Rex (16 page)

“Of course, yes.” I try to catch hold of his eyes but he’s averting my gaze.

“If you could just lock up when you leave, that would be great.” He walks toward the living room, jingling his keys around his fingers.

“Sure.”

He’s almost to the door when I realize I can’t let him go just yet. I tear out of the bedroom, calling to him, my towel nearly falling to the ground in my haste.

“Rex, wait!”

He pauses with his hand on the knob, eyes fixed on the door. “Yeah?”

“Thank you… for…,” I’m tripping over my words which is a first for me, “for last night, for… taking care of me.”

Turning back, he finally meets my eyes. “It was nothing, really.” He shrugs, expelling a deep sigh. “You make it pretty easy.”

And then he’s gone. Leaving me to wonder if I’m the one who’s unraveling.

I’m sitting on a bench in Washington Square Park, arms folded across my chest, head tipped back, the sun beating down on my face. I don’t remember the last time I sat on a bench in a fucking park, but I had to leave my apartment. The desire to run was overpowering and I had to get away from her—from Vanessa.

For whatever reason, she’s fucking with my head. Women have fucked with my head my entire life. But this is different. I can’t seem to stay away from her or stop thinking about her. Let’s be honest. The sex is fucking amazing, there’s no question. But it’s more than that. I may be an asshole, but I’m not a liar. Somehow, she’s reached into the core of who I am, pulling me up from the bowels of my shitty little life.

I don’t know why I let that slip out in the shower. But there’s a relief flooding my chest that I’ve told someone—that I’ve told
her
. I’ve carried that burden for far too long; it has eaten away at my insides like a poison. Driven by guilt. Shame. Hatred. First, toward my mother and then toward myself. All the regret, the “if onlys” that whiz through my mind, burying me in a quicksand I can’t escape. Sinking deeper with no hope for ever getting out.

I have secrets. Everybody does. But I know better than anyone how secrets can destroy everything and everyone around you. Hunter already blamed himself for too many years over Tyler’s death. As the oldest, he felt responsible, as if he could have prevented it or stopped it. When in reality, there is only one person who could have done that. Even the thought of my mother makes me want to spit the sour taste out of my mouth.

My cell phone rings and I’m thankful for the interruption. I slide the screen and Hunter’s name appears. “Hey, bro, what’s up?”

“Hey, you at work?” he inquires, and there’s the sound of rustling papers in the background.

“No, I’m at the park.”

“At the park? Since when do you go to the park?” he asks, now banging on the keys of his computer.

“Listen, are you talking to me or are you typing?” I bite out.

“You know how busy I am, Rex,” he says in a condescending tone.

“Yes, we
all
know how busy you are. So, why are you calling me, then?”

“Can you meet me at Tiffany’s on Wednesday morning?” And I can actually hear the smile in his voice.

“Hunter, it’s Friday. That’s five days away, and why the hell would I want to do that anyway?” I tease.

“Because Olivia’s ring will be ready then and I want you to see it before I propose. And I’m reminding you now because it’s on my mind. In fact, it’s the only thing on my mind.”

“If I must,” I retort, smirking.

“I can just see the wiseass grin on your face right now, little brother.” He muffles the phone, saying something to his secretary about a contract.

I chuckle. “Yes, and you would be correct.”

“All right, I have to run into a meeting. So I’ll see you Wednesday around ten thirty?”

“Sure, see you then.”

With my phone still in hand, I scroll through the list until I see Vanessa’s name. Still angry with myself for the way I left, an idea flashes in my head and I send her a text.

Hope you’re feeling better. I’m sorry I left so fast. Maybe I can make it up to you tomorrow afternoon?

When she doesn’t reply almost instantly, my stomach lurches with disappointment, and that’s exactly the same time I realize I need to snap the fuck out of this—whatever
this
is.

I’m navigating my way through street vendors and hurried pedestrians when the smell of coffee hits my nose and lures me into a small café near the shop. As I’m waiting in line, my cell phone dings and I can’t help the fact that my lips twitch thinking it could be Vanessa. When I slide the screen open, the twitch turns into a full-blown smile.

So much for snapping out of anything.

Hey, was on the subway, and yes, I’m feeling better, thanks. What did you have in mind?

I’m suddenly thankful I have the whole day off tomorrow. I type out a quick reply.

I’ll let you know. I’ll text you the address.

Oh. Sounds mysterious. Okay, I’ll talk to you later then. x

I blink a couple of times at the letter
X
before I respond. What the hell does
that
mean?

Okay, later
, I type back.
Without
an
X
.

I’m standing next to the huge stone pillars, just atop the long length of steps leading up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My cheeks feel like they’re going to burst from grinning so big. I might as well hold up a sign that says,
I have this stupid smile on my face because I’m waiting for Rex Grayson.
It’s that obvious.

I don’t know exactly what happened yesterday, and maybe I don’t need to right now. But the one thing I do know is, I haven’t felt excitement like this in a long time. I’m bouncing from heel to toe and even though no one can hear me, I’m singing on the inside.

It doesn’t take long before I spot Rex walking down the street. Even from this distance, it’s impossible not to notice that cocky strut of his, and I certainly can’t ignore the women that are turning their heads. But I definitely don’t blame them.

He pauses when he sees me, a smile tugging on his lips as he climbs the steps two at a time. When he finally reaches me, he takes his aviators off and hooks them over the top of his t-shirt. “Hey.” Leaning in, he presses a kiss to my cheek, the growth on his chin making my skin prickle.

“Hey.” As he backs up, I tap my watch three times, attempting to withhold the grin that wants to fly from my lips. “You’re late.”

His fingers encircle my wrist and he lifts my hand, staring at the time. “No. I believe
you
were just early.” He smirks, gently releasing me from his grasp. “So, are you ready to do this, or what?”

“Yeah.” I nod my head toward the building. “So, The Met, huh?”

“Yeah, well, I figure in case you have any doubts about my ability to be cultured, today they will all be wiped from your brain.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” I mumble as he lets me go before him, placing his hand on the small of my back. Goose bumps swarm up my legs, his touch triggering a response that I’m unable to control and find impossible to hide.

“Everything okay?” He retrieves his wallet from his back pocket as we enter the museum and head toward the admission desk.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I turn my head and bite my lip, uncertainty spreading through me in a rush. I’m overcome with a sudden shyness, which is so foreign to me.

“Listen.” He latches onto my arm, pulling me out of the way of three teenagers anxious to move past us. “Are we cool? I mean, are you upset about yesterday?” His eyes bore into mine, searching, for what I don’t know.

“No, not at all. We’re good.” Although, I don’t know what the heck that means. So I change the subject. “I think you’re stalling though.”

“Stalling?” He stuffs the wallet back in his jeans, continuing to hold my gaze.

“You know, delaying having to go inside and show your true colors.”

“That sounds like a challenge, Blondie. And I’m more than happy to meet and exceed your challenge.” He dips down, his warm breath pouring in my ear. “In more ways than one.” The roughness of his skin scratches my cheek and I close my eyes before they flicker open to a knowing grin. “So shall we go in?”

“Yes, let’s.” I smile, picking up a map from the counter. He holds out his elbow and we link arms, strolling into the main lobby of the museum. Grandiose statues of a medieval mounted knight and an Egyptian pharaoh greet us.

Rex stops just in front of the pharaoh, looking up at the sculpture towering over us. “Now, that was the life. The absolute power of the pharaoh. Ruler of everything, God—”

I throw my head back on a laugh. “The life? You better wake up from that demented dream of yours. This is the twenty-first century, Rex. Let’s go.” He chuckles and I tug on his arm, still surprised by the fact that we’re here… and that he knows anything about pharaohs.

“So, where do you want to start?” He plucks the map from my fingers and opens it, pointing to one of the exhibits. A smug smile forms around his mouth. “We can start with nude statues of the middle ages, if you like.”

“Give me that.” I snatch the map back, scrolling over our options. “Actually, let’s start with impressionist paintings. I love that period.”

“Oh yeah? Do you have a favorite?”

“Yes,” I respond with a smile as we weave our way around a tour group. “But I’m not telling you.”

“What? Why not?” His brown eyes narrow in curiosity and I smile. He’s really cute.

“I’d rather show you,” I tell him, and he pinches my side before pulling me close.

“Yes, I’d prefer that, too,” he teases, and my skin flushes, tiny hairs raising on my arms.

We work our way through crowds of people, making me realize that Saturday was not the best day to come to the museum. The last time I was here, it was with Olivia, probably about six months ago. It was a weekday and much easier to navigate our way around.

When we finally arrive on the fifth floor, I glance over at Rex to find him grinning. “What?”

“I happen to like this era, too. Maybe after you show me your favorite painting,” he winks, “I’ll show you mine.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” I grab onto his hand because it feels like the natural thing to do, but then that nagging uncertainty creeps back in and I let go.

We leisurely stroll past several works, studying them, until we find ourselves at the end of the narrow room. My whole face lights up when the painting comes into focus. Rex follows me until we’re finally standing in front of it. “This is it.”

The picture is made up of dots of color—matted greens, oranges, blues, blacks, and yellows—blending into people in their Sunday dress, all out enjoying an afternoon in the park by the Seine in Paris.

“Georges Seurat’s, Study for
A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte
,” he utters confidently, “good choice.”

My eyes blink a few times and I must look at him as if he has three heads.

“Don’t look so surprised. I told you. I know my art.” He stares at the painting for a long minute before turning to me. “So, why is this your favorite? What draws you to it?”

I let out a nostalgic sigh, continuing to stare at the picture, “Stella loved art and when we’d go to the bookstore, she would show me a lot of the works she liked. I remember seeing this on a page in one of her books and loving it right from the start. Something about the colors and the way the dots of paint come together to form each image, and the way he uses shadows and light. Plus the depth of field. I can actually picture myself there,” I wave a finger toward the water, “in one of those boats, enjoying that lazy Sunday afternoon.” The thought makes me smile.

“Well, shit. Now I’m the one who’s impressed,” he says, and I flick his shoulder before he laces our fingers together, leading the way out of the room and down the stairs. “My painting is on the fourth floor.”

We make it down one flight, stepping into the room, and I’m in awe of the masterpieces lining the walls. The ability to create beauty like this is nothing short of magnificent. Rex leads me to the far corner, stopping at a painting of a river landscape. The plate on the wall shows that it’s a Monet.