16. Trinity
Trinity
“You’re right on time.” I pulled open the door to let Oliver in.
He handed over the six-pack of pale ale he’d brought along as he entered the space. “Looks like you’ve been busy today.”
I followed his gaze to where I’d stuck colorful squares of paper on one of the walls. “I finally got my to-do list done.”
“On the wall?”
“Yeah.” I led him toward the counter where I’d spread out the takeout. “Macy threatened to bring her giant whiteboard over, but I went with sticky notes instead.”
His stomach growled loud enough for me to hear as we approached the buffet of egg rolls, soup, and several different entrees.
“How hungry did you think I’d be tonight?” He ran his hand over his gut.
I glanced over, appreciating the firm abs I knew were underneath his shirt. “Are you watching your figure?”
He let out a sharp laugh. “Not exactly.”
Yeah, he didn’t have anything to worry about in that department. My fingers tingled as I recalled how it felt to run my hands over that particular part of his anatomy. “Whatever we don’t finish tonight, we can save for tomorrow.” I arched a brow in invitation.
“I thought we were taking this, whatever this is, one day at a time.”
I shrugged. “We’ll still be neighbors tomorrow.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He gestured toward one of the stools. “After you.”
As I sat down, I grabbed two beers from the cardboard carrier. “Did you get your work done today?”
“For the most part.” He took the bottles and popped the tops before handing one back to me. “What have you been up to? Smells like paint.”
“I’m working on a mural to hang over the counter.” I picked up an egg roll and set it down on my plate. “I can show you what I’ve done so far after dinner if you want.”
With his mouth full of food, all he could do was nod.
I grinned back at him. Spending time with Oliver was comfortable.
Maybe too comfortable. He made me want to let down my guard and consider letting someone in.
The only person I’d ever gotten very close to was Macy.
I had friends all over the world and enough acquaintances I could spend the rest of my life couch surfing and never stay with the same person twice.
But the number of people who really knew me, who I let into my inner circle, was close to zero.
Maybe things would be different if I hadn’t spent my life in the shadows of my siblings. As the baby of the family ,they coddled me, spoke for me, and didn’t expect too much of me. Until I got older. Then they couldn’t understand why I didn’t want the same type of success all of them chased after.
“You okay?” Oliver’s voice drew my attention back to him.
“Yeah, why?” I lifted a spoonful of miso soup to my lips.
“You looked like you were a million miles away.” He studied me, his gaze focused on mine.
I flushed under the intensity of his stare. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” He leaned against the back of his stool.
“Nothing important.”
“I’m a really good listener if you ever want to talk.”
Dabbing my lips with a napkin, I tried to hide my smile. “Oh yeah? Says who?”
He spread his arms out. “Everyone. It’s my hidden talent.”
“So you’ve just got the one?” I set the napkin back in my lap, giving up on trying to hide my amusement.
“Well, no. I mean, I’ve got plenty more hidden talents but that’s the thing, they’re hidden.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.
I cleared my throat. “So, ahem, how does one go about exposing these other hidden talents?”
His brown eyes darkened, going from caramel to a deep, dark chocolate. “You’ll have to uncover them one by one.”
“That’s good.” A laugh bubbled up and escaped.
“You like that, huh?” He winked.
I couldn’t remember the last time a guy actually winked at me. “Did you just wink at me? Because that’s a lame ass move.”
“No, I just got something in my eye.” He wiped at the inner corner of his winking eye. “Probably some dust floating in the air.”
“Right.” I finished the fried rice on my plate as he continued to rub at his eye, trying to remove whatever he claimed might have fallen in. “So you want to see the canvas I’m working on?”
“Sure.” He helped put away the rest of the food, stacking the takeout containers into a pyramid.
I gestured toward the stairs. “It’s up on the second floor. I didn’t want to risk getting paint all over down here.”
“Lead the way.” Oliver motioned for me to go ahead.
We cleared the last step, and I led him over to the area where I’d been working. A huge piece of canvas stretched across the space. I’d roughed in the name but still had to paint around the edges and add some texture and dimension to the letters.
“No limits. You went with my idea.” Oliver set his hands on his hips as he walked around the canvas.
“It’s perfect. I think it conveys the spirit of the artwork we’re promoting. There shouldn’t be any limits placed on creativity.”
“And you’re going to suspend this over the counter downstairs?”
I pointed to the edge of the canvas. “I need to install some grommets and then I think I’ll just hang it against the back wall for now.”
“I like it.”
“Really?” My heart skipped a beat as he nodded his approval. It shouldn’t matter to me a bit what he thought of me or my plans, but it did.
“Yeah, it’s cool. You’ve got talent.”
“I’m sure I don’t have nearly as many hidden talents as you.” I batted my eyelashes at him in an overtly cheesy move. “You came up with a name for my business. That’s another one.”
He lowered his chin and shook his head. “I’m never going to live down the hidden talent comment, am I?”
“I hope not. Come on, you want to help me paint?” Before he could respond, I dropped to my knees and popped open a can of the paint I’d been using earlier. “You can use one of those aprons over there, so you don’t get paint on your shirt.”
“Or I could just take it off.” He whipped his shirt over his head and tossed it toward the edge of the room. “I’d rather wear nothing than put on one of your aprons.”
I sucked in a breath as my gaze ran over the expanse of his exposed chest. Immediately, flashes of the night before flipped through my mind. My pulse thundered, but I tried to act unaffected. “Whatever floats your boat.”
“What do you want me to work on?” He took the paintbrush I offered and kicked off his shoes before he knelt down across from me. “I want you to know I have absolutely no experience wielding a paintbrush.”
“None?” I glanced up, surprised. “Haven’t you ever painted a room?”
Oliver shook his head. “Nope.”
“Kindergarten? Did you have watercolors in school?”
He sat back on his heels. “Not that I remember.”
“That’s awful. Fingerpaints in the bathtub?” My cheeks tingled as I finished asking the question. Talking about bathtubs with Oliver wasn’t the way to go. Not when I could still feel his hands sliding over my skin.
“Is that an offer?”
“I thought we were going to focus on just being neighbors.” I dared a glance over at him.
He grinned back, clearly enjoying the way the conversation had detoured into uncomfortable territory. “Good neighbors. I want you to know that if you need someone to wash your back, like a spot you can’t reach yourself, I’m just a building away.”
Heat pulsed between my legs at the thought of Oliver soaping up my backside.
“That’s not necessary. I’m pretty flexible, and I’m sure I can do it myself.
” What had gotten into him? After our awkward run-in earlier, it seemed like we’d worked out how to handle the heat that flared between us.
By ignoring it, not adding fuel to the flames with loaded comments and double entendres.
“Flexible, huh? Is that one of your hidden talents?”
My gaze shot to his face, to the cocky smile spreading across his lips. “I never said I had any hidden talents.”
“Yeah, well you never said you didn’t.” He arched a brow, almost like an invitation. To what, I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
I bit my bottom lip to keep from firing a one-liner back at him. Then dipped my brush into the paint can. Oliver could try to engage me in his witty brand of foreplay, but that didn’t mean I needed to partake.
“Give me your brush.” I reached out and took the paintbrush from his hand. After I dipped it into the can and wiped the extra paint on the rim, I passed it back to him. “Why don’t you just work around the edges. Make a border or something.”
“Want to demonstrate what you have in mind?” He held the brush just over the canvas.
I cringed as paint dripped from the tip of his brush onto the edge. “Careful, you’re getting paint everywhere.”
He glanced down and ran a finger over the drip. All that did was spread it out. “Do you have a rag or something I can wipe this on?”
I tossed him a roll of paper towels. “Careful, now you’ve got some over there.”
Oliver shoved the paintbrush between his teeth to free up his hands and pull a couple of paper towels off the roll.
“Give that to me.” I stepped across the canvas to take the paintbrush back. As I reached for it, he let it go. It tumbled past my hand, leaving a trail of paint down my shirt before landing in the middle of the canvas, right on top of the first “I” in “limits.”
His eyes widened as he let out a laugh. “I’m so sorry.”
I glanced down at the splotches of blue paint dotting the front of my shirt, then back up at the humor in his eyes.
All I wanted to do in that moment was wipe that smile off his face.
I reached down, dipping my hand into the can of paint and before Oliver could move, I placed my palm in the center of his chest. My arm tingled at the contact.
The man might infuriate me but there was no denying the magnetic pull I felt around him.
His hand clamped around my wrist. “Is that all you got?”
I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t. Something in his tone, or maybe the heat flaring in his eyes, made me stop. “You said you never fingerpainted.”
“And you think now’s a good time to start?”
Shrugging, I reached down to dip my other hand in the can of paint. “No time like the present.”
He waited until I brought my hand up, intent on putting another blue handprint on his chest. As I smiled, proud of my work, he reached around me and dragged me up against him. Paint oozed through my shirt, dampening my skin.
“Oh, that’s not fair. You just got paint all over my shirt.” I half-heartedly tried to duck out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t have it.
“I think you’ve just proven that you’re not going to play fair.” Oliver pulled me tighter against him until he’d spread most of the paint from his chest onto my shirt. “You know, you could always take it off.”