Chapter 5
five
Some days I wish I could forget all the times Everett has ever shown me the other sides of him.
To the outside world, he is a mystery. I think he likes it that way.
The persona of a smooth talking playboy is the one he shows everyone else.
Unfortunately, I've seen behind his mask. I’ve seen how kind and caring he can be.
After my attack, the lengths he went to just to make sure I was comfortable and taken care of shocked me.
I wish I could continue to see him as a player and nothing more, but I just can’t.
The way he came to my rescue last week after Malcolm started acting like a creep was probably nothing but a fun game to him.
But Malcolm hasn’t tried to hit on me since that day, so I’m grateful.
I won’t tell him how great it felt when he pulled me to his side and pressed his lips to my head.
I won’t tell him how much I wish he would have taken me back home and ravished my body until we were both so worn out we couldn’t move.
And I definitely won’t tell him I think I’m in love with him.
I’m not sure how long I can continue living under the same roof, my heart longing to be intertwined with his, but remaining hundreds of miles apart. No, I won’t tell him any of that.
Next to Ember, Everett has become my best friend.
After my attack, he saw me at my absolute worst, but still he persisted.
He made sure the nurses were changing my bandages every two hours without fail.
He still makes sure I go to physical therapy to help strengthen my core muscles again.
He annoyingly tells me almost every day that I need to take some kind of self-defense class, or at least let him teach me a few things, but I'm not interested.
The situation with Justin was a freak occurrence.
I’ve never chosen to believe that we live in a frightening world, even though I know there are evils out there.
After growing up with a dad who was both a city councilman and a mean drunk, I'm not ignorant of how terribly people can act towards each other.
Hell, most of the terrible behavior I witnessed came from my own parents.
As the only daughter of one of Alabama’s oldest and wealthiest families, my mother was brought up as the perfect southern belle.
She spent her days organizing charity functions and volunteering at my school as often as possible when I was a kid.
Anything she could do to show the outside world that we were the perfect family.
As soon as the sun set on the Sawyer house, she showed her true self.
Between flirting with every boyfriend I ever brought home and telling me I was pretty, but I could always be prettier, I’d had enough ‘maternal advice’ to last me a lifetime. My family was fake, all for show.
As soon as I could, I walked out those doors without looking back.
I can count on two fingers the number of times my parents visited me while I was in college.
But if I’m being honest, I preferred it that way.
I didn’t want them around to taint the life I was building there.
The day I told my mother I left the sorority house was the last time either of my parents asked about my college life.
I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, putting the final touches on my makeup before work.
Overall, I’ve enjoyed working at Revamp.
Malcolm is a sleaze, but Maggie is really great and I love being the first to check out any new inventory that comes in before we have to put it out for customers.
Becca, the owner of the shop, is probably in her early sixties, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her.
She has beautiful olive skin, blue ombre colored hair that she keeps cut in a pixie style, and perpetually looks like she’s stuck in the 90s grunge era of fashion.
I love her weekly visits to check in on us and ask our opinions.
I’ve always loved fashion, and it’s nice to have a creative outlet to spread my wings, so to speak.
As I slip on my dark skinny jeans and checkered vans, I hear Everett’s voice filtering through my bedroom door.
He’s screaming at the tv in the living room and I already know he’s watching baseball highlights from last night’s game.
The man has a lot of vices, that’s for sure.
I think he’d probably die without baseball, cigarettes, and ink.
I come downstairs and see him sitting on the couch, watching last night’s game and sketching a very intricate design that is going to make a beautiful tattoo.
I take a second to just watch him work, his powerful hands moving effortlessly across the page, bringing the design to life.
It’s an intricate mandala, the sharp lines and delicate details popping off the page already.
It’s absolutely gorgeous and I find myself feeling envious of the person who will bear that design.
Seeing inside his creative process is like looking behind the scenes at a masterpiece in the making.
He’s laser focused on his work, the determination to complete an amazing sketch written all over his face.
I don’t know why he seems worried, though. His clients are never disappointed.
“That is beautiful,” I say, breaking the silence and his concentration. He turns to look at me over his shoulder and I see something pass through his features. Wishful thinking would have me believe it was desire, but I know better. It’s most likely irritation for interrupting him.
“Thanks. I’ve been struggling with it. I feel like it needs… more. I just can’t figure out what.” He chews on the end of his pencil, a habit I’ve learned he does when he’s feeling unsure.
“Well, I’m no artist, but I think it looks perfect.
Maybe ask the client? See if they have any input.
” I twist my dark hair into a messy chignon at the base of my neck and toss my keys and wallet into my purse.
When I came home from work last week, my tires had all been replaced.
It was both a relief and a shock all at once.
I know I don’t have the money to repay him for that, but I will.
He’s been insistent that he got a good deal and doesn’t need repayment, but I know better.
Everett Blake is an incredibly generous person, even though he puts on a hardass exterior.
“That would be easy if I had a client for it,” he scoffs. “Nobody is waiting for this one. It just came to me and I had to put it down on paper. But now that I have, it’s just… I don’t know, missing something.”
Walking across the room to get a better look, I lean over the back of the couch behind him.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I heard his breath pick up pace at my closeness, but I’m sure I didn’t.
“Well, like I said, I know nothing about art. But if it was me, I’d say you should rethink the sharp outer circle.
It’s so beautiful and complex on the inside, a perfect bohemian looking mandala.
I feel like the edges should be a little more creative, like flower petals or something.
” I feel the heat radiating off of his body and it sends a shiver through mine.
“Hm. Maybe.” His answer is short and nonchalant, but I can tell he’s really considering my suggestion. “You off to work?” Everett asks, changing the subject.
“Yep. Off to spend all day with Malcolm the maggot.” I laugh at the nickname Rory gave him after I told her about my first day.
“He still giving you a hard time?” Ev turns to face me, his hazel eyes flaring with irritation.
“Not since your knight in shining armor act on my first day. Now he acts like I’m a slave. I’m sure because he’s realized I’m not gonna sleep with him.” I roll my eyes and head towards the door.
“Do I need to have another chat with him?” He asks.
“No, he’s harmless. A sleaze, but harmless.” I reassure him, but it doesn’t seem to convince him.
“You’ll let me know if I need to step in, Kels? I’m serious. You don’t deserve to be treated like shit.” His concern is touching and genuine. I just wish it were more than just friendly protectiveness.
“Yeah, I would tell you, Ev. It’s fine, really.
I’ve dealt with far worse,” I mean for my comment to be lighthearted and joking, but the fire in Everett’s eyes burns hotter.
Almost as if his angry for any injustice ever done to me in my past. I have to look away before I read too much into that look.
“Just be careful. Your car holding up better?” He changes the subject, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
“Oh yeah, definitely. Thank you again for the tires, Ev. I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.” He waves off my comment, turning to focus back on his drawing.
“Have a good day, Kels. See you later,” he says dismissively.
I wish his mood and intentions were easier to read, but unfortunately, Everett lets very few people know what he’s really thinking.
I try not to read too much into his need to take care of things for me, but it’s hard.
Would a friend really replace all four of your tires just because they knew you needed it?
Would a friend make sure your car got detailed, and I suspect an oil change since my gas milage has improved over the last week and I know I drive like shit?
I choose to ignore the confusion that plagues my mind any time Everett is around.
Instead, I climb into my car and head to work.