Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series (2 page)

His kiss goodbye as he’d rushed away still tingled…damn it.

All she wanted was one night in his bed. Just one. Maybe it would cure her obsession, which obviously had her unfairly writing off all the handsome Greg Jensens in the world as bed partners. But she’d be damned if she went crawling to Drake and begging for it. Call it pride or stubbornness or whatever. The man knew she was interested in sleeping with him. She’d both told him and shown him. How long did he intend to make her wait?

Something had to give. Brooke just didn’t know what.

Shane had felt sorry for her and tried to fix her up with his friend, Joe. Yet even before she’d gone to have dinner at Shane’s to meet him, she had pretty much decided she wouldn’t be happy dating a fellow redhead. Even as charmed as she’d been by Joe’s genuine good-natured sense of humor, she couldn’t bring herself to flirt her way to a follow-up. They joked and laughed. That’s as far as it got. Plus, she’d caught the more-than-casually-interested expression on his face every time someone talked about the kids’ aunt who was apparently struggling to adjust to a new job of some sort. Maybe she was wrong about the vibe she got from Joe about being interested in the missing woman, but she didn’t think so. She was usually pretty good at reading people.

Will and her mother were settling into marriage. Time in their company made her wistful about having no marital prospects.

Being around Carrie and Michael wasn’t any help either. Michael’s long ponytail reminded her too much of Drake’s shorter one for her to not think of him whenever she was in their company for long. With a baby on the way, Michael and Carrie were getting nervous and had become too tight a unit to have room for comforting the lonely stepsister.

There was just no reprieve for her love-wise, not with nearly everyone in her new family oozing marital bliss. Being constantly exposed to that kind of lasting happiness was precisely why she hadn’t resorted to picking someone up in a bar and getting a quick fix. Plus her obsession was too large and had taken over too much of her brain. It would be beyond embarrassing to be calling Drake’s name with some other man.

But if something didn’t happen soon, she was going to be the crankiest philosophy teacher that ever walked the halls on campus.

Chapter 2

Drake sighed at the boxes lining one wall of his long hallway before adding one to a stack. The brownstone he rented had been divided into two sections shortly before he moved in. Though smaller and less well laid out, he had asked for the bottom floor because it had a four season sunroom off the back, which could double as an art studio. Today that decision offered a bigger blessing because it also meant he didn’t have to climb stairs lugging Brandon’s stuff.

He blew out a breath when his son carried in two more boxes. His obvious frustration with the clutter had his son laughing and offering a typical Brandon-esque shrug of unconcern.

“Tell me that’s the last of your things,” Drake ordered.

Brandon laughed at the panic on his father’s face. “Don’t worry about the mess, Dad. I’m going to look for my own place soon. This move-in with you is strictly temporary. I’m just glad Sedrick was willing to detour through Cambridge and help me get it all home.”

Huffing out another breath, Drake ran a tired hand over his unshaven jaw. Yes, he’d also been grateful for the generosity from Brandon’s friend. It had saved him a very long and lonely trip up north and back.

“You’re my son, and I love you. I’m not upset about you moving back home. In fact, it was actually relieving to me until I saw your stuff. Now I’m just wondering if Harvard cleaned out their dorm basement into your car. How could you possibly be coming home with twice the crap you left with? You weren’t even gone a full year.”

Brandon shrugged and laughed at his father’s teasing. “It’s really not as bad as it looks. I’m just a lousy packer.”

Drake grinned. “For both our sakes, I hope that’s the truth.”

He started toward the kitchen, then stopped and walked back. Putting his arms around his son, he hugged tight, noting the boy was the same height and breadth he was now. How had such a change happened without his full awareness? It had only been two damn semesters.

“I love you. Welcome back.”

When Drake let go he pushed off quickly, knowing Brandon didn’t like a hug to linger too long. He had learned long ago to hide his struggle to treat his son as more man than a child. Surprise had him grinning when Brandon looked sheepish.

“I missed you too much to stay so far away, Dad. Harvard was great, but I wasn’t getting much from it. My grades were okay to stay, but it seemed like a waste of my time and your money. I should have gone to UK like you suggested. You can say I told you so if it would make you feel better.”

Brandon’s capitulation had him smirking at his suddenly wise child. “It would for a few seconds at least, but I’m too tired to speak after lugging all your stuff,” he said, liking Brandon’s laugh at his statement. “I don’t know about you, but I have to have food. Come to the kitchen when the car is empty. I’ll make sandwiches.”

Brandon heaved a big sigh. “Great. I’m starved. I didn’t stop after I hit the Ohio border.”

Drake snorted and started toward the kitchen again. He heard Brandon humming as he headed back out.

“Hey Dad?”

Drake stopped and looked back at his son who had paused in the doorway.

“How mad would you be if I went to a party later? I swear on a stack of Bibles I will get all this into my room tomorrow. Sedrick’s brother is throwing a party and has offered to introduce me to his frat brothers.”

Drake laughed. “A UK fraternity? You didn’t go out for one of those at Harvard.”

“Are you kidding? No way,” Brandon said, shaking his head. “I would have had to wear a dorky shirt and sweater. This is different. I bleed blue now. Students get to paint their faces during ball games.”

Drake laughed again at Brandon’s declaration. “Blue faces. Well, too bad you didn’t bleed blue last summer.”

“Dad—”

Drake laughed. “Go—but no drinking. You’re still underage at nineteen, and I’m a professor. You screw up and you’ll be riding a bicycle for the rest of your academic career wherever you decide to complete it.”

“Noted Professor Barrymore, Sir. Soda and nothing else tonight. You have my word.”

Drake sighed again when the door closed behind his smart-ass son. He was going to miss the comfortable distance from Brandon’s maturation process an out-of-state college had provided. But on the upside at least he wasn’t going to have to drive cross-country for a car emergency anymore.

***

Brandon walked into the party behind Sedrick, smiling as the beats pounded the air around him. Bodies gyrating on the dance floor were highly entertaining, but girl watching would have to wait. He smiled as he met Sedrick’s brother, Rafe, who introduced him around.

Along with everyone else, his head swung around in surprise when he heard a girl yelling at guy near him. He almost swallowed his tongue at the long-legged, short-skirted beauty trying to escape the groping hands of a guy laughing at her efforts.

“
Chelsea?
” Brandon exclaimed. He forgot the guys he was talking to as he walked over to her. She was so angry—and she was weaving as she struggled to break the guy’s hold on her.

“What did you put in my drink, Darryl?” Chelsea demanded, pummeling his shoulder with her free hand. “Oh God, I feel sick. Tell me what you gave me.”

“Nothing bad, sweetie. Just a little something to help you relax a bit,” Darryl drawled, patting the seat beside him. “Come back here and sit by me until it has time to kick in.”

Brandon reached out and grabbed her free arm. The guy let go of her when he did. “Chelsea? You okay?”

Chelsea turned and stumbled against a pair of strong arms that caught her and tried to hold her up. “Who are you…
Brandon
? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, of course, it’s really me. What’s up?” Brandon asked.

Chelsea shook her head, which only made things worse. “I’m dizzy. Asshat over there put something in my drink, but he won’t tell me what. We told Aunt Teresa we were going to a movie. She’s going to kill me if I have to go to the hospital to get my stomach pumped.”

Brandon turned a glare on a laughing Darryl. “What did you give her?”

“None of your damn business,” Darryl said sharply.

Brandon snorted and glared harder. “Well, I’m making it my business. What did you give her, dude? You can either tell me or you can tell the whole Larson family when they come looking for your sorry ass.”

Around them dancing stopped and all eyes turned to see what was going on between him and Darryl.

“Well
dude
—she’s my date—not yours. What I do with her is my business,” Darryl said sternly, getting up from the couch and walking over. “So get your hands off her, and get the hell out of my face before I rearrange yours.”

Brandon heard people around Darryl urging him to shut up and stop making himself into a bigger ass. He had just enough time to shove Chelsea against a nearby wall before the guy’s drunken fist connected with his eye. The angry punch he threw back knocked the wind out of the weaving, obviously drunk, and stoned Daryl. Not having size or weight in his favor, Brandon used Darryl’s momentary pain to his advantage as he shoved the guy to the floor. Putting a knee in Darryl’s back, Brandon grabbed him by his braids and yanked up his face until he could meet his gaze.

“Now let’s try the question again. What the hell did you give her?” Brandon demanded.

“Shit—it was just a Valium. Thought it might relax her enough to unlock her legs, you know?” Darryl exclaimed.

Brandon shoved Darryl’s face back to the floor. His eye was starting to hurt something fierce, but he had bigger problems to deal with. He looked up just as Sedrick, Rafe, and four other guys circled around the two of them.

“She’s not even eighteen, guys. Hell, I’m not sure she’s seventeen yet. Do you all really want to go to court over this asshole trying to rape her?” Brandon asked.

“Is she really a Larson? He was my principal in middle school. I don’t remember there being any Larsons of the chocolate variety,” Rafe declared.

“Chelsea’s real parents are dead. She lives with her aunt who married Shane Larson. If your buddy here hurts her, Shane will mess him up long before he ever goes to court.”

Brandon saw Sedrick snickering over his out-of-character bravery. He was profoundly relieved when his friend walked over and held out a hand. Grateful for a show of support at last, Brandon let Sedrick pull him to his feet.

“So what? You played hero now to save Darryl’s stupid ass?” Sedrick teased, grinning as he shook his head.

Brandon reply was a snort. “You know me better. I’m taking Chelsea home. She’s a family friend.”

Sedrick raised his hands as he mocked Brandon’s bravado in the faces of so many guys staring at him. But Brandon also saw Sedrick laughingly back off only to follow behind him as he walked to Chelsea. His friend had his back, but he hoped he wouldn’t need it.

Chelsea was leaning drunkenly against the wall he’d shoved her against and was all but sleeping. “Come on. Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking her arm.

When Chelsea got her eyes open enough to see Darryl climbing to his feet, Brandon felt her push hard against his chest before weaving her way over to the guy. Lifting one of her pointy-toed pink high heels, far too sexy for a high school girl, she kicked Daryl hard in the crotch until he swore and fell to the floor again.

“Think about
that
next time you try to drug somebody,” she spat.

Brandon glared at her as she stumbled back toward him, but couldn’t say he blamed her for wanting some revenge for herself. She stopped in front of him. Reaching up, she put a hand to his bruised eye. “Damn—I must have missed the real fight. I think I passed out at the thought of it.”

Brandon frowned. “Your boyfriend gave you a Valium. What are you doing here, Chelsea? This is a college frat party.”

Chelsea glared at him and dropped her hand. Guys were all rude jerks—even heroic ones. “I’m going to catch enough hell at home later. I don’t need any from you. Thanks for the assist.”

Shaking her head in disappointment, Chelsea walked as steady as she could through the gawking crowd. Even as dizzy and disoriented as she was, she still felt Brandon’s eyes boring into her back the whole time. Outside in the cool air, she bent forward and tried not to heave. Thank goodness she had said no to the alcohol. Too bad it hadn’t occurred to her the soda Darryl gave her might not be safe either. Next time she went to a college party, she was bringing her own drink. Lesson learned.

“Chelsea? Are you going to be sick?” Brandon asked. Not believing she was fully aware of much, he watched Chelsea shake her head as she straightened.

Turning back toward the door, he waved when Sedrick said good-night before going back to the party. He brought his gaze back to Chelsea who was standing hands on hips and deep breathing to keep from barfing on the frat house lawn.

He looked around at the perfectly manicured green and back again at the three-story house. There would be no joining this frat after tonight probably, but what the hell. He didn’t want to hang with jerks anyway.

Frowning about what to do now, since he hadn’t driven there, Brandon got out his phone and sent a text in hopes of getting a discreet ride home. Two texts later, he got the answer he wanted from the right person.

“I had to call to get us a ride—not my Dad—but someone we can trust,” Brandon said.

Chelsea nodded as she breathed deep and slow. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll make it. And for your information hotshot, I’m seventeen. I have been for over half a year.”

“Really? When did that happen?” Brandon asked, scanning the street.

“On my birthday, Dweeb. How in the world did you ever get into Harvard? I thought you were supposed to be a lot smarter than that,” Chelsea teased. She rubbed her stomach and prayed for it to settle.

Brandon laughed and scratched his head in surprise about how sharp-tongued she was even in her drugged condition. “Are you always this pissy when someone saves you?”