Hot Summer Fling

by Parker, Ali

  What I did know was that the tip he’d left me was a gift, one that would just maybe allow me to do as he asked. Feeling the money burning a hole in my pocket, the weight of it seeming to urge me on, I reached for the notebook I had been given to take orders and handed it to her.

  Confusion filled her eyes when she blinked out of the moment she’d been having and frowned at me. I smiled sweetly, setting the branded pen down on top of the notebook with a triumphant flourish.

  “I quit.”

  Chapter 7

  Fulton

  “I wouldn’t have taken you for a fine arts museum kind of guy.” Elliot grinned, motioning at the painting hanging in front of us. “I mean, I get dragged to these places by the wife all the time. I just wouldn’t have expected I’d ever get dragged here by you too. Despite your background, I kind of thought you’d only studied it to yank your father’s chain.”

  “I’m full of surprises.” I narrowed my eyes on the canvas, studying the muted colors and the bright splatters of paint layered over them. “Why do you think the artist did that?”

  He shrugged, crossing his arms as he leaned closer to the wall. “Probably to make people ask that exact question. I don’t know, man, why do artists do anything?”

  “Maybe I should have invited your wife here with me instead.” I laughed, turning away from the painting and ambling over to the sculpture standing a couple of feet away. I could hear the soft shuffle of Elliot’s footsteps following me. “I’m guessing she’s the refined one between the two of you.”

  “I’m refined as shit,” he retorted, rounding the sculpture to face me from the other side of it while frowning at the piece. “Is that a dick?”

  “It’s an African fertility sculpture, I think.” My eyes dropped to the name placard, which confirmed my suspicions. Grinning at Elliot, I pointed at the carved wood. “Are you jealous?”

  He snorted, his head shaking from side to side before he turned away from it. “Why? Because his package is twice the size of him? I think not.”

  “Just intimidated then.” I nodded knowingly. “Fine. Got it.”

  Elliot laughed, walking beside me to the next sculpture. “I don’t have anything to be intimidated about. I might not have a third leg, but I’m plenty fertile. My wife wouldn’t touch me after she had our last daughter until I got snipped.”

  “Too much information.” I winced, ducking away from him and chuckling to myself. “I’m definitely bringing your wife next time.”

  “Be my guest.” He winked. “Just ask her about my fertility. You might learn a thing or two about what’s really needed, and it’s not a fucking tripod.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” We moved on to the next piece, a photograph of a fifties-style diner with patrons dressed for the time. The twist was that modern technology had been superimposed onto the picture. It was clear the artist was not a fan. “What about this one, what do you think?”

  “I think we should go grab some beers. That’s what I thought we were going to do this afternoon when you called earlier, not look at dicks in a museum.”

  Lifting my hand, I pressed it to my chest. “That’s offensive. I’m capable of doing something other than having beers. For the record, I didn’t get the degree I did purely to yank my dad’s chain.”

  “Clearly.” Elliot glanced around us, then sighed. “I too like doing this kind of shit with my wife and taking the girls to Disney on Ice. I don’t see what’s so great about this place. I’d much rather have been having a cold beer and hot wings.”

  “You’re such a stereotype.” I knew I shouldn’t have been teasing him, but just a little bit couldn’t hurt. The guy lived for his family, but I honestly couldn’t blame him for just wanting to cut loose when he was with me.

  He shot me a look that said exactly what I’d just been thinking. “Label me all you want. You get to go have beers with friends all you want, I only have so much time to do it.”

  “Want me to check your wife’s purse for the plastic baggie containing your balls?” I joked, and luckily Elliot knew me well enough to roll his eyes instead of taking offense.

  “She doesn’t need to keep them in her purse to get me home, my balls and I are all more than happy to spend as much time as we can with the family.” The honesty in his tone was admirable.

  It sent another unfamiliar pang of longing through me to have what he had. Jesus, Florida is screwing something up in my head.

  There had to be something in the water around here that was making my thoughts so damn sappy. Shoving all the sap out of my mind, I turned to my friend. “Tell you what, next time we hang out we can have all the beer and wings you want. My treat.”

  Elliot grinned and nodded. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “Deal.” I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed it once before letting it drop to my side. As I moved to look at the next piece, the waitress hanging around in the background of the photograph caught my eye.

  Valerie hadn’t been far from my mind since I’d met her the other day. One glimpse at the waitress in the picture and she was back at the forefront of my mind. “I met someone yesterday.”

  Elliot cocked his head, one of his eyebrows lifting. “Met someone, met someone. Or just met someone?”

  “Just met someone.” I would have liked to have said I’d met someone who had the potential of becoming someone to me, but I didn’t even live in the same city as Valerie. “A waitress.”

  “Okay.” A line appeared between his brows. “That’s nice. Why are you mentioning a waitress you just met?”

  “She intrigued me.” I squinted at the photograph, my gaze lingering on the woman in the background. “As soon as I saw her, I could see she wasn’t happy with her job.”

  “Unfortunately, there are many people who aren’t.” Elliot shrugged. “Hell, no one enjoys their job a hundred percent of the time. That’s why it’s called work and not play.”

  “Thanks, Einstein.” I chuckled, jerking my shoulder in the direction of the next piece in line. “I get that you have good days and bad days. What I don’t understand is why people stay when they’re never happy with their jobs.”

  We stopped in front of another painting. It was one of a flower that had spikes instead of petals. Elliot wasn’t looking at it, though. His eyes were on me. “It’s for the same reason that you took on the career that you did.”

  “Because their fathers built a billion-dollar company and raised them to take it over?”

  He sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling before refocusing on me. “No, because it’s a necessity.”

  “Having a job is a necessity,” I told him. “Having a job that makes you miserable isn’t.”

  “It would have been great if everyone had the choice, brother. The reality is that they don’t. It’s not like you can choose the job you want and automatically get it.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “There are also people who don’t even know what job they might want.”

  “You one of those?” I wondered out loud. Judging by the distant look in his eyes, I thought I might be onto something. “It looks like you might be.”

  Elliot shrugged. “I love my job, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy doing something else. The sky’s the limit, you know? That’s not to say I’m going to quit, however.”

  Worry darkened his eyes, creasing his brow. I bumped his shoulder with my fist. “Hey, I know. Don’t worry about it. We’re just talking. I know you’re not going to quit, and I’m sure as shit not going to go looking for an excuse to fire you just because there might be other things out there you might enjoy doing.”

  “Fair enough.” He grinned, his frown disappearing as fast as it had appeared. Lifting his hand to his hair, his gaze caught on his watch. “Shit. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. I need to go pick up the girls, but we’ll go get those beers soon?”

  “Looking forward to it.” We shook hands, walking together to the exit of the museum. After we said our goodbyes, I spotted
a familiar figure walking down the street. A cute, petite girl with raven-black hair and arms covered in tattoos.

  A smile I did my best not to think about curved my lips. “Valerie!”

  At the sound of her name, she stopped and turned around. Her fierce scowl dropped when she saw who had called out to her. Retracing her steps quickly, she came back to stand in front of me. Hazel eyes blazing, she frowned. “You didn’t have to leave me that kind of tip, you know. I would have been fine.”

  “I know.” I hadn’t done it because I thought she needed my help. Valerie didn’t strike me as the type of girl who was a damsel in distress, waiting for a knight in shining armor to come to her rescue. That didn’t mean I didn’t like to do good every once in a while. “Do you have time right now? I’d like to show you something.”

  Suspicion warred with curiosity in her expression. Finally, she lifted her chin and nodded. “Sure, I don’t have anywhere to be. Why not?”

  “Excellent.” I offered her my elbow, not at all surprised when she looked at it like it had teeth and folded her arms instead, her head slanted as she looked up at me. For some reason, her refusal to even take my arm made me grin wider than I had in ages. “Suit yourself. Have you ever been to the Museum of Fine Arts before?”

  Chapter 8

  Valerie

  “I’ve never been inside of a fine arts museum before.” It had been at least a few minutes since he’d asked the question, but I hadn’t been able to answer. I’d been too busy staring at the space I suddenly found myself standing in.

  It was gorgeous, exquisite even. High ceilings with mostly glass walls and solid ones painted white, which let in plenty of natural light. The large room was partitioned with panels of what looked like drywall or something, giving extra surface area for the art to be displayed.

  Despite the light shining in, there wasn’t a speck of dust drifting in the air. How the hell had they managed that?

  Olive was a cleaning machine, even Heidi was decent at it, but even with their combined powers, they’d never managed to get a place this pristinely clean. It had to be magic. That was the only logical explanation.

  The lack of dirt or dust wasn’t even where the magic ended. It seemed to be glimmering from each and every piece of art in the room, adding a shine that made it look almost like it had to be an illusion. It was all too beautiful to be real.

  My hand moved slowly to my thigh. When it hurt when I pinched it, I knew I wasn’t dreaming. Stuff like this really did exist. It wasn’t magic. It was just … art. Fine art?

  “It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Fulton’s voice was a low, deep baritone beside me. He spoke softly, reverently maybe even. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s magical.” I gave him a sidelong glance, expecting him to be laughing silently or maybe shaking his head at me, but he was nodding. I didn’t know him very well at all, but it sure didn’t look like he was about to make fun of me for my less than eloquent description.

  When he saw me looking at him, he flashed me his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth in a genuine smile. “I couldn’t agree more. Whenever I hear about an enchanted object on a TV show or anything, this is what comes to mind for me.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t even try to hide the hint of wonder that crept into my tone. “It’s pretty enchanting, all right.”

  “Want to take a look around?” He peered down at me and our gazes locked. I nodded and when he offered me his elbow for the second time today, it didn’t feel like he thought I was incapable of walking or following him by myself.

  Under these circumstances, I found that I wouldn’t mind being led around like a pony who was just expected to follow. In fact, I wanted Fulton to show me around. I was totally out of my element in here, and yet it felt like it was an element that should have been mine all along.

  Hell, maybe it even had been. Many people didn’t think of tattoos as art, but I was one of those who did. To me, it wasn’t an obliteration of my body being a temple. I wore my ink proudly, a walking, talking display of the talented artists over at Inky Hands.

  Hopefully my skin, and therefore their art, would never be hanging on a wall in a gallery, but it didn’t mean the art was any less than the art in this room. These were simply forms of art I wasn’t as familiar with like that which adorned my skin.

  So this time when Fulton offered me his arm, I gladly took it. “I’m taking this isn’t your first time in a place like this?”

  “I’ve always loved museums.” His voice still had that undercurrent of reverence, a softness that indicated a respect for the space between these four walls. “Fine art was my passion for the longest time.”

  “It was?” I couldn’t help the hint of shock in those two words. Ah well, might as well roll with it. “You’re kidding me.”

  “What?” There was laughter in his eyes even though his lips only bore the faintest hint of a smile. “Is that really so unbelievable to you?”

  “Yes.” I nodded firmly, trying to imagine Fulton having a passion for the kinds of works filling this room. Although on second thought… “Maybe not. Art is a rich person thing mostly, isn’t it? You’re very obviously one of those.”

  Fulton laughed, but shook his head resolutely. “Art is absolutely not only a rich people thing.”

  I eyed some of the paintings and sculptures nearest to us. “This kind of art is. I can’t imagine anyone poor having these in their houses.”

  “Maybe not, but this stuff is in a museum. Technically, it’s not in a rich person’s house either.”

  A very unladylike snort of laughter sounded in the air between us. Made by me, apparently. I refused to be embarrassed. I’d never claimed to be a lady. Not to him or anyone else.

  “Semantics, my dear Mr. Vague.” I steered the conversation back to him, curious to know more about this passion of his. “So this was your passion for a long time, huh? Not anymore?”

  Lifting his hand, he dipped it from side to side in a so-so motion. “I don’t have enough time for it anymore. I’d say it’s still my passion, but it’s not the only one I have.”

  “Well, that doesn’t clear anything up for me.”

  He laughed, a melodic sound that had my own lips tugging at the corners. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be vague. Fine art has always been a passion of mine, but I also love what I do now. It’s just that my job is a little consuming, so I don’t have time to pursue any other passions at the moment.”

  Fulton led me to the painting mounted on the wall closest to us. It was a brightly colored rectangle standing up straight, the paint on it thick. Almost each brushstroke was visible if I looked closely enough, making it look like a patchwork of strokes that matched up perfectly to form a scene of a couple walking next to water at sunset. They had umbrellas over their heads, and it felt like I could almost see how hard the rain was coming down.

  An unexpected shiver traveled through me, as if the cold raindrops were running down my own spine. I was so absorbed in the moment that I startled when I heard Fulton’s voice. “It’s powerful, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is.” I enjoyed arguing as much as the next fiery girl, but there was nothing to argue about there. “I can see why it’s a passion of yours.”

  “You have to find something in life that drives you. Art is one of those things for me.” His tone changed while he spoke, and suddenly I knew what he was going to say before he said it. “You could do anything you wanted, you know? Find that thing that drives you.”

  Releasing his arm, I turned to face him fully. It took some effort to tear my gaze away from the painting—it felt like I could stare at it for days, trying to figure out who those people were; where they were; why they were out in the rain and cold for a walk—but indignant understanding was coursing through my veins.

  It demanded my attention for now, but I promised myself I would come back for that study of the painting. “If what I’m about to say offends you, you should know in advance that I’m not sorry about it.
The thing is, you don’t even know me. I appreciate the tip and the note, but I didn’t ask for your advice or for a pep talk.”

  His lips parted, but I lifted my finger to let him know I wasn’t done yet. “You have no idea what drives me, what I want out of life, what my history is or what my experiences have been. I could be a serial killer for all you know, so why encourage me? What if scalping men and trussing them up afterward is my passion?”

  Fulton smiled at my question. Not in the way that made me feel like he thought I was cute and he was about to pat me on the head, but like he knew I wasn’t a serial killer and was proud of me for standing up for myself.

  Fuck, why are you analyzing his smile? You know as little about him as he does about you. I had the sudden urge to either slap him or flee from the knowing look in his eyes. Since it appeared he had more money than God, I figured slapping him was a bad idea. I had no intention of getting sued or some shit.

  “Look, not everyone is in need of counseling, okay? I have to go.” I ignored his hand when it reached for me, giving him a tight smile before hauling ass out of there. There was a flash of hurt in his eyes when I’d dodged him, but I didn’t want to think about it.

  Frankly, I didn’t want to care about whether or not I had seen hurt in his eyes. Clearly, the guy saw me as some kind of charity case he wanted to counsel or mentor. I’d never had much money, but I’d always gotten by.

  One thing I’d always hated was feeling like I was being a charity case, and that was how I left the museum feeling. It had been an incredible experience to be exposed to that kind of art, and I was definitely keeping the tip money, but Valerie Haynes was nobody’s fucking charity cause.

  Chapter 9

  Fulton

  It was easy to see why Florida’s beaches were world-famous. Some of them, anyway. The one I was on wasn’t one of them, but it was still beautiful out here.