31. Chapter Twenty-Four #2
A single shake of his head. “You don’t understand.
” He stares up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath.
“Because it’s not with you, Andrea,” he says with an exhale, dropping his eyes back to mine.
“It’s not hard with you. You peel back the layers surrounding my heart without even trying.
I want to be honest with you and I need you to understand me.
For some reason more than anything, I need that. ”
“Okay, then.” Steeling myself, I step closer, this time reaching for his hand, the bruising there making my eyes fill with tears. I brush my thumb softly over his knuckles. “Tell me why you reacted that way.”
“Because I was only thirteen,” he croaks.
I nod, a tear escaping down my cheek. “I understand,” I rasp, squeezing his hand so hard it has to be cutting off circulation, but his face doesn’t depict any pain—only a gentle relief.
He wipes my tears away and then keeps his hand on my cheek. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
“But you told me.”
He dips his chin, eyes darting slowly between mine. “I told you.”
My lungs feel as if they’ve shrunk. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” I choke out. “And I’m sorry that night reminded you of it.”
“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “Don’t apologize for something you had no control over.” Something dark flashes across his eyes. “The anger I felt at seeing you like that—” His words come to a stop as he pinches his eyes shut.
“You don’t have to do that,” I interject. “You don’t have to hide your anger from me. I’m not afraid of it.”
His jaw clenches. “Seeing you like that made me murderous, Andrea. Scum like that don’t deserve to breathe .”
“No, they don’t,” I agree with finality, “but people like us do. ”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is,” I state. “ Fuck them. Fuck everyone who ever hurt us. Fuck. Them. All.”
A small smile cracks through his scowl. Good . “I hate to say it, but I think you’re really good for me. I don’t think anyone’s ever distracted me from my sorrows quite like you do.” His words carry a light amusement.
“I’m going to accept that badge with honor. Shall I put myself on speed dial in your phone?” I ask, smiling. “You call and I’m there.”
“Who says you’re not already?”
Oh, what a cheeky—wait, this feels like he’s flirting with me. And the way he’s looking at me? God . My skin heats, and my sweater is suddenly suffocating. “Am I?”
“Maybe,” he says, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down my spine.
I swallow, feeling the room shrink around me. “If I took your phone and checked?”
He leans forward, close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne. “Don’t be surprised if you find yourself as number one.”
“So, does having this honor mean I’m a distraction?”
“The best kind.”
The air crackles with tension like there’s a quiet charge in our followed silence. It’s like the world is fading, leaving us and whatever is shifting between us. Then, something flickers in his eyes, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to close the distance between us.
I’m disappointed when he doesn’t.
Instead, he tells me, “Don’t flirt back unless you’re prepared to rip up that stupid contract.”
What I want to say is fuck the contract , but what comes out is, “If you don’t flirt with me first, I won’t feel inclined to do it back. And the contract isn’t stupid, you just suck at following rules.”
“I am an excellent rule follower,” he defends.
“If that were true, you wouldn’t flirt with me.”
“A man can make mistakes.”
“Mistakes happen once and usually the person is sorry for it. Are you sorry?”
He chuckles. “No, I’m not.”
I sigh but I’m certain I fail to hide the smile on my face. I try to think of how to redirect the conversation before I do something really stupid like actually rip up the contract.
Julian beats me to it. “I want you to try something with me.” My eyes follow him across the room as he tugs his jacket off his shoulders. He tosses it over the back of a stool before glancing over at me, zeroing in on my sweater. “Do you like that sweater?”
I laugh awkwardly. “Uh, yes?”
He chuckles at whatever he sees on my face. “Relax. I’m only wondering if you’ll mind getting paint on your clothes.” Bending down, he reaches into a drawer and retrieves a plain white T-shirt. “Do not fret, ma cerise. I’m always prepared.”
I catch it clumsily when he tosses it to me, pulling another laugh from him as he loosens his tie. I narrow my eyes. “Will we be using colors?”
Placing the tie neatly on his coat, he says, “We’ll use whatever colors you want.”
He turns around and begins to roll up his sleeves and I realize he’s trying to give me some privacy.
I quickly pull off my sweater and replace it with his shirt.
I walk over to where he stands and set my sweater on top of his things.
I kick off my boots too since they’re my favorite—and also, they may or may not belong to Maisie.
When he turns around, our eyes connect. Somehow, he manages to softly caress my skin as he scans my body. “Perfect,” he states before walking over to the tall cabinets and opening them to reveal white buckets of paint. When I try to lift one, he shoos me away. “I got it.”
“What are you doing?” I ask, curiously watching him as he walks them over to a humongous canvas that leans against the wall. It sits atop a sheet of plastic that protects the floor and wall.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, not the least bit winded from lifting the heavy paint.
“Yes.” The word is out of my mouth before I even have to think about it.
“Good.” His grin does something to my insides as he removes the lids from the buckets and scoots them about ten feet away from the canvas. He glances at me over his shoulder. “You should probably lose the pants too.”
“Excuse me?” I sputter, enticing his grin to deepen into a full-blown smile.
“It was a joke,” he states with a chuckle. “You know. . .the things you’re supposed to laugh at.”
“Wow, I’m impressed,” I retort, repressing my laughter.
“I’m in a good mood,” he surmises, walking gracefully over to me. “I want to show you my world, Andrea.”
He takes my hand gently in his and my skin lights on fire. “I want to see it.”
We stop in front of the paints as he says, “Ever since I was a teenager, art was the only thing I could turn to no matter what I was feeling. I’ve never been the best at verbally explaining what’s going on inside my head, but this outlet has allowed me to externalize something in a way that makes it real and not just something I have to experience alone.
” Releasing my hand, he bends down, scooping up red paint into his palm.
“For the first time in a long time, not everything in my head is black and white and I want to remember that feeling.”
He launches the paint at the canvas, causing it to splatter. He turns to me, his eyes bright. “I want to remember the feeling that Andrea Sommers gave me when she became my friend.”
“Julian,” I start, shaking my head in wonder at his admittance. He says he can’t speak of how he feels, but he does. I don’t think he grasps how great he truly is. It’s why I tell him, “You matter to me, too.”
Bending down, I go for the purple paint. Once my hand is soaked in it, I stand and throw it at the canvas, the color landing next to his. When I look over at Julian, his smile is vibrant.
“We just need one more thing,” he says, walking over to the stereo where an iPod is plugged in. He taps a button, and soft music plays through the speaker. He turns it up, the sound pouring into me and this moment.
We start slow, both of us taking turns, but it quickly becomes a contest of who can throw the most paint. Colors are flying through the air. Music and laughter charges the space between us. I’ve nearly forgotten what it’s like to let go of everything and just exist .
Julian Havord may appear as a serious soul to anyone else, but I see him differently. I see a boy who had to grow up too fast—a boy who never gave up even when he wanted to. I don’t know if it was fate that brought him into my life or me into his, but I’m thankful, nonetheless.
It’s a funny thing to have somehow found something you didn’t know you were searching for .
I’m throwing a handful of blue paint when I feel something cool splash against the back of my neck. With a stunned gasp, I freeze, looking over to find Julian grinning boyishly, his shirt splattered in every color. There’s a dare in his eyes and I accept it with enthusiasm.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I warn, narrowing my eyes playfully.
At the same time, we both charge for the paint, scooping it up with both hands and launching it at each other. Every attempt to dodge each other is a failure. Every. Single. One.
Ten minutes in and we’re panting and drenched in paint. His shirt sticks to his skin, outlining his sculpted torso. The paint in his hair makes him look both adorable and sexy. “You know, I dig this look on you,” I tell him.
His eyes trail down my body, his smile slowly fading as they land on my stomach. I glance down, seeing that my shirt is sticking to me and has ridden up, revealing the skin there. I don’t move to pull it down, instead, I use it as a distraction.
I reach for the bucket with yellow paint. When I move to dump the liquid onto him, I realize I underestimated how slippery the paint is and fall flat on my back, the air whooshing out of me. “Ow,” I breathe.
“Oh, shit.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rush toward me. He almost reaches me before falling victim to the paint too. He lands on his shoulder next to me with a groan. “Goddammit.”
I burst into laughter, the sound pouring out from somewhere deep inside of me. It’s the kind you can’t control and doesn’t seem to have an end. He watches me for a moment with a goofy smile on his face before joining in.
When the song, “Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls starts to play, our laughter slowly fades.
We both stare at each other from where we lay on our backs, neither of us moving to get up. “I like being here with you,” I say softly.
“The gallery?” he asks, his eyes switching between mine.
I push past the lump in my throat. “Anywhere in this universe if I’m being honest.”
His shoulders tense and the confusion at my statement makes me want to wrap my arms around him. “You like spending time with me?”
“I’m as surprised as you are,” I say with a sigh. “Turns out you’re great company.”
The corners of his mouth lift slightly, but the crinkle between his brows remains. “I like spending time with you, too.”
“Who doesn’t?” I joke. “I’m a freakin’ blast.”
He chuckles. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late, I can already feel my head expanding. The Julian Havord admitted he likes spending time with me.”
His eyes shine with amusement. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Would you rather I be full of you—” I slap my hand over my mouth, my eyes wide in horror.
“Andrea!” Julian yells in a fit of laughter.
I quickly move to cover his mouth, leaning over him, our eyes connecting. “Don’t you dare say anything.” His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smirks. “Before you say it, I was not flirting with you.” He rolls his eyes and I narrow mine as I slowly slide my hand away. “Say it,” I demand.
With a huff, he says, “You weren’t flirting with me.” A thought must cross his mind because he’s fighting a smile.
“What?”
“You have a very dirty mind. Do tell me other things in that imagination of yours.”
I groan, falling onto my back again and covering my face. As much as I want to be annoyed with his laughter, I can’t because I enjoy the sound of it too much.
That night after we’d both gone to our rooms for bed, I was brushing my teeth when a note slid under the door. Walking over, I picked it up, tracing my fingers over his words as I read them.
I laugh, hugging the note to my chest and the thing that skips a beat inside it.
The next morning, I write back.
I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth when I hear him choke on his coffee. Not five minutes later, I hear his shower running.