Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) (10 page)

“Nah. I think I’ll stay here a bit longer.” I wrinkled my nose and looked back up at Dan.

“Are you serious? You’re on a date with me,” he gestured grandly toward himself.

“And it sounds like that date is over,” Wes said, moving to stand between Dan and me, but I quickly patted him on the leg. He smiled down at me and rested back into his chair.

“I’m sorry, Dan. This just isn’t going to work out. We’re two very different people, and I think it’s best if we go our separate ways,” I said as kindly as possible.

“Uh-huh,” Dan said rubbing his chin with his hand. “Look, I’m not going to grovel because, let’s be real, I don’t need to. I do think you are missing out on something that could have been really successful.”

Successful? Why on Earth would I ever want to be with a guy who described a relationship as successful? I hadn’t planned to see Dan past this ‘quick drink,’ but it was even clearer to me now why I had never been interested in him. Besides the blazer, he saw things through a systematic lens.

Life, to me, wasn’t about a formula of how to get it right or of weighing risks. It wasn’t about an equation with a solid answer. Life was a spectrum, and we swirled somewhere amidst its colors. We flowed, and we tumbled. We connected, and we drifted apart. We diluted, and we saturated. The only thing that was certain was we didn’t know where tomorrow would take us, regardless of what we planned. The only thing that was promised was that we wouldn’t regret a moment of it if we lived it passionately.

“Successful sounds really boring, homie.” Wes tugged on his beanie adjusting where it sat back on his head. I scrunched my nose and nodded in agreement. Boring, indeed.

Dan huffed at Wes before turning his attention back to me. “If you need a ride home, let me know. I’ll be over at the bar. I don’t feel right leaving you alone.” Then he glared back toward Wes.

I opened my mouth to tell him that I was perfectly safe with Wes, when the man himself cut in. “I’ll be taking her home but buy yourself a beer on me while you’re over there,” Wes said.

“Unreal,” Dan muttered before walking away.

“I should feel bad,” I said to Wes, still watching Dan as he squeezed himself between two girls who stepped aside to give him more than enough space.

“He should feel like an ass. That had to have been the most pathetic date I’ve ever seen, C.” Wes smiled at me.

“Gee, thanks.” I smiled back. “You don’t have to take me home if you’re here with someone else, Wes. I can call one of the girls or August for a ride.”

“I’m not here with anyone except you now.” He sat back into his chair and shoved his right hand deep into his pocket leaving the other arm stretched out onto the table.

“You sure?” I asked.

He pulled his hand from his pocket and patted his thigh. “Yep, and c’mon, you can’t tell me that you weren’t bored outta your mind.” Wes started laughing. “At one point, I even caught you doing that thing you do when you’re trying to stay awake.” What?
Does he mean when I silently sketch with my finger?
“You know, when you twirl your fingers around on the tabletop?”
Wow.

“Okay, stalker,” I teased to mask my blossoming nerves. Wes’ response was to throw his head back in a deep chuckle. I loved that sound. I remembered countless moments when I’d heard his laugh rolling through the walls of my house and working its way deep into the plaster. I felt a small smile sweep across my face, and my nerves were gone.

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean? I thought you were giving me a ride home?” I asked.

“I will, but the night isn’t over yet. I feel like I kinda owe you for crashing your date.”

“No, I definitely owe you for saving me from my date.” I laughed. “So what should we do?”

“You up for a game?” Wes’ eyes sparkled and I groaned; this man and his games. “Oh c’mon, C. It’ll be fun. Besides, you said yourself that you owe me.”

“Uh, fine. What are we playing?”

“Every time your boy Dan over there points to himself, we take a shot.”

“So basically you plan on us getting wasted?”

“Basically.” He grinned and held his fist out to me.

“I’m in.” I grinned and pounded it.

“Jess, a round of shots.” He smiled at the waitress who was coincidentally wiping down the empty table next to us, again. She nodded enthusiastically at him before turning her eyes down at me. My response? A silent
“suck it.”

P
resident Douche was still weaseling his way around the bar; every now and then, he’d look over at our table and glare at me. Each time, I saluted him with one of my favorite lewd gestures. Right now, for instance, I was humping Capri’s empty chair.

She’d gone to use the restroom, and when I saw her wobble to catch her footing, I let Jess know it was just water from here on out. I wanted her to loosen up and have a good time, but I didn’t want her to go overboard.

I’d come in alone again tonight. I wasn’t ready to go home after my last appointment, and the shop was too quiet, making me all restless and shit.

When I saw her, my first reaction was to drop my hot wing onto my lap. Then I stared ‘cause I was just thinking about her and here she was. Well, not thinking about her, more like daydreaming about how pretty she looked and how good she smelled. Okay, yeah, mostly that, but I was thinking about what a badass she was when she painted, too. She said she didn’t paint anymore, but the minute I saw her get to work on the mural, I knew she’d lied. She held that brush like I held my iron. It wasn’t a tool. It was her voice.

So anyway, after I finished convincing myself about how much I wasn’t thinking about her, I snuck up behind one of the posts close to her table and hid behind it so I could hear what they were talking about. After ten minutes of listening to the turd and watching poor C scratching her fingers across the table yawning, I broke up the shindig.

Now, I’d had the honor of spending two hours with Capri that didn’t involve an obligation, and she hadn’t left yet. In fact, she actually seemed like she was having fun. She even laughed when I dared her to give me that lap dance she owed me from a failed attempt at Tommy’s a few months back. When I said failed attempt, I meant she and Lennon tricked me into thinking I was getting the lap dance when they actually gave it to each other.

“Sit down, Wes,” Capri said sneaking up from behind me.

“Holy mother of Ludicrous!” I jumped back at her surprise attack in the dark. I twisted around to find her. She took a step out of the shadow of the overhang, and my jaw fell at the sight of Capri stalking careful steps toward me. Daayyuumm. Yep, my best friend’s sister was smokin’. She kicked one of the wooden chairs my way.

“Sit down,” she demanded.

“Okay,” I said. Something in her tone told me not to question her. She was scary, and hot. Scary hot. I quickly slid into the chair. Was this really happening? I didn’t expect her to go through with it. That was a lie. She never turned down a challenge from me.

Capri reached her hand up to pull her hair loose from its braid. Her tank slipped up revealing the side of her stomach. I whined at the sheer perfection of it. Not too firm but just soft enough for me to take a bite. I stomped my feet and looked away. August’s sister. August’s sister.

The sound of music snapped my attention back to Capri. She stood in front of me and tucked her thumbs into the waistband of her tiny shorts. Her hips began to move back and forth with the beat.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

My head followed their movement.

Left. Right. Left.

I licked my lips, but my tongue was too dry to do anything. Capri took a calculated step toward me and turned so that her ass was right in my face. Let me repeat that. Capri’s ass was in my fuckin’ face, and it was fancy just like the song said, so fancy, and round, and in my face. Out of nowhere, it jumped up at me. I jolted back and watched, opening my eyes as wide as I could get them to take in all its glory. What. Was. Happening?

I should probably stop this. Any respectful man would stop this. She wiggled her little ass all over the place right there in front of me.

Hell to the yeah. I sat back and attempted to lick my lips again. This time I was more successful in pulling my tongue back in before I drooled on myself. I crossed my arms over my chest and spread my legs wide on either side of her gyrating tiny body, settling in comfortably for the show.

She turned around and took another step closer before reaching her arms up in the air and snaking her body to the ground.

Her foot slipped from under her, and she fell to the side grabbing onto my leg to keep herself from landing on the floor. I reached down and caught her arm in my hand. Her eyes shot up to me and my own zeroed in on hers. That was all it took. One look from deep in those deep brown eyes and the shenanigans were over. Shit just got real.

“H
oney, I’m home!”

“In my room!” I shouted out to Lennon from deep within my closet. I arranged my dresses over the black portfolio and placed my Betsy Johnson suitcase in front.

I’d woken up that morning with a mild headache and a lot of confusion. I’d been tucked in so tightly that I could barely move my arms and legs. When I had broken free, I saw that I was still in the same pair of shorts and white sequin tank I had worn the night before. On the bedside table next to me was a glass of water and a note that read:

Sleep Tight, Fancy.

Whatever that meant.

All signs pointed to me drinking too much, and Wes bringing me home as promised. What I wasn’t sure of was what exactly went down before he brought me home and tucked me in tighter than a drag queen squeezing into a mini skirt. Hence, the need to paint in an attempt to regain my memory of the night’s previous events.

“My eyes.” Lennon pained when she came in. “You’re a few padded walls away from forgetting color even exists.” I stiffened at her words with my hand molded around the closet doorknob.

“How is an all-white room different from your all-black attire?” I gestured toward her tiny self—decked out in black tights, black shorts, and a black shirt with some band’s name written across it.

“I’m a tortured soul. I surround myself in black. You, however, are too far from virginal to shroud yourself in so much white.” She plopped down onto my bed, wedge boots and all. Little did Lennon know, my colorless existence had nothing to do with portraying innocence. It was simply all I knew.