Chapter Twelve
I play Call of Duty while Liz paints her daughter in the upstairs bedroom.
There’s a west-facing window, so I guess the light is good.
I should have gone to tai chi class or the bar.
I should have found a friendly hookup to keep my mind from wandering into naked Everleigh territory.
So many should-haves, but here I am, killing characters on a screen and thinking about a specific painting.
“You missed out,” Liz says, descending the stairs.
Bang. My character dies, so I toss the controller aside.
“The lighting was perfect. In fact, I like the painting so much, I’m going to have it shipped home and display it in my gallery.”
“Everleigh is okay with that?” I ask, resting my elbows on my knees and glancing up at her as she washes her hands in the kitchen sink along with a few brushes.
“No, I’m not okay with it. No, she’s not shipping it home,” Everleigh says, coming down the stairs in a white kimono robe. “She’s just trying to get you on her side to convince me to say yes.”
“Sweetheart, you can’t see your face behind your hair. It’s an elegant painting. Stunning, really. If it sells, I’ll give you all the money from it. You can donate it to your favorite charity or whatever.”
Everleigh opens the back door. “Nope.” She slams it shut behind her.
“That girl,” Liz grumbles, ripping paper towels from the holder. “She’s stubborn. And she didn’t get that from me.” After setting the brushes on the paper towels, she shoves her feet into her white canvas shoes and opens the door. “I’m going for a walk.”
The door closes, and I drop my head into my hands.
Why did I think I needed a roommate? I lumber off the sofa and head upstairs.
Maybe it’s not too late to go to the bar.
It’s definitely not too late to hook up with someone.
As I pass Maren’s old room with its door slightly ajar, I cave to my curiosity and push it open a few more inches.
The canvas on the easel is facing away from me.
Shut the door and go to the bar.
My common sense has been honed from years of making mistakes. It’s earned a badge of honor. That was before Everleigh moved into my shed. Now, said common sense gets discarded to the floor, and I squash it with my foot on the way to the easel.
“Damn,” I whisper, gawking at the painting. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but it’s incredible. I grin, taking in her crossed legs and casual gaze over her shoulder out the window to hide her face.
Her curves and her breasts are just—
“Shall we hang it above your bed?”
I jump, attention shooting to Everleigh with her shoulder resting on the side of the doorway, hands in the pockets of her loose, white linen pants.
“I was just thinking what a relief it is that your pussy isn’t visible. They’re pretty ugly, don’t you think?” I spew the first nonsense that comes to mind.
Her eyes flare as she curls her lips between her teeth to hide her grin. “Hmm, yes. That’s a good observation.”
Despite the erection straining against my jeans, I continue to stare at the painting, thoughtfully rubbing my chin. “You know what I can’t help but wonder?”
“What’s that?” Everleigh’s ease with me staring at this painting is so damn sexy. Her confidence has come a long way.
“Where’s your tattoo?”
Her right eyebrow makes a slow ascent up her forehead. “My mom has been oversharing.”
“Nah. Oversharing would have been disclosing the location of the tattoo or what you got tattooed on your . . .”
She laughs. “On my body?”
I step around the easel and sit at the end of the bed.
“It’s stupid,” Everleigh says.
“I think that’s the point, right? If people overthought that stuff, no one would get a tattoo.”
“You have one on your tricep.” She points to her arm.
I nod. “It’s the date Maren’s brother died.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I shrug. “It’s been years. Where’s your tattoo?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Is it a cheap-ass kite from the shop near your dad’s place?”
A slow grin of recognition works its way up her face, and she shakes her head.
“Is it your IQ?”
“Stop.” She giggles. “No.”
“Is it the outline of New York? So you never forget where you came from?”
She shakes her head.
“A paintbrush?”
Another headshake.
“A brain?”
Again, she giggles.
“Tell me.”
“No. You’ll make fun of me.”
“Everleigh, I’m going to make fun of you no matter what.”
She narrows her eyes.
“How big is it?”
She purses her lips. “Three-quarters of an inch.”
“A penis? Scrotum?”
“Wilbur.” She sighs.
“Wilbur? Who’s Wilbur? And why get his name tattooed on your . . .”
“Body?”
“Inner thigh,” I say.
“Nice try. Wilbur is the pig in Charlotte’s Web.”
“You and your mom have matching pig tattoos?”
“Matching Wilbur tattoos. Not just a random pig.”
“What’s the significance?”
“I’ve read Charlotte’s Web more than any other book. In fact, it’s the only book I’ve reread. I related to Wilbur because I was a sensitive and lonely child. Emotional. Scared. But then I found my courage and bravery. And my mom said I was a loyal friend, even though I didn’t have many friends.”
A necessary voice in my head reminds me of the seventeen-year-old girl who let me think she was older. That voice keeps me grounded so I don’t think about doing anything stupid.
“Well, that was unexpected and lackluster,” I say, even though I think it’s pretty fucking cool. “I’m heading out. Good luck house shopping tomorrow.” I stand.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I’m going to drink a lot of beer. Don’t wait up. If things go as planned, I won’t be home until tomorrow morning.”
“Mind if I tag along? I don’t want to be here when my mom gets back. She’ll spend all night nagging me about the painting. And tomorrow is Friday, and I don’t work Fridays.”
“Everleigh, I don’t think a tagalong is a good idea when I’m planning on getting laid tonight.”
“How long will it take you? I’m planning on getting laid, too, but I’m taking your advice and just dropping my panties for some stranger in the bathroom.
Are you planning wine, chocolate-covered fruit, a canopy bed, and a lot of foreplay?
If so, just grab a ride home. I won’t drink, so I can drive us there.
This way, you won’t have to leave your Bronco at the bar. ”
Her delivery is worthy of an award. Is she really planning on getting laid? If she hasn’t had sex since being with me, then that seems unlikely. Was Liz lying about that? This woman and her mother are fucking with my head.
“So really, you’re just suggesting we ride to the bar together? Because I can’t have you hanging out with me if I’m trying to find someone else to be with for the night,” I say.
“Same. I’m just giving you a ride. I can’t have you messing with my game either.”
Does Everleigh Reichart have game? I rub my fingers across my lips to hide my grin. “Whatever. I’ll change my clothes and meet you at your car in ten minutes,” I say.
“Fifteen minutes. I need to put on some makeup, change into a dress and heels, and remove my underwear.” She spins on her toes and heads downstairs.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I grumble.
“I think my dress is too short to go without underwear,” Everleigh says, tugging on the skirt of her short, white, strapless dress before sliding into the driver’s seat.
Her deep-red lips, eyes painted smoky gray and brown, and subtle floral fragrance give me instant regret. I don’t want to leave the driveway with her, let alone go to the bar where I’ll have to watch her draw the attention of every other man there.
“Maybe you should wear underwear. You can always take it off later.” Words I never imagined coming out of my mouth.
“It’s fine.” She checks her lips in the rearview mirror before shifting into reverse. “I don’t want to waste any more time and risk my mom coming home and either talking me out of going or insisting we take her too.”
I stare at her toned legs, and when I shift my gaze to her face, she gives me a sideways glance and smirks. “Do you have condoms? I have some in my purse if you need one.”
“Do you always have condoms in your purse?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Do you have one?”
“Of course.” I stare out my window. “The speed limit is forty-five.”
“Thought you were a firefighter, not a cop,” she says, continuing to drive sixty in a forty-five. “And you told me to get a speeding ticket.”
“If a child runs into the street and you run them over, who will fix your mind when you want to slit your wrists?”
“Jesus, Will.” She brakes hard, and I grab the dash. “That’s pretty dark.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve seen some pretty dark situations. The fire department gets called for more than just fires.”
Dang! I sound old.
After a minute of silence and following the speed limit, she asks, “What have you seen that haunts you the most?”
“Can’t say.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not in my network, and I have it on good authority that you’re way out of my price range.”
“If I weren’t paid up on rent, we could barter.”
“Is that so? You’d get a place to live for thirty days, and I’d get what? Two or three hours of therapy?”
“And drugs. Don’t forget I’m an overpaid, overeducated drug dealer. But I don’t give you the actual drugs. I just write the prescription.” She pulls into a spot along the street, across from the bar. “So you’re good on condoms?” She unbuckles.
“I’m good.”
“Great.” She steps out of the car and locks it as soon as I shut my door. “Have a good night, Will.” She struts in front of me, her hips swaying with each step as she tugs at her dress to keep her perfectly shaped ass covered.
When she breezes past a group of guys standing at a tall, round table, drinking beer and watching the game on the TV, one of them cranes his neck to watch her, then he pulls his trucker hat lower on his head and mumbles, “Shit, that’s my shrink.
I’m not supposed to be at the bar this month.
” He ducks his head and bumps into me on his way out.
“Phil, where ya going?” one guy calls, but Phil doesn’t stop to respond.