Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (12 page)

Madison laughed. “At least then you’ll be famous.”

“Boring old Sam Smith,” I mused, “Killed in the most artistic way possible.”

“Make sure he signs the canvas.”

“I’ll be dead! How can I make him sign me?”

“Have him sign your breasts before he kills you.”

“You’re seriously morbid.”

Madison rolled her eyes. “What?”

“He’s probably super nasty looking.”

“Then all the more reason he’ll sign your chest.”

A mottled brown dog with floppy ears came barreling down the beach toward us, chasing a frisbee. The dog jumped in the air and caught the frisbee right in front of us, nearly bowling us down.

“Come here, Lady! You almost killed those two!” Jake Stratton said while jogging toward us.

“Hey, Jake!” I said.

“Come here, Lady.” Jake squatted on the wet sand. The dog ran up to him with the frisbee. “That’s a good girl.” The dog was trying her best to slobber all over Jake. “Who’s a good girl? You’re a good girl,” he baby talked.

Madison looked at me, surprised. “That’s Lady?”

“I guess we were wrong about him,” I murmured. “The few guys out there who aren’t dogs
have
dogs. That’s why we can never find them.”

Madison kneeled down next to Lady and Jake. She smiled at him. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“This must be your dog, Lady?”

“Yup.” Jake ruffled Lady’s ears.

“She’s beautiful. What kind of dog is she?”

“A german shorthaired pointer.”

Lady nuzzled against Madison. “She’s so friendly!”

“She has good taste,” Jake said to Madison.

Jake and Madison exchanged a long smile.

Sigh. Now everyone was falling in love except me. Whatever. I was probably better off single.

But good for Madison. She was a total catch. Lady the frisbee dog had caught her for Jake.

Maybe I needed to get a frisbee dog.

Chapter 9

I woke up early Saturday morning and did laundry, which consisted mainly of bikinis, t-shirts, and shorts. It was almost November. Was this what fall was like in San Diego? I could get used to this.

When I finished my laundry, I had a light lunch, threw on a sun dress and comfortable sandals, then drove to the address of Christos Manos. It was only a couple of miles away from my apartment.
 

The house was larger than I expected. It was nestled in a grove of trees. The architecture looked custom, but older. Not a modern McMansion. The exterior was stained wood, not painted or stuccoed. It had multiple stories, but wasn’t boxy. It was sprawling. Old-school beach chic. It was beautiful.

There was a pickup truck full of spare wood and tools parked in the driveway. A guy was up on a ladder, working on the house. I think he was replacing shingles. I grabbed my backpack full of drawing supplies and got out of my car. It seemed like no one was home, except for the work guy. There were no other cars parked in the driveway.

Maybe the work guy knew where Christos Manos was. I walked up to the ladder. “Excuse me, sir?”

Work guy hammered on a shingle. Wham, wham, wham. He had chiseled arms covered in tattoos.

“Hello?” I asked between hammer blows.

He stopped and looked down at me.

“Adonis? Oh my god! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Samantha.” He climbed down the ladder and leaned against it on one buffed arm. He wiped his hair out of his eyes and cocked his trademarked grin. All of his arm muscles flexed and relaxed in a mesmerizing pattern. He must’ve known what he was doing. He could he not?

“So, uh, are you, like, working here?”

“Yup.”

“Are you a handyman or something?”

He didn’t answer. His shirt was dirty and sweaty. The answer was obvious.

I really wanted to grab his shirt material and dig my fingers into it, then pull it over his head and rub my hands on his sweaty…
Jeezus Pleezus, someone call Animal Control on ME!

My heart raced. I wanted to fan my face, but self control won out and I pretended like it was no big deal. “Um, do you know where I can find the guy who lives here? I’m supposed to meet him here at one.”

He smirked and cocked his head toward the courtyard entryway. “Inside.”

“Thanks.” I knew I was supposed to walk away at that point and knock on the door, but I couldn’t. I kept staring at Adonis. My smile widened. His did too. I liked that.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. When I didn’t respond, he shook his head, smiling, and walked to his work truck. “The doorbell doesn’t ring itself.”

Oh. Right. Doorbell. I was here for the mentor. I inwardly rolled my eyes at myself and walked up to the elaborately hand-carved front door. I pressed the doorbell. After a minute, no one answered. Was he home? Or running an errand?

“Press it again,” Adonis said. “He’s here.”

I did. A few minutes later the door opened. An older man stood before me, nothing like I expected. Tall, handsome, silver hair cropped short, broad shoulders, and impossibly blue eyes. “Can I help you, young lady?”

“Uh, are you Christos Manos?”

“No.”

Crap. That wasn’t the answer I was looking for. Was I at the wrong house? I checked the street number I’d written down and compared it to the house number over the door. Nope, this was the place.
 

Suddenly nervous, I turned to Adonis for help. Maybe he knew what was going on. But Adonis was leaning into the passenger door of his truck, doing something or other.

I turned to face the old man. “I’m supposed to meet Christos Manos, the artist, here at one o’clock. I’m pretty sure this is the right place.” I felt like an idiot. The old guy clearly wasn’t sympathizing with my confusion.
 

He drilled me with his eyes. His brows knit into a frown. “Christos!” He hollered. “You playing tricks on this poor girl?”

What? I whipped around again. Adonis stood behind me, a fist on his cocked hip. He looked sort of like Michelangelo’s statue of David, or one of those sexy firemen calendars. He grinned at me. Dimples.
 

I think I started ovulating ahead of schedule. “Wait. Are, are
you
Christos Manos? I thought your name was Adonis?”

Adonis’ grin spread wide over his exquisite white teeth. He stepped closer to me. I felt warm all over. I think I was even sweating between my toes.

“Adonis?” the old man chuckled. “What lies have you been telling this poor girl, Christos?”

Lies? I should’ve known. Total class-A jackhole player. I pivoted back and forth between the two of them.

“Adonis is his middle name. Around here, he goes by Christos.”

“I’m confused. Who are you?” I asked the old man.

He extended his hand. “I’m Spiridon Manos. Christos’ grandfather.” We shook. His smile was warm, kind, and genuine. I liked this man. Adonis, on the other hand…

I twirled and smacked Adonis on the arm. “Jerk!” What an arm it was. I think I might have hurt my hand. It felt like hitting a tree trunk, except smooth and lickable. I imagined it would be pleasantly salty if I were to taste it right then. I swung at him again, trying to cover up my desire.

Adonis backed up, easily dodging my attack.

I was irritated. “What am I supposed to call you, huh?”
 

He grinned, and danced beyond my reach. “You can call me whatever you want.”
 

“How about jerk?”

“Except that.” He laughed.

“How about butt face?”

“Maybe not that.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I’ve got a long list. Wanna hear the rest?”

“I’ve got time.”

Amused, Spiridon interrupted our duel. “I warned my son Nikolos not to name my grandson Adonis, even if it was only a middle name. But he and Christos’ mother were firm. I believe it’s been somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophecy ever since.” Spiridon smiled. “But around here, he’s just Christos.”

I sneered at Adonis. “Pleased to meet you
Christos.
What a beautiful name you have
Christos.
Is that what all the girls call you?” I wasn’t making any sense.

“Actually, none of them call me that.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. But you can.” He winked at me.

Huh? Hold on a second. Was I getting special house privileges all of a sudden?

Spiridon wrapped his arm around Adonis’ shoulders. “Perhaps we should offer the young lady something to drink inside before you both start swinging?”

I shot Adonis a warning smirk as we walked into the house.
 

The interior was unbelievable. More natural wood. Open space, stylish lines, large rugs, exposed beams. Incredible.
 

The living room was filled with numerous paintings. Huge landscapes in all manner of weather and lighting conditions. They were amazing. Several reminded me of that painting of the cloud-covered coastline I’d seen in the museum at SDU, when I’d bumped into Adonis that day. Wait, had that painting been done by Adonis’ grandfather? It must have. I wanted to find out for sure. “Mr. Manos, did you paint all these paintings?”

“Call me Spiridon.” He stopped and put his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He gazed up at the paintings. “Yes.”

“You’re an amazing artist.”

He sighed. “I was.”

That was strange. “I think I saw your painting at the San Diego University Museum.”

He replied instantly. “Shrouded Paradise?”

“Yeah! That’s yours, isn’t it? It’s unbelievable, like you could climb into the picture frame and it would be real!”

His head drooped and he sighed heavily. “That was a long time ago. Follow me.” He abruptly turned and left the room. I followed him into the kitchen. Adonis trailed behind.

Spiridon opened the fridge and pulled out a jug. “Fresh squeezed lemonade? I made it this morning.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

He poured three glasses. “I don’t believe I got your name?”

“I’m Samantha. Samantha Smith. People call me Sam.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sam.” He handed me a glass.

It tasted marvelous.

“What brings you by the house? Not my grandson, I hope.” He winked at me. Spiridon handed a glass of lemonade to Adonis, who leaned casually against the doorframe (I was still thinking of him as Adonis more than Christos). His body language reminded me a lot of Spiridon’s.
 

“Actually, yeah. My life drawing professor at SDU recommended Adonis, er, Christos, as a mentor.” It was going to take some effort to stop calling him Adonis.

Spiridon guffawed. “Mentor? Which jackanapes at the university thought
that
was a good idea?”
 

Was my coming here a bad idea? “Professor Childress?” I suggested tentatively.

Spiridon folded his arms casually across his chest and leaned against the kitchen counter, his own lemonade dangling from one hand. “Childress, huh?”

“You know him?”

“Walt? You could say that. Walter Childress and I go back almost forty years.”
 

Was that a good or a bad thing? I couldn’t tell. I glanced over at Adonis. He was inscrutable and seemed content to listen. Did he know the story behind his grandfather and Professor Childress? Hard to say.

Spiridon smiled longingly. “I haven’t talked to Walt in years.” He took a swallow of his lemonade. “So, Walt thinks my grandson can mentor you?”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re an artist?”
 

“Oh, gosh. Not really. I’m majoring in accounting. I just took Life Drawing for an elective.” I suddenly felt like a fraud around an amazing artist like Spiridon Manos. It was probably time for me to go, so I could give my teenaged fantasy about being an artist a decent burial.

“If Walt sent you here, he must have seen something in your work.”

Really? Now I was totally confused.

“I won’t keep you two from your meeting. If you want any more lemonade, it’s in the fridge.” He put away the jug and walked out of the kitchen.

I turned to Adonis, I mean Christos. I was still getting his name wrong in my head. “You didn’t tell me you were an artist.”

He grinned. “You never asked.”

“And what’s up with the name? Adonis? Really?”

“It’s my given name. What do you want?”

“It’s your middle name. Who goes by their middle name?”

“Lots of people.”

“But, why?”
 

“When I graduated high school, I wanted to reinvent myself.”

I could understand that. I didn’t have a cool middle name to work with. It was terrible.

“What’s your middle name?”

Great. “It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s great.”

“You’ll laugh. I don’t want to say.”

“Come on, you can tell me. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.”

“Anna.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Samantha Anna Smith? It sounds like an echo.”

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” If it wasn’t for those dimples, I would’ve thrown my lemonade in his face. And, it tasted really good, so I didn’t want to waste it on this jerk.

“Let me get this straight. Your initials are S. A. S.? Sass?” He grinned. “Maybe I should call you Sassy.”

“Come on, Christos,” I begged. “Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not,” he smiled.

“Yeah, but you have that stupid smile on your face.”

“You know you like it,” he said slyly.

“What, your dumb smile? You look like a donkey.” Not really, but I wouldn’t admit it.

He laughed. “I’m inclined to go with stallion, or quarter horse.”

“You would.” I was smiling now. I couldn’t help myself. I was also standing closer to him than I realized. Had I moved? I suppose I had. My body was doing all kinds of things I was not aware of. I could no longer be held responsible for my actions.

Christos shifted against the doorframe. “You ever been down to the Del Mar race track?”

Every movement he made was illegally sexy. I hated him. “Race track? I’m not really into cars.”

“It’s horses. Thoroughbred racing. My family has a membership.”

“What, do you bet on the ponies? Have a bookie?”

He tossed his head back and laughed. “I have placed a few bets in my time. But no, it’s more upscale than that.”