Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) (16 page)

Wes held the door open for me once again. I smirked at him as I passed through, but once I stepped inside, my smile dropped. “What is this, Wes?” I asked consciously breathing through the empty space between my heartbeats.

“It’s just art, Capri,” Wes whispered behind me rubbing the back of my arm. “Relax, this is where you belong. I’ll show you.” I nodded and moved forward with the gentle urging of his hand.

When we’d parked in front of the tiny eclectic building in La Jolla, I had no idea what to expect. A restaurant, or a pub maybe, but not this; not an empty space filled with some of the most beautiful paintings I’d ever seen. The floor was a solid concrete slab, and a few modern sculptures strategically marked it off into four sections. Each section looked like it highlighted a different artist.

Wes led me to the first exhibit by my hand. “These are all local,” he said, waving his hand around the space. “Each month the artists submit a sample of their work, and the curator chooses five of them to host a showing the following month.” I had no idea this place even existed, but my skin buzzed with excitement.

The first one was someone who’d utilized scrap fabric within the painting. We stopped in front of what appeared to be the first in the series. It was the Golden Gate Bridge created out of hundreds of different fabrics. They ranged from plaid to polka dot, from textured to matte, and some even had a sheer, see-through quality to them. Even seen through my eyes, it was spectacular.

“So, is it just as stunning in brown as she is in orange?” Wes leaned in and whispered.

I leaned back, shoving him with my shoulder at his teasing comment. “It is,” I said and led him to the next painting with our finger-woven hands.

We continued around the room, admiring the wide range of talent to be found here in San Diego. One artist created mosaics made up of tiny painted plaster squares. The fact that the artist had used a combination of classic art forms creating something unique was brilliant to me.

Wes pulled me along into the showing of an artist who specialized in scratch art. The artist coated clay boards with India ink, and then etched on bits and pieces creating fascinatingly realistic images. “This one.” Wes nodded to a black and white piece on the wall. “I wanted you to see this one.”

“Wait.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “How often do you come here?” I knew Wes was an artist. His love of drawing, and his talent at designing tattoos was a testament to that, but I had no idea that he frequented a local art gallery.

He shrugged one shoulder but focused on the piece hung on the wall. “A few times a month when I get off work early and I don’t want to go home.” My jaw fell open. He came a few times a month? I was no art gallery aficionado, but that seemed like an awful lot of visits.

“Why would you rather come here that often than go home, Wes?” I eyed him carefully.

He directed his attention back to me and sucked his lower lip into his mouth. His eyes seemed to ponder something, but then with a sweep of his lashes that look wiped clean. “Sometimes there are nudes.” He gave me a full-toothed grin. “It’s like kosher porn.”

“Ugh, Wes.” I rolled my eyes away from him and nodded back to the Etching. “So, why did you want me to see this?” I asked.

“What do you see?” He waved his hand at the painting.

“A rainbow,” I said. Obviously.

“What color is it?”

“White.” Obviously. I could see it.

“Did you know, C, that white is the sum of all colors?” Wes grinned at me clearly proud of his chroma-knowledge.

“Or the absence of color,” I corrected him.

“Nah,” He clicked his tongue against his teeth and unwove his hand from mine to position himself behind me. “You see, when light hits the white at just the right angle,” he brushed his hand down the front of my white peasant top, “a rainbow is released.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it.

“Did you just snort at me?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

“C’mon. You can’t tell me that you didn’t notice how that sounded. When it hits the right
angle
, a
rainbow
is
released
.” I covered my mouth with my hand to hide the second snort.

Wes’ forehead fell to my shoulder, and his body shook in silent laughter. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with me,” he said and lifted his head. “I’ll always give you a rainbow, C,” he whispered through a laugh and proceeded to grind against my rear end obscenely.

I giggle snorted and shoved my elbow back into him. “Oh, my God, stop.”

“Just call me the leprechaun.” He laughed and stepped back to my side where I shoved him again, but with my hand. “Okay, okay,” he said mimicking an OM stance with his hands. “So what I was getting at before I was so awesomely interrupted.” He winked at me, and I melted. “Was that you say you wear white because you are blank, empty, all that bullshit.”

I placed my hand over my heart faking offense.

“But really, white is the presence of all color. You may not see it,” he nodded back up to the white rainbow, “but you’re every color, Capri. You just have to find the light that helps you display it.”

“Huh,” I said when really I meant
wow
.

“S
o, what brings you by today, Weston?” Ridge’s mom busted out a tray of my favorite Snickerdoodles.

“Yesss.” I swiped three and shoved them into my mouth before the tray hit the coffee table.

“Dude, save some for me.” Ridge came in with a skateboard in hand and took only one for himself. Amateur.

“Ridge?” Mrs. Jackson gave him the softest stern face I’d ever seen.

“Sorry, Ma.” Ridge plopped down on the couch across from me. “Wes,” he corrected himself and flipped me off when his mom wasn’t looking.

“It’s okay, kid,” I said and flipped him off in turn when Mrs. Jackson turned her back to pull open a curtain. Mentor of the year right here, folks.

“Look, Ma. I got a B on my science test.” Ridge leaned over pulling a blue wrinkled sheet of paper from his backpack.

“Atta boy.” Mrs. Jackson clapped her hands once then swiped the sheet from Ridge’s hands. “Would it kill you to put your paperwork in your folder?” she scolded smiling proudly at Ridge.

“A B, huh? That’s pretty decent,” I said winking at Ridge to let him know that I was joking.

“Did the teacher let you give the answers aloud?” his mom asked him.

“Yeah, thanks for talking to her, Ma. I knew it all, but I get confused when I have to read.” Ridge sat back into the couch comfortably.

“I know you do. Which reminds me. Your reading tutor cancelled tomorrow and rescheduled for Monday.” She told him, flattening out his test and setting it on the coffee table. Damn. Ridge had it made. I fought off the jealousy and instead focused on how proud I was of him and of the Jackson’s. I focused on why I came by today.

I leaned over and pulled out the envelope from my back pocket clearing my throat. “I wanted to drop this off.” I handed the wrinkled enveloped over to Mrs. Jackson.

“Looks like someone else needs a folder.” She smiled, but words that she meant to be a harmless tease cut through my chest.

I busied myself picking imaginary lint from my pants as she tore it open. I grimaced when I heard the gasp.

“Wes,” she whispered, and I glanced up to see her holding her hand over her mouth. “What is this?”

“It’s from the Classic Car show fundraiser, Mrs. Jackson. I talked with all the guys, and they agreed with me that it should go to you,” I explained and a sob escaped her.

Ridge leaped from his seat to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “What is it, Ma?” he asked, and she silently showed him the check.

“Whoa,” he whispered.

“I know it’s not a lot,” I explained, “but I was hoping it would help get you set up with everything. Clothes, college fund, tutoring, whatever you need.” Mrs. Jackson’s hand shot up in the air to quiet me.

“This is amazing, that you would do this for Ridge, and for us? This is more than enough, Weston.” She stood up and set the check down on the table before coming over and pulling me up into a stiff hug. “Thank you,” she whispered and squeezed tighter.

I sighed into the hug. “No, thank you,” I whispered back.

Dizzy, like I was spinning and couldn’t get my footing right. That was how I felt every time I left the Jacksons’ house. When I was there, I looked around and I was thankful that Ridge had such awesome parents who got him things like folders and tutors. Hopefully, his tutor was hot with a pencil in her hair. The kid deserved that. He deserved the cookies and the table with his school picture on it. So if I was stoked for him, why did I feel like I ate one too many California burritos?

Usually when I felt this way, I headed to Blue’s house, the shop, or August’s place. I guess I should start calling it August and Kensie’s place. It had been completely chickified with flowery pillows on the couch and candles that smelled like Christmas. I was still completely confused about why Kensie yelled at me for using the towels that were hanging in the bathroom. It was not like I jizzed on them. I guess I did touch my junk and then the towel, but there was a quick pass of water between the two so I just didn’t understand it, but I digressed.

Tonight, for some reason, I drove straight to Capri’s house. The only thing that seemed to subside the burning in my chest was when I thought about seeing her. So here I was in her driveway, flicking my headlights.

A few months ago, I only thought of Capri when I saw her. Like, ‘oh hey, there’s Capri.’ When August started seeing Kensie and Capri was around more, I naturally started to think of her more often. Like, before we’d meet at Tommy’s, I’d try on a few shirts and wonder which one she’d like best. Or, when one of my regulars gave me a B.J., I’d imagine it was Capri instead. Little things like that. Now though, fuck, now she was all I thought of.

The porch light flicked on. I tapped the steering wheel with my hands. Then the door creeped open slowly. A ray of light slipped through the crack, and then illuminated the figure in the doorway, like an angel.

With one step, the figure emerged from the light.
Oh, fuck.
I ducked under the dash. When did he get home? I clenched my eyes shut willing him to go back into the house. A few seconds passed, and then a solid knock hit my window.