I wound up in a park several blocks away from my house and drew people, birds, plants, and structures, and when I wasn’t drawing, I was snapping pictures with my phone. I forced myself to draw even though I didn’t feel like it at first. By the time I was done, though, I was immersed in it, enjoying it like I always had, having fun seeing what I could create. I’d never do anything with these sketches, but it felt good to stretch those muscles after neglecting them for a bit.
As I was walking home, my phone beeped. My heart lightened then as I pulled it out of my pocket, hoping maybe I had a text from Scott.
Did that mean I was ready to talk?
But the message was from Barry. Same bullshit, different day.
Actually, it wasn’t exactly the same. This time, Barry’s text simply said Call me. No request but an order. Maybe he hadn’t gotten the memo from the Denver District Court that I wasn’t taking orders from him anymore.
But I ignored his bullshit now—time and distance helped me with that—and dwelt on the larger issue…which was that I’d been eager to see a message from Scott.
I overanalyzed it on my way home and realized that we needed to talk. Maybe I’d even want to apologize—because Scott was not Jim, no matter how complex and strange their relationship.
Maybe the next day we worked together I could ask him to make some time to talk. In the meantime, that would give us a couple of days apart, giving us time to process what had happened.
Back home, I brewed a second pot of coffee and opened another pack of cigarettes, but I spent the rest of the afternoon in my little art studio. Now inspired, I started painting weird surreal scenes based on the sketches I’d done earlier.
By the time it grew dark out, I decided to relax in the bathtub. I felt like I’d made a healing day for myself and maybe I’d sleep better tonight.
I needed to make some new friends here, though, because they could help me with dilemmas like these. I’d considered calling David more than once, but he would be on Scott’s side long before he took mine. No way could I talk to him about that. And, much as I loved mom and dad, I couldn’t talk about this situation with them. But maybe I didn’t need to rush into finding friends—I was making some great art with all the time on my hands.
As the water around me cooled and my fingers and toes shriveled, I felt almost completely restored. Now I knew for sure I wanted to talk to Scott. I didn’t know exactly what I’d say or what would happen next, but I would survive either way. That was what I did. I just knew it couldn’t end this way. I had to find some sort of closure.
After getting out of the tub, I decided it was bedtime, so I put on a pink-and-white striped cotton button-up night shirt that fell down to mid-thigh and started smoothing lotion on my legs when I heard the doorbell ring.
Who the hell could that be? Not many people knew I lived in this house and I wanted to keep it that way. When I’d shared an apartment with Barry, my home hadn’t been a haven, something I desperately needed. So I decided I’d answer the door but leave the chain lock on to peek through the gap before shooing away whoever was outside my door.
Flipping on the porch light, I opened the door a crack—and saw Scott on the other side.
This man might have been a lot of things, but unwelcome visitor was not one of them. That said, I wasn’t certain what to think at first but, when he looked through the screen door to see a little of my face through the crack of the main door, he flashed his usual grin and even looked a bit shy.
“Hey, Casey.”
“Scott? What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping you might want to talk.”
My heart thudded in my chest because, yes, I certainly did. After a day of nothing but reflection, I needed to. “Sure.”
Scott turned around and waved to a car full of rowdy guys who hooted and hollered back. I nodded my head, hoping they’d hurry up and drive away before I noticed Jim hanging out of the passenger window like a dog. Seeing him was motivation for me to pull Scott in by his arm, shutting and locking the door behind him.
When I turned, Scott was right behind me, close enough that I could feel his body heat through my thin nightclothes. He asked, “How are you?”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Not much.” He stood up straighter. “I’m not totally wasted. And I promise to be good. I just wanted to see you.”
God…he looked really cute, even boyish. Innocent and sweet. Not a mean drunk by any stretch. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yeah.”
I led him to the kitchen and started half a pot brewing. At this point, I was finally coffee-d out, but Scott could use some. While it brewed, I got out two mugs, deciding to have just one after all. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Black’s fine.”
Soon I brought over two cups full of joe to the kitchen table where we sat close together. Scott took a sip from his mug. “Damn, that hits the spot. Thanks.” I nodded, stirring the brown liquid in my cup. “Do you always answer the door looking like that?” I tried to think of something clever to say, but before I could answer, he said, “‘Cause if you do, I’ll come over more often.” I figured out quickly that he was addressing my legs.
Now might not be the right time to talk, considering he was under the influence. Even though he was in a good mood, it was fun and playful, not somber—and I needed him serious for the things we needed to discuss. So I decided that we would definitely talk, but it could wait. I was enjoying his company.
Scott took another sip of his coffee before piercing me with his dark green eyes. “You owe me something, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“Something about a drawing.”
I squinted an eye, cocking my head, but I couldn’t help the small grin on my lips. “Okay—I’ll get you that drawing, but now you owe me a discussion later.”
“Deal.”
Drunk or not, and no matter what had happened last night, this guy was finding his way into my heart, despite how I’d tried to keep him out. And, tonight, he was being cute in an innocent way that melted my insides.
We both picked up our cups, and I led him to my studio.
When we got in there, I located my larger sketch pad while he looked at various pieces scattered throughout the room. “Are all these your work?”
I was digging through piles of stuff looking for my favorite drawing pencil. “Yeah. You like?”
He began scrutinizing the latest acrylic I’d been working on. “Yeah. You’re fucking talented, Casey.”
I couldn’t help the embarrassed grin that sprang to my face. “Thanks.” He kept looking at the painting while I started flipping through my pad. “Sometimes I feel like a big fat fraud.” He started to turn but I wasn’t comfortable talking about my work, so I didn’t want to make eye contact. “There’s no money in it, though, unless you’re fucking famous—so I’m one of thousands of starving artists.”
He shook his head but his gaze was on the canvas. “Don’t sell yourself short. This is good shit.”
“Come on.” Grabbing his hand, I led him close to the center of the room before pulling out a chair from against the wall. “Have a seat.”
He did as I asked but he kept looking at the walls where I’d taped and tacked dozens of sketches here and there.
Pulling up my stool a couple of feet away with my sketch pad, I twirled the pencil in my hand, considering charcoal for a moment. But I really wanted to do him justice, and that meant a pencil for precision. “Just so you know…people aren’t my forte.”
“So what is your forte?”
I started doing a light outline of him on the page, deciding to draw him from the waist up. I was okay with faces but not close-up portraits. And, like Michelangelo, I tended to enjoy the male form. I made eye contact for just a second before returning to sketching his rudimentary body shape. “Weird shit.”
Nodding, he continued to look all around the room, and I figured that took some of the
pressure off him from my scrutinizing gaze. I would look at him, then move my eyes to the page to draw a stroke or two, then look back at him. Right now, I was viewing him as an object and trying to get his form just right. But when I shifted my eyes to him again, he was smiling at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
This was going to be difficult as hell.
I stood, setting the sketchpad on the desk behind me, and marched over to him. Grabbing his gray t-shirt at the shoulders with my fingertips, I stopped myself to be sure I first had permission. “It would really help if you lost this thing.” Goddamn—it was like there was an electric charge flowing between us that got stronger when our bodies were close.
As tempting as it was to touch him and even kiss him, I maintained control—otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to finish the sketch.
Taking off the shirt, he set it on his lap.
“Much better.” Holy shit. The guy had an amazing body that continued to take my breath away.
“Why? What’d this poor shirt ever do to you?”
My eyes crinkled in amusement. “I’d rather draw your pecs without your shirt on. I mean…you really can’t tell talent by drawing a shirt.” So that was total bullshit. Some of the best drawings I’d ever seen had captured the folds and creases and texture of fabrics in a way I’d never be able to imitate.
But Scott didn’t need to hear that confession right now.
As I started to turn back to my stool, he took my arm gently in his hand and stood up. “Look, Casey, I’m still not sure what happened last night. All I know is…we’re friends, right? And there was something crazy between us the other night at the party.” His eyes searched mine. “As far as last night goes, I talked to Jim today and told him he was way out of line. If he ever does anything like that to you again, I’ll beat the shit out of him. Ever. And he knows I mean it.”
“Listen, Scott. I’m sorry about what I said last night. I was upset and I lashed out at you. I was out of line.”
Looking down at my arm where the red marks had been last night, he spotted the bruises that had taken their place. “Were you?” He ran his fingers over the marks, acting like he wanted to erase them with a brush of his thumb. “Seeing this, I don’t think you were. Jim can be a fucking asshole sometimes. And I’m not going to stand here and try to convince you either way about what he said. Or Wendy.” He looked up from my arm. “I just want you to know that I don’t intend to share you with Jim.” He shook his head. “That makes it sound like I own you and control you. I didn’t mean it that way. Fuck…I don’t know why I’m saying any of this. You probably—”
I pressed my finger to his lips, but I was unable to help the confession that spilled from my own lips. “I really like you, Scott. A lot. Last night was bullshit, but that wasn’t your fault.” I never again wanted to be alone in a room with Jim outside of work, but I wasn’t going to vocalize that to Scott right now. “And I don’t want to interfere with your friendship with Jim. I just…I just don’t want—”
“He won’t.”
I stroked Scott’s slightly stubbly cheek with my thumb and my lips parted as our faces got closer to each other, but before we could kiss, the doorbell rang.
“What the hell?”
“Are you expecting somebody?”
“No.” My house was turning out to be Grand Central Station. “Be right back.”
As I made my way to the front door, the doorbell rang again. “I’m coming!” I slid the chain lock on again, but I wasn’t as concerned now that Scott wasn’t far off. This time it was David, though, so I opened the door more.
“Hey, Casey. I came by to see if we needed to pick Scott up now—unless he’s already left? Or should—”
“He’s here. I can give him a ride home.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Here’s his jacket.”
I shook my head and opened the screen door. Lowering my voice, I asked, “How the hell can you stand being around all that toxic masculinity?” Not only was Jim in the car, but so were two other cooks from Bob’s. I really didn’t have much of a beef with the other guys, but I knew Jim could be overbearing and domineering. Frankly, though, most of the cooks were sexist—although their attitudes had shifted somewhat since I’d joined their crew.
“It’s not so bad. We’ve all been drinking a lot, and that shit’s easier to handle that way.” I widened my eyes in jest until he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Scott was on the verge of killing Jim with his bare hands—I came along to be kind of a buffer. And when they were done talking, I suggested we party.”
Nodding, I gave David a hug. “Thanks for bringing his jacket.”
“So where is he exactly?”
“In my art studio posing for a drawing.”
“Oh, wow. I can’t wait to see it. Do you dress like that every time you draw?”
Rolling my eyes, I pushed on his shoulder playfully. “Now you sound like Scott. Get out of here.”
“Have a good night, girlfriend.”
As I closed the door, I didn’t miss Jim making a jerking off gesture.
Pig.
I refrained from flipping him off.
Once I locked it, I leaned against the door, taking a deep breath through my nostrils as if to cleanse myself from his filthiness. While I meant what I’d said to Scott earlier, that I didn’t want to interfere in his friendship with Jim, I knew I myself needed distance from the asshole. I placed Scott’s jacket on the couch and stopped by the bathroom before going back to the studio. Pulling out the bottle of baby oil under the sink, I determined to heat things up a bit.
Scott was standing again, looking through the sketch pad I’d used earlier in the day. When I walked in the room, he said, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s cool.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Your visitor—from here, it sounded like David.”
“It was. He brought your jacket by for you.”
When he looked up, his eyes communicated so much—and yet I still couldn’t read him completely. “For the long walk home.”
“I can drive, you know.” He nodded, his eyes softening. “Have a seat, mister. We’re not done yet.”
When he did, I squatted down beside the chair. Then I opened the lid on the baby oil, squirting some into the palm of my hand.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I fought to keep my face straight and my tone professional. “I’m going to put this on your torso. It’ll help your muscle definition stand out so I don’t have to strain my eyes.” I paused, wondering if he was falling for my line of bullshit. Sure, it would help…a little. But it would be nice rubbing his chest, and this ruse offered an excuse to touch him. “Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
I moved my hand down to massage the oil into his abs, enjoying feeling that firm musculature again. He was just shy of a serious six-pack, something I hadn’t fully appreciated the other night. “You work out a lot?”
“A little.”
My cheeks grew warm, so I focused on his skin instead of his eyes. “I can tell. You look great.” Ugh. My cheeks heated up more, so I concentrated on what my hands were doing—but Scott’s eyes were burning into me. “What we were talking about before…I just want to say that what you’ve done in the past is none of my damn business, and I really don’t care. Hell, what you do now is none of my business.” Forcing myself to make eye contact, my hand slowed its motion. “But I do like spending time with you, too, Scott.” I swallowed, forcing myself to keep going. “The other night was absolutely incredible.”
“Are you blushing, Casey?”
“I don’t blush.” I looked back down at his chest while I rubbed in more oil. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too forward. Does that bother you?”
“No. If you weren’t, I might not be sitting here right now.”
I inhaled sharply. “But maybe—oh, never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Sweet Jesus. I was falling in love with him. But I couldn’t let myself do that. Still…I ached for him. Even though I wanted to stop myself from falling, I wanted him. The physical attraction was way too strong to deny—and physical intimacy only made my emotional attachments stronger. “I mean…I think we’ve got great chemistry, if you know what I’m saying.” I cleared my throat, barely believing I was telling him all this.
And completely sober, no less.
Leaning forward, he gazed into my eyes. “Yeah, I do.”
Our lips collided in a kiss that made fireworks explode in my brain. Scott took my hands in his. “Why don’t we finish this later?”
“Yeah, good idea.”
“Do you care if I wash this off?”
“No, that’s cool.” I stood up. “Come with me.” Leading him to the restroom by the hand, I grabbed a towel off the shelf just inside. “Would you rather just take a shower?”
“Only if you join me.” With a slight smile, I nodded before turning the water on to warm up while he sat on the toilet seat, removing his shoes. I was hunched over the tub, looking toward him, so he cupped my face and we locked lips again. Hardly any time had passed since the first time we’d been together and yet it had felt like forever. His kiss, warm, passionate, and deep, was even better than I’d remembered.
His hands moved to my neck and I wound my fingers through his hair. As his hands moved to the buttons on my night shirt, I relished how hot his fingertips felt against my skin. We both stood up before he started kissing my neck. I sucked in a deep breath as my nipples tightened. God…I wanted to fuck him right now. Rubbing that oil on his chest had been nothing but foreplay.
His shirt was already off…all he had left were his jeans, and since he was taking care of my night shirt, I moved my hands to his zipper. I could already feel how stiff he’d grown, his cock straining against his jeans, waiting to be set free. But I could barely concentrate on him as his hand moved to cup a breast under the night shirt. His other hand continued moving down the shirt, undoing the remaining buttons. He couldn’t have been that drunk, because he controlled his movements with precision. And while I could taste traces of alcohol, they weren’t strong.
Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set Page 105