but perhaps I’m not yet ready to share all of this with him. ”
I open my mouth to tell her he’s insecure but then decide better of it. After all, I gave my word. “I’m glad you share it with me.”
“Well, you have a knack for helping me decipher what is actually valuable, and you’re a good sounding board when I’m trying to justify keeping something, even when it’s not the logical decision.” She grins, poking me in the side. “You’re an enabler.”
“Oh yeah?”
She shrugs. “In many ways, you loved my dad as much as I did, so part of me feels like you should have a say in it too. I trust you to handle his items with care and respect. You get it.”
“You know, I needed you too after he died. We had to lean on each other a lot to survive those early months.”
She scoffs. “I leaned on you a lot more than you leaned on me. That’s probably when our friendship was taken to the next level—”
“Next level?” I question.
“I just mean . . . You were my silent strength when Dad died. You’ve always been steadfast and reliable. You’re a rock.”
A grin spreads across my face. “I’m your rock.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head. Jason is trying, and that counts. He’ll get better.”
Ugh.
While she goes through a few more, I pop the lid off a box of photos and thumb through them. Some are Kelly’s baby photos. She was a cute kid. I wonder if she wants to be a mom someday . . . How have I never asked her before?
I continue flipping, then pause on one; she appears to be about five years old, with both arms wrapped around an absolutely massive dog that’s as tall as she is.
Her face presses into its fur, both of them wearing huge grins.
This hellhound must be patient zero of her obsession with dogs and why she squeals at every pup on the sidewalk and asks the owners if she can pet them.
I smile and place the stack of photos back in the box, then slide the lid into place.
“How are you feeling about the competition coming up?”
She snorts. “Petrified.”
“You’re good under pressure.”
“I am?”
“Yeah.” My lips twitch. “Remember when you pierced that woman’s ear and she started screaming bloody murder? Pretty sure the other customers in the shop thought you were harvesting organs.”
Laughter bubbles out of her.
“You barely flinched. The rest of us were ready to duck and cover. I don’t know how you talked her down after that.”
“Yeah, she was fun.” Kelly sighs happily. “Hey, is this Dad’s?” She angles another frame toward me.
It’s similar, but she’s right, it’s not his work. I take it from her. “This looks like Scrotum’s work.”
“Scrotum? Who the fuck is Scrotum?”
I chuckle. “He’s a fellow artist, Jeremiah.” I point to the corner of the canvas. It’s tiny, but I can see a portion of the signature before it disappears behind the frame. “Yeah. Right here. J. Yelnatz.”
“Oh, I remember that guy!”
Kelly shifts her body against mine. Damn, she smells good, like fresh iris and orange. “Why do they call him Scrotum?” she asks.
“Because he was pretty close to being a dick, but not quite.”
She’s sent into a fit of giggles, and I pause, taking a second to admire how damn pretty she is when she laughs. My fingers itch to touch her, tilt that delicate chin toward me, and claim her lips. Instead, I force myself to look away and pick up a nearby sketchbook, opening the cover.
I turn the page, and Kelly calms her laughter, leaning over to take a peek.
“I love that one,” she says.
Her mom is posed with legs tucked up, head resting on her knees as she looks out a window.
“It’s achingly beautiful . . . in the best way possible.”
She smiles down at it, nodding.
The next page is different. It’s a portrait of teenage Kelly, standing barefoot in rolled-up jeans and an oversized shirt, painting on an easel and wearing a smile on her face as she dips her brush into the watercolor palette.
“That’s me.”
As if I wouldn’t recognize her. It’s like a black-and-white snapshot in time, back to when I first met Kelly. She was so young then.
I flip another page.
“Whoa.” I bring the whole book into my lap.
She tilts toward me, straining her neck to get another look. When she recognizes the image, she smiles and sits back. “Aren’t those great?”
They’re realism sketches of her mom as a pinup model. “Damn,” I murmur, turning the page. I’ve never snooped in his sketchbooks. “Man, he was down bad for your mom.”
There are so many in here.
She laughs. “Yeah, the first time I saw it, I slammed it shut. Felt like I was looking at my mom’s nudes, but he drew her the way he saw her. Each stroke was drawn with adoration, one line at a time.”
She laces her fingers together and rests them on my shoulder, leaning in while we marvel at the provocative imagery together. “Do you ever think of doing stuff like this?” she whispers.
If I turned my head right now, I’d have her lips on mine. The air feels thicker. I swallow and pull back, staring straight into her big green eyes. Fuck. My dick stiffens before I can stop it, forcing me to tear away my gaze and think of Clyde. That does the trick.
“You mean when I paint?” I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. I’d like to.”
She traces her fingers over the paper in a way that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.
“What’s stopping you?”
I shrug. “Finding the right subject.” She’s giving me an opening to ask for a favor I’ve had on my mind for some time now. “Will you pose for me?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Her eyebrows rise. “Me?”
“You don’t need to be nude, just posing, emoting, et cetera.” My throat tightens as I imagine putting her in different positions.
“Sure, whatever you need,” she says, leaning forward and dragging a new stack of frames closer to us. She passes me one, and I cock my head to the side as I admire the bright use of color.
“Jason has asked to take photos of me.” She nods to the sketchbook in my lap. “Kind of like those.”
It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head.
Fuck Jason.
All I can think of is her naked and sprawled out, looking like living art, and him cheapening her by taking a picture with his phone so he can rub one out later.
“Of course he did,” I bite.
She furrows her brow. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“No.” She rotates toward me and puts her hands on her hips. “Say it.”
“Fine. Imagine he takes your photograph. Do you think he’ll point his phone at your body and snap something he can show off to his buddies?
Or will he actually capture you? Will he even understand what he has in front of him?
” I jab my finger into the sketchbook, open to the stunning piece of her. “Like this.”
Her throat bobs when she swallows.
“That’s the difference between him and me,” I snarl, sounding bitter—because fuck it, I am. I withdraw my finger from the page. “I understand the distinction.”
She purses her lips. “He may not be as artistic as you, Logan, but not
everything has to be buried under layers of creative critique. Sometimes, it’s for fun, or maybe he just likes the way I look from behind.”
There it is. My jaw clicks as I clench harder.
She claps the cover shut on the sketchbook and sets it aside. “You’re being a dick.”
“You’re selling yourself short.” I inhale and scrub a palm down my face.
“Why?” Kelly scoffs and reaches for another painting. “Because I enjoy sex?”
My lip curls. “No, but maybe I don’t want to think about you having sex.” Lie. I have spent countless hours speculating that exact question, specifically how she likes to be fucked—usually with my dick in my hand.
“Oh.” She winces and looks away from me, appearing almost insulted—which piques my interest. “Sorry.”
I pick up a few small framed prints and sift through them. “For?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t know that bothered you.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” I set the prints aside and look at her. “I just don’t like thinking about you with other men.”
We stare at each other; it’s the most I’ve ever revealed about my feelings—and I know she senses it this time because her face pinkens with a blush, making my heart hammer against my chest.
She blinks a few times, then crosses her arms and tucks her legs in, retreating from me.
“I-I think we’ve gotten enough accomplished for the day.
It’s getting stuffy up here. Besides, I don’t want to keep you from enjoying the rest of your day off.
We both know you need to take more time for yourself. ”
Shit.
My head drops between my shoulders before I lift my chin again, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “I don’t mind staying.”
She averts her eyes. “No, I’m good.”
This is why I don’t skip steps. I should have kept my fucking mouth shut.
“Okay.” I sigh.
“Here, um, don’t forget these.” She hands me the three framed pieces: two for Camden and the panther that’s going in the shop. “I’ll bring the rest next week.”
“Your birthday’s on Tuesday, have any plans?”
“Yeah.”
She doesn’t offer more than that. Ouch.
Rising to my feet, I shuffle toward the center of the attic where there’s more headroom. “You sure you’re all right here?”
“Mm-hmm.” She stands, brushing dust off the Hendrix shirt. “Yup. All set.”
“Hey . . . are we good?” I ask. That’s the more important question.
She pastes on a fake smile. “Of course.”
“Make sure you eat something soon, yeah?”
“’Kay.”
’Kay.
I maneuver the paintings at an angle while climbing back down the ladder and she doesn’t follow me. Fuck.
On the way home, I make a stop at the hardware store to get the piece I need for the dishwasher.
While standing in line at the checkout, I spot a three-pack of pink velvet hair scrunchies in various shades next to the candy, lighters, and other random shit, then toss them on the conveyor belt with my item.