18. Conor
Conor
We’re halfway to the car when I change my mind. “You know what, Karla?”
She turns, tilts her head. “Hmm?” She jiggles her car keys in her hand, not really listening.
I extend the paperwork towards her. “I don’t think I need to see the new listings.”
Karla’s forehead creases in a deep frown. She’s suddenly paying attention. “What? Why?”
Because I work too much as it is. I don’t need more projects on my plate.
Because Jess is in the backyard right now, covered in paint, and against all of my better instincts, the only thing I want to do right now is join her.
Because I’m done trying to stay away from her.
I shrug, trying my best to sound casual. “I want to slow down a bit, get a couple of projects out of my hair before taking on anything new. Plus, I’ve had an idea for the staging in Decatur.”
It’s not a lie. Now that I’ve seen the art Jess creates, I’ve had the best idea in the world for the open house. And, I don’t want to waste another second.
Karla looks at me skeptically. “What is this big idea?”
“It’s a... surprise.”
“I hate surprises.” Karla purses her lips and sucks in a breath through her teeth. “How about if we go to your storage unit together later? I can help with staging, too.”
My thoughts race. “I’d prefer to go alone because, um… your outfit will get dirty?”
I know I’m a terrible person and a big fat fibber to boot, but I’m not dumb. At least, not dumb enough to tell Karla my real plan. Plus, if anything will give Karla reason for pause, it’s the thought of mucking up her designer clothes.
Karla dithers for a moment, stepping from one stiletto to the other as she assesses her white pantsuit. “Okay—”
“Okay, that’s settled then.” I force a bright, innocent smile.
Yup, terrible. But right now, I don’t care. I just want to get back to the yard. Back to Jess.
Karla’s face pinches in, but she doesn’t argue. She clatters off to her car in a bit of a huff, shooting me glances over her shoulder. I stride towards my truck and jingle the keys in my hand. But, the second Karla pulls out of her parking space, I double back on myself.
Go back in the house.
I can see Jess through the patio doors. She’s still in the backyard, standing a few feet back from her painting. She stares at it intently, like it’ll reveal all the secrets of the universe if she studies it hard enough.
And I can’t take my eyes off of her, causing a weird sort of Inception scenario, but with staring.
What’s going on behind those chocolate truffle eyes of hers?
It’s been almost a week since I took Jess to my house.
Almost a week since I came this close to kissing her by the pool and, effectively, ripping to shreds my vow to be nothing but friendly with her.
We’ve barely seen each other since—a combination of my busy work schedule, and the fact that I’ve been trying to put some distance between us.
I had to. Because I know that, next time, I won’t be able to control myself. Won’t have the strength to stop from claiming those beautiful lips.
So, instead, I channeled all of my self control into being the best friend I could be to Jess—which meant staying as far away from her as possible. Which is no easy feat when the person you’re trying to stay away from sleeps in the next bedroom.
But, my plan was working. Or, at least, I thought it was.
And then, I saw her in the yard today. Wearing that ridiculous bathing suit that looked like it was designed for the very, very elderly…
Not that it did anything to hide her incredible curves.
My only real complaint was that the monstrous garment covered way too much of her tan, freckled skin.
Her hair, hands and arms were streaked in a rainbow of paint, and when she turned to me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, a smudge of paint adorning her lower lip, all of my steely resolve fizzled away to nothing.
Poof! Gone.
Like I’d taken a Magic Eraser to it.
And now, all of a sudden, I have a new plan.
Well, calling it a “plan” is a bit of a stretch.
Basically, I’ve decided that I can’t stay away from Jess anymore.
Whatever this thing is between us, it’s worth whatever risk it may entail to find out.
Because when it comes to Jess, I’ve realized I’m pretty much powerless to restrain myself.
Which means that my careful, five step pasta program has been replaced with a single resolution: throw caution to the wind, and let the chips fall where they may.
I open the French doors and step onto the patio. “Jess?”
She snaps out of her statue-like state and whirls around.
“Conor?” A delicious smile flits on her lips and I’m an absolute goner. Remind me why I was trying to stay away from her again? Jess tilts her head. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes.” I nod. “You.”
Her eyes widen a touch, the liquid brown darker than usual, like fresh espresso. Her mouth is slightly open, and after a long moment, her eyelashes dip, fanning her cheeks as she averts her gaze downwards.
Warmth bubbles in my chest and my new game plan suddenly seems like a winner.
“What about Karla and the new listings?” Jess mumbles, but something that looks like hope creeps over her expression.
“Forget Karla.” I shake my head, wanting to keep the conversation on Jess. “What’s that painting for?”
“I was thinking of hanging it in the living room, in that bare spot above the couch,” Jess says quietly, wringing her hands in the frumpy fabric of that awful bathing suit.
“I wanted to thank Aiden for letting me stay here, and I didn’t exactly have the funds to get him something nice.
So...” She gestures lamely towards the painting, then chuckles dryly. “It’s stupid.”
“Your painting is way better than anything you could buy,” I say seriously, meaning every word.
Jess fiddles with the lid of a paint tube, chewing on her lower lip. I watch her hands, small and delicate, her fingertips twisting back and forth. I wonder what those fingers would feel like tangled in my hair, running down my arms…
I take a deep breath. “Jess, I have an idea. Can I show you?”
She pauses for a moment. Then, she nods.
* * *
Twenty-six minutes later (yes, I timed her again), I’m driving my truck to my storage unit with a freshly showered and paint-free Jess in the passenger seat.
The truck cab fills with the heady scent of citrus body wash and shampoo, mingled with her warm, damp skin—she smells so much better than any fancy perfume.
She wears jean shorts, flip flops and a black and white striped t-shirt, and her hair hangs loose and wet around her shoulders. She’s got her sexy, thick-rimmed glasses on again, and the whole look makes me want to drive somewhere private to park like we’re teenagers.
But, Jess deserves so much better than that.
We pull up at the storage facility, and she follows me to Brady Homes’ storage unit. I unlock the garage door and slide it open.
Jess lets out a squeak and I slide a sideways glance her way. She puts her hands to her cheeks in sheer delight as she peers inside.
“This is SO cool. Like that Storage Wars show!” She turns to me, all white, smiling teeth and sparkly eyes. Karla hates coming here—too dusty—and I’m enamored to see how much Jess digs it.
I laugh. “I bought a storage locker once, like you see on that show.”
“You did? ”
“Yeah, it looked like there were a couple of good couches in there. But, it turned out they were just hiding a marijuana grow-op. We had to turn the whole thing over to the police.”
Jess’s eyes are like saucers. “That’s wild! Better than anything I’ve seen happen on the show.”
“Not really… they wouldn’t even let me keep my new couches!”
Jess giggles as she bounds inside. She runs her index finger over the edge of a vintage mahogany vanity, then places a palm on a padded king headboard. “Where did you get all this stuff?”
“I’ve been collecting furniture for years. From garage sales, auctions, thrift shops, estate sales—you name it. Mia helps me, she loves this stuff”
It was one of my better ideas—one that’s not only been a ton of fun, but has saved me a fortune on staging over the years. And Mia has been invaluable when it comes to styling the old, cheap pieces to look good in my homes.
“So, what’s your idea?” Jess asks now.
I put a gentle hand on her soft shoulder, and turn her towards the right wall, where the art collection is gathered. And I say “art” with a serious pinch of salt.
“Look at these.” I gesture in the direction of the plastic-wrapped canvases. “Tell me what you think.”
Jess takes a few minutes to study the mish-mash of geometric line art, bowls of fruit, prints of nameless, generic beaches, and black and white cityscapes.
She pauses for a really long time, then eyes mine. “Umm…”
“Do you like them?” I push.
“Well, I… um, yes.”
“Liar,” I say quietly, and take a step towards her. Goosebumps pepper her skin as I move closer, and I enjoy every second of her discomfort.
“I, uh—”
“You don’t like them?” I repeat seriously.
Her eyes are wide and her mouth twitches open and closed.
She glances around, looking anywhere but at me.
Then, she appears to give in, shaking her head.
She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, making her stud earring flash as it catches the light.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a snob. It’s just… ”
I can’t hold my expression a moment longer, and I burst into laughter. Her mouth pops open and she punches my arm. Hard.
“You jerk!” She yells. Hits me again.
I circle my fingers around her delicate wrist, holding it between my thumb and index fingers to stop her attack.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I release my grip on her wrist and wrap my hand around hers instead. “I couldn't resist.”
“That was mean.” She pouts, but she keeps her hand in mine. It feels so perfect there, small and warm in my grip. I tighten my fingers a touch, and I’m rewarded with feeling her shiver.