Was it wrong I felt disappointed and relieved? I could think of nothing better than being naked, covered in paint, Indie’s hips in my hands, her hair dipped in blue, painting my chest as she straddled my waist. Blood pumped through my swollen veins as the image unfolded in front of me like the roll of canvas we were about to paint. But I’d said Indie wasn’t just another stranger and I fucking meant it. I wouldn’t use her. If I ever had the chance to be with her like that, it would mean more than getting off, than fulfilling some insecurity inside myself.
“Naked finger painting…” I teased. “Let’s save that for date number three.”
Laughing, she kneeled down and pushed the canvas, unrolling it over the floor. “If you make it to date three.”
Her face was flushed as she looked at me from under her long lashes, her lips full from my kisses. There was no doubt I’d get a date three. But I played along.
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Turned out being on my best behavior proved more difficult than I’d imagined. Watching Indie focused, stripped out of her sweater, down to just a tank top and jeans, not giving a fuck that she’d ruined her clothes as she spread paint across the canvas with the bare palms of her hands, was sexier than anything I could have conjured up. She’d slipped a few times, laughing as she fell onto her living work of art, leaving behind little imprints of herself. Blue paint curved under her breasts—dripped down her arms—etched the perfect lines of her ass. She’d pulled her hair back before she’d started, but the pale wisps of blonde that had escaped were sticky with color.
She’d talked me out of my shirt and shoes, and I was busy leaving my footprints along the right side of the canvas, when I noticed her stealing glances at my bare chest.
“What? Do I have paint on my face?”
“No.” She shook her head and stood.
Dollops of paint fell from her fingertips as she moved. Pressing the palm of her hand to my chest, she said, “I wanted to touch you.”
Indie was shy, but brave in ways most girls weren’t. Most girls played games. Wanting you to figure out what they were thinking. Indie said what she wanted. Asked for it, hell, even took it. It was unnerving and perfect.
“Yeah?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
I ended up sounding as raw as I felt.
“Dying to,” she said, repeating what I’d admitted to her last night.
Could she feel how fast my heart beat under her palm?
She brushed her fingers over my chest, up to my neck, and framed my face. Lifting onto her toes, she let her lips slowly drag along mine. I didn’t kiss her back, leaving my arms at my sides, wondering what she would do next. An involuntary moan sounded in my throat as she sucked on my bottom lip. I gripped her waist, unable to resist, and pulled her lip through my teeth. Her fingers were wet with paint as she trailed them over my jaw. She shivered as my right hand slipped under her tank top, resting along the silk line of her hip; I pulled her against me, knowing she’d feel how hard I was. How much I wanted her.
She broke our kiss with a breathless gasp, a quiet smile playing at the corners of her mouth, she said, “I might’ve gotten a little paint right here…” She wiped her thumb over my cheek.
“Worth it.”
Indie took a step back, pulling the same lip I’d bitten between her teeth.
“I told you this would be fun.”
I looked down at her handprint on my chest, and I had to agree she had a point. She smiled and handed me a fresh bucket of paint.
“This stuff is never coming off, you know. You’ll have paint in your hair for weeks.”
Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Worth it.”
I told myself it was the challenge I’d heard in her voice as she repeated my words. Or perhaps, I had more selfish motivations. But as I watched her kneel down in front of me onto the canvas, I couldn’t help myself.
“Hey, O’Connell…”
She lifted her head and her eyes widened as I dipped my hand into the same bucket of paint she’d given me. Tilting it to the side, I scooped out as much paint as I could and threw it toward her, watching as it covered her shoulder and splashed onto the canvas, the color bursting out in stuttered images. She ducked and laughed, and to my surprise, fought back. Indie stood, grabbing the rag she’d used earlier, sodden with blue paint, and aimed for my face.
“You throw like a girl.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You did not just say that.”
“You’re cute when you’re mad.”
She picked up her bucket, ready for war. “Ready to get messy?”
I grinned. “Hell yes.”
Kai
Picking a flake of paint from underneath my nail, I smiled.
“I think that’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from you.” Brian swiveled his chair back and forth. The pen in his hand a drum on his khaki-clad knee.
“Don’t get used to it.”
His eyes fell to my hand. “You’ve been painting?”
I sat up and leaned my elbows on my knees. Brian sat up in response. This was my favorite thing to do during our sessions. He always tried to make me feel as if we were on equal ground physically by either mirroring my posture or getting down on my level. I didn’t know if that was a him thing or a therapy thing, but I noticed it all the same and purposely changed my position often to test my theory. I called it the posture game. Not very original, but it worked.
“I started my Teaching Assistant job last week,” I explained. “I’m working mostly in the drawing classes. But I’ve found a new respect for painting. I’m at the studio almost every night.”
I didn’t mention that the hot blonde I was dating was more incentive than the actual act of painting, but what he didn’t know was none of his business.
“And you haven’t had a drink?” he asked, leaning forward.
I sat back, waiting for him to mimic my movement, when he did, I gave him a truth. “I had a beer a few weeks ago, but I haven’t had a drink since.”
“And you mentioned your shoulder wasn’t bothering you anymore?” He cleared his throat, picking invisible lint from another one of his boring sweaters.
I had some pain every now and then. But nothing like it had been at the beginning of the semester. Last week, Brian had mentioned that stress can manifest as pain, and it made sense. Since I’d changed my major, and started working with Professor Hintz, I felt more like myself. I stopped giving a shit about what or who my dad was doing. I couldn’t stop him from being an asshole. But I could be there for my mom when he was. I could still be me, but with more breathing room. Indie taught me that. She lived every day with a negative voice in her head telling her to give up, but she fought it. She made me want to fight, too. Fight for myself.
“Did you ever talk to your dad like I told you to do?”
“No.”
Brian zeroed in. “Why not?”
“I tried and he didn’t want to talk.”
“Try again.”
I crossed my arms, and he leaned back, his arms open at his side, jacking up the posture game.
“Kai… he’s the root.”
“I know.” I exhaled, but kept my arms crossed and my jaw clenched.
Brian eyed my crossed arms, read my closed-for-business attitude, and swiveled in his chair again. His laid-back approach would’ve been almost artful if I hadn’t seen right through it. “This friend of yours. The girl who helped you with your portfolio. You’ve mentioned her a few times.”
“Indie.” Her name lifted the anger from my shoulders. The beat of my heart slowed, and I swear I could smell lavender. She’d completely infiltrated my head.
“Tell me about her.” Tap, tap, tap, his pen bounced on his knee, his smile widening as he watched me relax.
“She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s a cool chick.”
“You like her?” I shrugged. “Your entire mood shifted just now when I mentioned her.”
I nodded my head, debating on what to s
ay, if I wanted to say anything at all, if I wanted his advice. “She’s a cool chick.”
His chuckle made my lips twitch, and I fought my own smile as he spoke. “You said that already.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Relationships usually are.”
I sighed, staring at him. His smile reached his eyes. He thought he’d won. Maybe he had.
“We’re dating,” I said.
“That doesn’t sound too complicated.”
It didn’t. Not on the surface. I wonder what he would say if I told him we hid in the studio every night painting, making out like kids, or how we haven’t been on another date since the day we went to Rockport because our options of where to go were limited because we’re afraid her brother might freak if he found out. Royal knew I hung out at the studio almost every night. He knew Indie had been helping me with my portfolio for Professor Hintz, but he took my relationship with his sister at face value. To him I was like Dev or Corbin. A guy on the team who had befriended his sister. Nothing more. And if he did find out about us? I’d never know if he was pissed because we lied about it or because it was me she was with—the jock who’d told him he got laid almost three times a week when we first met. Camden, though, I never missed his curious stares, or his knowing smile. He was insightful as hell for a guy in his first-ever relationship.
It was complicated as fuck keeping my hands off her during breakfast, and on rare occasions, lunch. I usually had to leave. The urge to hold her hand, kiss her cheek, her mouth, bury my nose in her hair, which, thank God, she wore up because I didn’t think I could resist if it was down, would start to wear on me. I wanted to pull her chair closer to mine every time Corbin told her a joke and made her laugh, or when Dev smiled at her. Most days I had to excuse myself and eat in the library. Royal didn’t care or notice. It was my M.O. Indie noticed, and I hated watching her smile fade every time I left, hated that she couldn’t get up and leave with me.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Brian’s pen was paused midair above his knee. “You’re tense again. What happened?”
The tension roped itself around the muscles of my shoulders. I had no one to talk to about this, and maybe telling Brian could help. But I had a feeling he’d tell me exactly what I didn’t want to hear. Tell me what I knew was right, but wasn’t ready to admit to anyone other than myself. Indie had said telling Royal wasn’t an option yet. Everything was new, and spending time with her, just kissing, painting, falling asleep with my hand on the warm curve of her hip, I’d give up beer forever to keep everything the way it was. I wasn’t ready to lose this fucking feeling in my chest. I wasn’t ready to let her go.
“Like I said, she’s my best friend’s sister. His twin sister. The guy I almost got expelled for.”
Brian’s brows stitched together. “He doesn’t approve of you guys dating?”
“He doesn’t know.”
Understanding dawned over his features. “That is complicated. Why not tell him?”
“He’s protective of her. In his mind, when it comes to his friends, his teammates, she’s off limits.”
“Your actions in December protected him… his boyfriend. He knows you, knows you have his best interests at heart. You’re his best friend.”
“That’s the problem. He knows me. He watched the carousel of girls leaving my dorm last semester and knows that I struggle with drinking. I’m not worthy of the ground that chick walks on.”
“In his eyes or yours?”
I didn’t answer.
“You’re assuming a lot. You’ve made great strides in understanding your dependence on alcohol and how it relates to your triggers. I’m sure he’s noticed. You can’t change your sexual history, but if you’re respectful of his sister, it shouldn’t matter.”
“I wanted to talk to him. But Indie thought it would be better to wait, see how everything between us plays out before dragging him into it. But now… we’re together, and it feels too late. Even if he would’ve approved. We’ve been lying to him for a few weeks—well, lying by omission—and that’s not going to go over well.”
“You’ve put yourself in a difficult spot,” he said, his tone more parental than necessary.
“You think?” I crossed my arms again, and the tension found its way to my jaw.
He ignored my visible irritation and pressed another button. “What happens if this all blows up? Do you think you’re in a place you could handle that?”
“Are you referring to my drinking or my proclivity for violence?” Shifting to the edge of my seat, I squared my shoulders, my anger vibrating down my spine.
He didn’t flinch. “Both. You know in AA they say you shouldn’t date for the first year of your sobriety.”
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“No, you’re not. But you self-medicated for a long time. Alcohol. A carousel of girls. Do you think you’re in a good head space to share your whole self with another person if you can’t even tell her twin brother?”
I stood abruptly and the chair rattled against the wall. I spoke through my teeth. “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
“Kai.” He stood, too, and shoved his hands in his pockets. I wanted to tell him the leather patches that covered his elbows made him look pretentious. But that would be counterproductive. Wasn’t I trying to prove that I was an adult capable of making good choices? “I only want to see you succeed. You’ve come so far in such a short amount of time. Take or leave what I’ve said, I only ask that you think about it.”
With a curt nod of my chin, I turned and walked out the office door. This felt like a developing pattern with him. Push, pull. Push, pull. I didn’t truly breathe again until I saw her standing by the elevator. Indie leaned against the wall, her ankles crossed with a book opened in her hand. She wore her oversized overalls, the ones made with more paint than denim. Her hair was up in a knot on the top of her head, a pen sticking through the golden waves, holding them in place. She looked sexy as hell. Confident. And as I approached, she lifted her nose from the book, her lips breaking open in a gorgeous smile.
“Last week you said your appointments were biweekly now.” I wrapped my arms around her waist, falling into the heat of her body, I kissed her parted lips.
She tasted like toothpaste, smelled like lavender, like her. The weight on my shoulders, the knots tied in my neck, unfolded. Indie’s book dropped to the ground with a muted thud. She curled her fingers in the collar of my hoodie, using it as leverage to pull herself up, closer, and I groaned when she licked my lips.
“No appointment. Came to see you.” She spoke between kisses and hell if I wasn’t crazy for this girl.
“Mmm.” I hummed as her fingers ran through my hair.
“I missed you at breakfast,” she whispered against my mouth.
“Didn’t want to fight it today.”
She pulled away and searched my face. I kept my expression neutral. I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want to waste any time we had with topics that made her look at me with regret. “I’m going to tell him. I am.”
I let out a long breath and attempted to smile. “I know.”
She had to know the longer we waited, the worse it would be. And fuck you, Brian. I could handle myself if things didn’t go well. I wasn’t weak anymore. I would do the right thing, even if it meant, in the end, I didn’t have either of them in my life. The thought alone almost made me sick.
Indie’s hot hands warmed my neck. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. He’ll understand. I’ll tell him over spring break. He can’t wig out. My dad won’t let him. Not if he sees how happy I am.”
Worry surfaced in her eyes, the shadows hovered, and I wanted to change the mood, rewind the clock a few seconds where all I could see was her heart-stopping smile.
“How happy are you?” I asked, teasing her lips with my teeth.
She shivered. “Very.”
The elevator doors opened with a ding and I stepped back, giving us an appropriate amount of dista
nce. A skittish-looking kid with acne and Coke-bottle glasses breezed past us without a glance. The likelihood that we’d run into anyone we knew here was slim, but to be fair, I never thought I’d run into Indie when I had either.
I stuck my hand in-between the doors before they closed. “After you?”
She bent down and grabbed her book, stuffing it into her bag. “Thank you.”
Once the door slid shut, I took the forty-second, private ride as a challenge and pushed her against the wall. She giggled as I kissed her neck, her jaw, and as all the blood in my body pumped below my belt, I pressed myself against her seeking friction. She tilted her hips with a breathless exhale as we rubbed against each other like tweens on a basement couch, like how we’d tortured ourselves over the last few weeks on her bed. I gripped her hips, holding her in place, and I didn’t care if this piece-of-shit elevator still smelled like cat piss, or that I might actually come in my pants, I wanted. Wanted, Wanted, Wanted, and…
The light of the lobby slashed through the doors as they opened and we broke apart instantly. Her breasts rose and fell with each deep breath, her cheeks were flushed, her chin red from my three days’ worth of stubble. Indie’s eyes were almost black, her pupils stealing the color from her irises. I adjusted myself as casually as possible as she walked out of the elevator ahead of me. The pain throbbed throughout my entire body, and settled in my spine. My head didn’t clear until we were outside and the clean, damp air stripped away her scent, her heat.
“Are you ready for the quiz?” she asked, keeping a foot between us as we walked, her smile reserved as she stared toward the building where we shared our art history class.
We sat next to each other now. But the classroom was another public arena with too many eyes. Another place where I couldn’t hold her hand, lean too close, touch her at all. Spring break wasn’t far off, and I wasn’t sure if I could last that long. I wanted Indie to be mine and I wanted it to be known.
“I think so. Studying with you has been a big help.”
She laughed, and I stared at the smooth line of her neck, the pain in my spine intensified.
Seven Shades of You Page 21