19. Chapter Nineteen
Even though I was complaining about the job, it feels good to do something for money. And I haven’t stopped looking for a legit job either. This one is only temporary, and even if it wasn’t, twelve hours a week won’t cut it for long.
I met with Troy on Wednesday night, and we went over what he was looking for. I drew up some sketches with him and we planned everything out. Best part was him telling me he didn’t care what nights I worked, as long as it wasn’t on days they were closed and I was here before he locked up. Only thing he asked of me was to not exceed twelve hours a week because it’s all he can afford.
I bought all the supplies I needed Thursday afternoon, for which he reimbursed me, and I showed up Thursday night to start painting. Well, start outlining anyway. I don’t trust myself to paint freely, not on something so big. For my painting class in college, one of our finals was to do a six foot by four foot self-portrait in the style of another artist. It’s the biggest canvas I’d ever painted on, which is nothing compared to the walls in the tattoo studio. What is stopping me from panicking is that there are spaces blocked off with curtains for the different artists to set up, so at least all of my work won’t be done on a large scale, as he wants the smaller areas to have their own themes. One of them is music, and I’m excited about doing that one the most.
He’s paid me my first week under the table, because he said he doesn’t have anything set up for payroll yet but will handle that this weekend. I’m grateful for the $225 because I’m able to get both Mark and Mila a birthday gift with my own money for their party—which is tonight. My account is already bare bones.
The twins have always had the most interesting parties. Mark is wild and carefree, while Mila is a little uptight and organized. This means we have a raging party, with alcohol everywhere and loud music, that’s catered with fancy flowers and ironed tablecloths.
It’s… perfectly the twins.
After what Chris did the last time we were here, I’m surprised Mila can stand to look at him. She gives him a hug when we show up, and it breaks my heart. I feel bad for my friend. Both of them, honestly. Something is going on with Chris, and I don’t know what it is. I was hoping to talk to him about it, but we don’t have much time together. By the time he gets home, I’m getting ready to leave. That’s how it’s been all week, and tonight isn’t the time to bring it up.
The house is full of people, and I wonder how many of them they actually know. Does Mark invite anyone who wants to come because he’s in a band and doesn’t care, or does he know these people’s names?
“Happy birthday, Mila,” I say, giving her a hug and a kiss on the head. I hand her the glittery pink bag. She grins as she opens it, her eyes widening when she sees what’s inside. She pulls out the baby pink sherpa blanket and rubs it against her face.
“So sooooft! Oh my god, I love it, Bryson!” She hugs me, the blanket caught between us. It really is soft, which is why I knew she’d love it.
“Made me think of you instantly.”
“Thank you,” she says, giving me another squeeze before letting me go and putting it back into the bag.
I spot Mark across the living room, so head that way to hand him what I got him.
“Happy birthday, bro,” I tell him.
“Hey, thanks man,” he says, taking the bag. He opens it and pulls out a bottle of tequila. “Fuck yes! Let’s grab a shot.”
He gestures me over to one of the many tables covered in alcohol, grabs two plastic shot glasses, and fills them both before handing me one.
“To you,” I say.
“To me!”
The liquor burns going down, settling in my stomach harshly.
Fuck, I hate tequila.
“Thanks, Bryson. But if I see you without a drink in your hand again, there’s gonna be problems.” Mark points at me and walks away backward. I smile to myself as I pour myself a drink.
I’m taking a sip when I spot Tomas.
“It’s you,” I say with a smile when he reaches me.
“It’s me.” He smiles back.
“Sorry I ran off the other day. Drama.” I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, kinda figured.”
“You know about them?” I ask.
“Who doesn’t? Anyone who hangs around them for more than five minutes can see the tension there. Any idea why they won’t get together already?”
“Not a clue. It’s been like this ever since high school.”
“Maybe it’s just not meant to be.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“You hungry?” he questions.
“Starved, actually.”
“Food’s in the dining room.” He gestures for me to follow him, and we move out of the living room. Food in buffet trays over warmers line the counters. There’s at least thirty of them.
“This explains why all the alcohol is out there,” I comment.
We get into the line that’s already wrapped around the kitchen, grabbing a plastic plate and fork when we reach them. There is so much food, it’s unbelievable. Though I’m sure with all the people here, by the end of the night, these will all be empty. Or at least, close to it.
I pile my plate with rice, steak tips, shrimp, mashed potatoes, chicken parmesan, mac and cheese, and a biscuit. There was more I wanted to take, but my plate wasn’t big enough.
“Eat outside?” Tomas asks, and I nod.
We head outside, maneuvering through people, trying not to bump into anyone. My hands are full of food and my drink. My mouth is watering, and the last thing I want is to wait in that line again for more food because I spilled what I have.
Plastic tables and chairs fill up the backyard, all under large white tents with lights along the poles and inside to brighten it all up. We find empty seats at one toward the back, sit and eat.
“What do you do for work?” Tomas asks.
Ah, the million dollar question.
“Still looking.”
I don’t want to admit to people I’m painting walls for a living right now.
“What did you do in college?”
“BFA. Major in graphic design and minor in painting.”
He whistles. “You planning on starting your own business?”
“Doing freelance work until I can snag something with benefits, probably. How about you?”
“Bank Manager at the east side branch of Merits. I hated school, so college was a definite no for me.”
I huff out a laugh. “I can see why. It’s stressful as hell. You like being at the bank?”
“I don’t mind it. The hours are great. Pay is good. I don’t have to deal with customers directly, so that’s a bonus.”
I point at him with my fork. “Which is why I got into graphic design. I can sit behind a computer and do my thing.”
He nods. “Speaking my lang—”
“Wet t-shirt contest!” Mark’s voice rings through the air as he runs out of the house, causing everyone out here to look that way. He has a girl over his shoulder, ass in the air, and a line of guys running out after him, all with girls in the same position. People go wild. Hooting and hollering. Cackling and jumping up and down like money is falling from the sky. The girls get set down on the driveway by the garage, which is when I notice Chris is there too. He carried a redhead over. Definitely a different girl than he was fucking last week.
Mark goes for the hose and doesn”t hesitate to spray the girls. They jump up and down, grabbing their boobs and making them bounce. Seems none of them have bras on. And it’s not very warm tonight.
“Never understood the excitement over tits,” I comment, turning back to my food. If I hurry up and eat all this, I can sneak back in for more and avoid a line while everyone is out here being mesmerized by nipples.
Tomas huffs out a laugh. “Me either. They’re just… skin bags of fat.”
I laugh pretty hard at that. “I mean, it’s kinda cool they can feed babies and shit.”
“That is definitely cool. Imagine having a body part that could feed someone?”
“Honestly glad I don’t have that responsibility,” I admit.
“Same.”
The crowd outside grows as more people come to watch and more girls join. Eventually, some take all their clothes off, which is when Tomas and I make our way inside. We linger for a bit, chatting and having a few drinks and shots. At some point, a conga line starts with Mark in front and all the topless girls behind him.
“And that is my queue to go home,” I say, getting off the couch.
Tomas gets up too. “You need a ride?”
“Uh,” I scratch the back of my neck, wondering if it’s a good idea. I can’t tell what Tomas is expecting from me. If it’s just friendship or he’s hoping for more. It’s just a ride, though, and that’s pretty innocent. “Sure.”
We walk together outside, and Tomas leads the way to his car.
“Nice Benz,” I say, glancing at the shiny red Mercedes he stops in front of. “Job pays well, huh?”
He smirks. “My dad works at the dealership.”
We get into the car, and I tell him the address.
He frowns. “Isn’t that where Cole Harper lives?”
“Yeah, Chris’s dad. I’m staying with them. Why?”
“No reason,” he mutters.
Okay, that’s weird. There was definitely a reason he asked. The way he said Cole’s name was like it tasted bad. Also, why does he know the house as Cole’s and not Chris’s?
“Is it something with Chris?” I ask.
He shakes his head but says nothing.
Guess I’m letting that go. I don’t know Tomas well enough to get into it with him about my best friend or my best friend’s dad.
We pull up to the house, and he goes into the driveway, stopping behind Cole’s truck. The lights flickering inside tells me he’s downstairs watching TV. I wonder if he’s up, waiting to make sure Chris gets home okay.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say.
“No problem.”
I wait a beat to see if Tomas is going to say something else. His entire demeanor changed the moment he found out where I was staying. Maybe he hates Cole. Well, that’s fine. Cole has always had my back, so I’ll always have his. And that’s that. Tomas can fuck right off if he has an issue with either of the Harpers.
“Good night,” I say, getting out of the car. I stand up and have to steady myself. Whatever alcohol I drank before leaving must’ve settled in on the ride. I smile to myself as I walk to the front door, the headlights on the car reflecting off the house as Tomas backs out and turns down the street.
I stumble into the house, laughing to myself. Cole looks up from the couch, smirking.
“How was the party?”
“A straight man’s dream come true,” I say with false excitement.
He chuckles. “And that means what, exactly?”
I plop down on the couch beside him, resting my head back.
“Wet t-shirt contest.” I shiver dramatically.
He laughs harder. “Come on. Boobs aren’t that bad.”
“I don’t get the hype.”
“Asses are better,” he comments. I roll my head to look at him.
Fuck, he’s so hot. I chew on the inside of my lip as I openly stare.
“You didn’t drive, did you?” he asks.
“Don’t have a car to drive.”
He nods, turning his attention back to the TV. “Hopefully Chris won’t drive his car home.”
“I’ll kick his ass,” I mumble.
I close my eyes, listening to the sound of people chatting on the TV. They aren’t voices I recognize, so whatever he’s watching isn’t something I’ve seen before. Not surprising since watching TV isn’t my thing. The only thing I’ve watched over the last four years were whatever YouTube videos I looked up out of boredom.
I relax as I sit here, feeling Cole’s warmth beside me. He’s always so warm. And he smells so fucking good.
I open my eyes and look at him. His eyes are on the TV, a small smile on his lips.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“What’s up?” He turns to face me, that smile still on his lips.
“What were you going to tell me the other day?” He furrows his brows. “About my father.”
“I hoped you forgot about that.” He runs a hand through his hair, then scratches his jaw. “I shouldn’t have said anything about it.”
“Just tell me.”
He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“Your father and I have bad blood from when we were younger. Stupid stuff I don’t want to get into. But most recently, he blames me for you going to RISD.”
“What?” I bark out, sitting up and turning to face him. He nods. “That’s why he fired you?”
“Basically. Made sure to let the whole town know too. Couldn’t get work for a while because of it.”
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter to myself. Fuck him. I jump to my feet, pacing back and forth. “What is wrong with him? Why does he have to be like this?”
The anger and embarrassment rolling through me is enough to have me wanting to call that fucker and tell him off.
“See? I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” Cole says. “Now you’re all upset.”
“I’m not upset. I’m pissed. My dad is just—fuck, he’s an asshole! He’s done nothing but make my life miserable. Made sure I knew how much he hated me. That isn’t enough? He has to do it to you too? He—”
“Hey,” Cole says, grabbing my wrist. I stop and look at him, not realizing he’d gotten up.
“None of this is your fault, Bryson. None of it. You don’t make decisions for him. You don’t decide what he does. And there is not a fucking thing wrong with you for him to have a problem with.” His words are so adamant; his tone so strong it has my chest flooding with warmth. “I’m sure your father doesn’t hate you, Bryson. He’s just close-minded and doesn’t understand you. People are afraid of what they don’t understand. And when they’re afraid, they build up walls, and those walls are hard and cold and ruthless.”
Why is Cole so fucking nice to me? Why does he care so much?
It infuriates me. This isn’t his job. He shouldn’t be the one doing this!
Yet he is. He’s the one who’s always been there.
“Cole, I’m so sorry, I’m—”
Hell, I can’t even find the words to apologize. Nothing will make up for it.
He steps closer, his grip on my wrist tightening. The soft brush of his thumb across my skin grounds me, and my eyes flutter shut. Last time, I wasn’t sure he was doing it. This time? I’m certain. Such a simple touch, but it’s so soothing.
“It’s not your fault,” he reiterates, taking another step closer to me. “This is your life. You need to do what makes you happy. That’s all that matters.”
I open my eyes, meeting his.
What makes me happy…
I look away as my eyes go blurry. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
This is my fault. If I had just listened to my father and gone to Harvard like he wanted me to, this wouldn’t have happened. Because I doubt this is the only thing he’s done. It’s never a one and done with Bart Montgomery. If he did one thing to Cole, he’s done more. Or plans to. If I had done what my father said, Cole would be doing so much better than he is right now. I blink a few times and look around the house.
Is that why he had so much time to do this? He did all of this because he couldn’t find work. Because my father was out talking shit to the town about him?
It’s why he does all these things now to help his business. All these things that are so not him, like going to charities and bringing food to the homeless.
“Bryson?” I don’t turn my head, instead I take in everything in this room. The beautiful craftsmanship of the molding. The colors, the perfection in everything. Cole does amazing work. He always has. How dare my father try to drag his name through the mud?
“Bryson, look at me,” he demands, this time gripping my chin and making me look into his crystal blue eyes. “Listen to me, and listen to me good.” I blink, taking in every word he says. His voice is so sexy. His lips. That stare. The way his fingers sear my skin because he hasn’t let go. The way he smells. It’s all so fucking good. “Bart’s choices are his, just like yours are yours. You live your life how you want to, and fuck anyone who tells you otherwise.”
How I want to…
My heart skips a beat.
Cole’s gaze is so intense as he watches me, silently begging for me to believe him. He darts his tongue out to lick his lips, and I catch the movement, focusing on his lips. Those full lips. I stare for a moment too long before going back to his eyes. They’ve softened the smallest bit. I have no idea what comes over me, but I lean in and kiss him.
I kiss Cole Harper, right here in his house. In his living room.
One second, two seconds, three—what the fuck am I doing?
I pull away, stepping back and out of his grip. My stomach threatens to throw up everything I’ve eaten and drank tonight.
What the hell did I just do?
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Cole!” I back further away, shaking my head. “Goddamnit!”
He stares at me, dumbfounded.
“Shit, I—” I can’t find any words, so I turn on my heel and rush down the hallway. “Goddamnit!” I growl as I pound up the stairs. I’m seriously so fucking stupid.
Once I’m in my room, I close and lock the door, kick off my shoes and climb into bed, burying myself under the covers.
What the fuck is wrong with me? How could I do something like that?
I can’t cross lines like this! Not in his house!
Cole’s footsteps sound in the hall, and there’s a gentle knock on the door. I ignore it. He’s going to tell me to get out, and I can’t handle that right now. Not tonight. And not that I want to deal with it in the morning, but I’ll have to. Because no way in hell can I look him in the eye after I kissed him. What happened with us in Astoria is history. It can never happen again.
The more I do lately, the more I realize the shit my father says about me is the truth.