13. Nice. Messy. Rough
Chapter 13
Nice. Messy. Rough
Rafe
If I could pick between smoking or watching sunsets, I’d pick the big orange sky every time. Unfortunately, the warm, watercolor evening doesn’t have a choke hold on me like nicotine does, so I opt for both. At least if I’m dying, I’m doing it peacefully.
Blowing out a breath, I catch a similar shot of ginger below—except it’s not the setting sun. It’s gorgeous red hair … attached to a body hanging over the iron railing beside the dock.
I immediately jump to my feet, eyeing the figure for movement. In the time it takes for me to snuff out my cigarette in the ashtray and shove my feet into my abandoned boots, the figure stands back up.
I clutch my chest in relief, but the sinking in my heart that follows can’t be caught by my palm fast enough.
I recognize who it is immediately. It’s hard to miss that silky hair and tiny waist.
I grab my phone and, without fully thinking, tap Bonnie’s contact info. Down below, the phone screen glows in her hand before she pulls it up to her ear. The light illuminates half her face. Even from here, I swear I can see her red lips.
“Hey,” she says.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I dropped my phone.”
“So, you launch yourself over the railing for it?”
“It didn’t fall far.”
An argument catches in the back of my throat, but there’s bigger fish to fry here.
“What are you doing out at this time of night?” I ask.
“I’m waiting for Lu to pick me up.”
“Wasn’t Milo your ride after dinner?”
She pauses, as if surprised I remember, before saying with a smile, “He’s with his girlfriend.”
I want to ask why that should stop him from taking care of his sister, but it’s not my business.
“Okay, when is Lulu picking you up?” I ask.
I barely make out a small shrug.
“I haven’t texted her yet.”
“And why’s that?”
“She’s studying.”
“So, you’re … waiting?” I say slowly. “For someone you haven’t called?”
“I’m going to call her later. I’m killing time until then.”
“Well, please don’t hang out in the dark.”
She kicks an errant rock. “It’s Never Harbor. Who’s gonna hurt me?”
“Said the pretty girl before she died.”
Bonnie says nothing for a moment before finally huffing out a laugh. “I’m fine, Rafe.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t like where this leaves us. Because, now that I know she’s just wandering around Never Harbor like a vagrant, I can’t exactly ignore it. There’s really only one option remaining.
I curse under my breath.
“What was that?” she asks.
“I’ll go unlock the shop,” I grumble.
“No, Rafe, seriously, I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you’re quite capable of surviving, but I’m coming to collect you either way.”
“You’re acting like my brothers.”
“No, I’m acting like I care about your safety.”
I swear I hear her suck in air as her free hand rests on her hip. I probably offended her, but I don’t care. Her brother shouldn’t have left her. She walks away, then back, pacing for a moment. I wonder if she forgot I can see her as she thinks through this.
“Shiv?” I ask.
She clicks her tongue against her teeth, and then with irritation only a redhead like her could muster, she adds, “I’ll meet you at the shop door.”
“‘Attagirl.”
I head back inside and take the stairs down to the shop. Bonnie waits for me in the window. Her ginger waves are straight now, lost from the long day. She fiddles with her top as I open the door.
Her hands instantly drop to her sides.
I shake my head. “You’re too much trouble—you know that?”
She gives a cheeky smile. “You were the one who insisted. Are you letting me in or not?”
I roll my eyes, step to the side, and allow her to squeeze in. This is the third time she’s slid past me after closing, and every time, we get more comfortable with these late-night trysts, which is exactly the opposite of how it should feel.
I shut the door behind her and dead-bolt it back. When I turn around, she’s already sauntering through the shop, hand resting at the top of her purse, looking at the walls again like she hasn’t been here, working the past two weeks.
Will there ever be a time she roams my shop at night and it doesn’t feel magnetic? I hope so. Because watching her now with artistic awe in her eyes … I could easily wrap my palms around her waist again.
My usual chair behind the counter is turned upside down on the countertop from when I mopped earlier. I instead walk to the stairwell leading up to my apartment and sit a couple of steps up. Bonnie tentatively follows me with her hands clasped in front of her. She blinks at the stairs.
“You can sit if you want,” I say. “I don’t bite.”
Well, that’s actually a lie, and we both know it.
Thankfully, Bonnie says nothing, even though her cheeks flush pink.
With pursed lips and a raised eyebrow, she steps past me, taking a seat a couple of stairs above where I’m sitting. She tucks her knees up to her chest, resting her feet on the stair below. She sweetly clicks the heels of her boots together. Suddenly, I feel like the deceiving Wizard, keeping Dorothy in Oz for far too long.
Bonnie’s eyes wander to the ascending stairwell’s walls. Every few feet features framed art. Some mine, some others. It’s the only space on the main floor that doesn’t feature Never Harbor landmarks and scenery. Her eyes stick to the painting hanging right beside the open door to my studio loft—a nude study of a woman in gouache.
I anxiously stretch out my hand beside my legs. That, unfortunately, is my art. She doesn’t need to see—or know—that.
“So, what was your plan?” I ask.
She finally tears her eyes away from the painting. “Hmm?”
“Tonight.”
“Oh.” She shrugs. “I would probably just sit on the shore.”
“Do you do that often?”
“Don’t worry,” she says with a sly smile. “I’m not outside your porch all the time.”
I love it when she’s like this—when her shyness slides away and she’s playful. I could sink into her tipped-up red lips every time.
I huff out a small laugh, but her eyes cling to the painting again. Thankfully, she shifts her eyes to the sliver of light shining through my open apartment door.
“So, you really do live up there,” she says with a smile.
“I really do.”
“Do the sounds on Main ever feel too loud?”
“Nah. Not normally. Conversations can feel like white noise.”
“If someone is louder, do you yell from your window?”
I snort. “Tell them to get off my lawn?”
She bites the corner of her mouth. “Yeah.”
“Maybe once or twice.”
“Any repeat culprits?”
I lean my elbows back on a step above me, relaxing into the conversation. “Well, your brother is probably one of them.”
“Which brother?” she asks.
I lift an eyebrow. “Take a guess.”
“Pete,” Bonnie says, closing her eyes as she laughs. It’s got that musical quality to it that’s hard to pinpoint. “He’s a menace in this town.”
“He’s … something all right.”
Her face falls, but her remaining expression is more curious than offended.
“You don’t like him?” she asks.
I grunt. “I wouldn’t say I have a soft spot for him.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I heard that.” She shuffles her feet. “But he’s a good person. I guess just because I know that doesn’t mean everyone else does.”
“Don’t worry. Most people do think he’s a good person. I’m just biased because of Izzy.”
She pulls in the side of her lips, as if thinking. Her eyes cling to that nude painting again before falling down to her lap.
“You guys are close,” she observes.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Has that ever … well, have you ever …”
My body tenses.
“We don’t need to talk about that,” I interject.
She can’t get the words out. She knows the sentiment is ridiculous—or alternatively, maybe she knows it’s not ridiculous to ponder that at all.
Bonnie’s not wrong for thinking Izzy and I have a history. It’s what most people in town assume. I know that. Somehow, people can’t fathom the idea of a platonic friendship between opposite genders. Maybe it’s a small-town thing. But the idea of me and Izzy seems so laughable that I feel no need to defend it to others. People will think what they like.
Bonnie nods and tongues her cheek. “You’re right. Sorry, not my business.”
My chest tightens when Bonnie attempts to look unbothered. The scrunch of her nose gives her away, as if she’s trying to fight off the unease. Suddenly, it does feel like her business.
“No, we’ve never …”
Her eyes shoot to mine, and now I can’t get out words either.
“No,” I confirm. “She’s like a sister to me. Always has been.”
She nods to herself before saying, “Sorry.”
“For what?”
She shrugs, leaning against the wall. The strap of her purse slides down her freckled shoulder, and she lets it slump next to her feet on the stair below her.
“I don’t need to know your history or relationships,” she says. “And you shouldn’t feel forced to share.”
I shake my head. “I don’t feel forced. I feel obligated.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Respect.”
She blinks at me and turns away with flushed cheeks.
It’d never crossed my mind until I said it out loud. Bonnie Davies deserves someone to respect her for her choices—no matter what they are. No matter how reckless.
Except it wasn’t her being reckless that night; it was me. I couldn’t help?—
BURRRZZ! BURRRRZZ!
A deafening alarm blares. It sounds like a security alarm. It echoes through the empty shop.
I jump, instinctually placing a palm on Bonnie’s knee to hold her in place. I don’t know what’s happening or who is here. I eyeball the fire alarms. But they’re blinking green, as usual.
Then, Christ, what the ? —
“That’s me,” Bonnie says quickly.
I watch as she, also out of breath, unzips and digs in her purse. The sound gets louder once she pulls out her glowing phone, but then it stops the moment she presses the screen. The silence afterward is more deafening than the sound itself.
My hand is still on her knee. I clear my throat and pull it back. She watches it move every single inch of the way.
“That was my alarm,” she clarifies.
“Why is that your alarm ?”
“It’s the only thing that wakes me up in the morning.”
“Christ, Shiv.”
She giggles again. “That’s actually my alarm to call Lu. Give me a second.”
Lulu Kitt. I wonder if Bonnie’s best friend knows about what happened with us at Night Crawl.
Bonnie pulls the phone to her ear, and after a beat, she says, “Hey, can you pick me up?” I don’t hear what Lulu says on the other side, but Bonnie laughs and answers, “Yeah. Main Street. At Ink & Tide. With Rafe.”
Having her say that to another person suddenly makes me remember that we’re alone.
Again.
Bonnie hangs up, sliding her phone to greet her dropped purse.
“Good friend,” I observe.
“She is.”
It’s quiet for a moment. I wonder if she’ll mention my hand on her knee. Instead, slowly, against any unspoken argument of mine, Bonnie swivels her eyes back to the nude painting at the top of the stairs.
“I like that painting,” she says.
I tongue my cheek. “Oh, yeah?”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is,” I confirm.
“Good friend too?”
I open my mouth to talk, and at my pause, Bonnie gives an awkward laugh. She’s being cute. My own laugh leaves on a breath.
“Yes,” I confess.
“She’s faceless?” It comes out like a question.
“She needed to be,” I answer.
“That’s cold.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“So, you just wanted to paint her naked body, and that’s it?”
“I like painting the female form,” I explain. “And she liked showing it off. Nothing else felt relevant to either of us.”
“Is that something you do?” Bonnie asks. “Paint random women?”
I shrug. “I like painting beautiful forms.”
“Men too?”
“They have their own unique qualities, but no,” I muse. “Women are softer. Their curves are one continuous flow. The paint strokes are complicated yet easy. Strong yet elegant. Even the palette is different. The body flushes easier. The lips are full and colorful. Not appreciating the female form doesn’t make sense to me.”
When her breath hitches, I stop. I didn’t realize she’d been staring at me with her lips parted, as if hanging on every word as I spoke. Her chest is rising and falling.
“It takes practice,” I finish, clearing my throat.
“I like anatomy,” she says. “But it was never my strong suit. I guess I never had a good teacher.”
There’s that word again.
Teach.
I hear the sentence from days ago ringing in my head once more.
“Gonna teach me all about sex, Rafe?”
I cut my eyes to hers. For the first time since the Night Crawl, she’s leaning close. Too close. Her forearms rest on her knees. Her plump lip is pulled between her teeth. And if I were a stupid man—a very, very stupid man—I’d reach out and?—
“Well,” I say a bit louder, eliminating the soft moment the best I can, “you’ve got a lot of practice to do on other things first.”
She blows out a breath. The tension dissipates.
Good .
“Your portfolio is looking better though,” I add. “Have you submitted to the competition yet?”
“Like I have a shot,” she mumbles, leaning back against a stair.
“You do.”
She meets my eyes again, and I don’t look away.
I should.
I don’t.
“You keep telling me that …” she says slowly. “Like you believe in me or something.”
“Because I do.”
“I wish I had that same confidence.”
“You do.”
“Sometimes. Mostly just that one night, y’know?”
I shift in place. She doesn’t need to tell me what night. I’m never not thinking of that night.
“You were perfectly fine,” I assure her. “I promise.”
“No, you were right. I’ve been thinking about it more. I should have spoken up for myself. But … all I could really think about was … what I wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to have sex with you.”
I freeze. The word sex rolling off her tongue is enough to have my hand tightening into a fist.
“I didn’t care what it looked like for me,” she says.
She’s gonna give me an aneurysm.
“Shiv …”
“And I had wanted to for a long time. It could have been nice. Messy.” She swallows. “Rough.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. I lift an eyebrow to match hers.
This woman … this woman is …
“I didn’t care,” she echoes. “I was happy it was you. No matter how irresponsible it was. But next time … with whoever is next anyway … I’ll speak up.”
The thought of her with someone else …
Not every guy will ask her what she wants. Not every guy wants to please. And the way she’s looking at me now with stars in her eyes, regardless of what she says, I wonder if she’ll actually advocate for herself. I worry about her. But more than that, I already want to have words with whoever she chooses after me. Whatever asshole doesn’t respect what she wants. Doesn’t stop to see her.
I find myself shaking my head in disagreement. “No.”
Her head jerks back. “No what?”
Bonnie’s ringer goes off again.
Thankfully, this one is a calm tune.
I exhale.
Bonnie doesn’t look away from me, even as it continues to ring.
“No what ?” Bonnie repeats, insistent.
I say nothing. Instead, I nod my chin toward the name lit up on her screen.
LULU.
I rise from my position on the stair and roll my tongue over my teeth. Bonnie’s breath catches in her throat as she quickly stands with me. With her on a higher stair and me below, we’re face-to-face. Chest to chest. Way too close.
The phone keeps ringing.
“Answer it, Shiv.”
Bonnie hesitates, then finally—irritatingly—pulls the phone to her ear.
“Hi, Lu.”
Her eyes stick with mine. I tilt my head to the side. She does the same.
I slowly shake my head.
No.
No, I won’t tell you I’m worried about you.
No, I won’t admit that I already don’t like your future boyfriend.
No, I won’t acknowledge that you secretly wanted it rough.
No, I won’t say why I broke my own rules for you.
Bonnie’s jaw tightens, and she hurriedly walks down the stairs and past me. I bend to grab her purse she left behind right as she realizes she left it. She turns on the spot, and I hold it out. She doesn’t reach for it at first, as if stubbornly not wanting to accept any kind gesture from me, but then does so without meeting my eyes.
“Yep, I’m still here, Lu,” she continues on the phone. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I follow behind her with my palms in my pockets as she ends the call. She’s walking so fast. Her cheeks are flushed red. I don’t break stride.
“Bon—”
She flips the dead bolt and rips opens the door. Before she can cross the threshold, I place a hand on her shoulder. She halts in place, like I just turned her to stone.
A BMW slows in front of the shop. Half of her soft face is lit in the red brake lights. It’s almost as bright as her hair. As red as her lips.
I want to tell her she’s worth so much more than she thinks. It’s not just advocating for what she wants during sex. It’s advocating for herself .
“You should submit to the competition this weekend,” I say. “And don’t second-guess it anymore.”
I drop my hand from her shoulder, making sure to not let my palm slide over her skin. The last thing I need is to cherish what isn’t—and should never be—mine.
But the woman looks at me like I did. She looks at me like I just invited her back to my room to do so much more.
“I’ll submit,” she says on a breath.
Bonnie Davies will be the death of me.
She hops in the passenger seat and shuts the door.
On my way back up the stairs, I stop at the nude painting beside my door. I grab it off the wall, take it back into my apartment, and toss it in the corner.