Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) (7 page)

I breathed. Wes looked at me, and I could breathe again. I’d heard people describe the sight of someone taking their breath away, but to say that would mean life stopped. He has never taken my breath away. Every time I saw him, I remembered to breathe. I remembered to live.

“I would never,
never
call you a slut. Nor have I ever thought of you as one. Have I wondered why you date douchebag after douchebag? Absolutely. It drives me nuts, actually. Seeing you, this smart, gorgeous, and talented chick passing herself around like that. I don’t get it, and I sure as hell don’t like it, but I don’t have it in me to think such awful things about you. Especially you.” Wes’ expression was hard and firm. It was such a contrast to his usual carefree demeanor that I had no choice but to believe him.

“Oh.” I sighed and sunk further into my seat. I played with my hands in my lap for a few seconds, and then looked back at Wes. “Well, I’ve usually thought of you as a he-hussy,” I said shrugging a shoulder at him and turning my lips up to one side.

He leaned back into his seat in a healthy chuckle that brought me to giggles along with him. “Yeah, I figured as much,” he said shaking his head along with his laughter.

W
ho went to bars alone after work? This guy. I didn’t actually come to drink away my worries, so it was not as creepy as it sounded. I did have a beer or two, but I really just didn’t like going home to an empty place every night. Tommy’s was a pretty chill place and felt more like someone’s really big living room than a bar. So see, not creepy.

My afternoon with Capri had my mind flying around in my head like a tetherball. I freakin’ loved that game as a kid. I remembered that time I pounded Capri in the face with it. God, I’d felt awful. There was blood dripping from her nose, and her eyes were all watery, but she didn’t cry.

She kept reassuring me that she was fine, but I couldn’t stand to see her hurt knowing I did it. I ran into her house so fast I knocked August over onto the grass. I grabbed an ice pack and a towel for her and ran back just as quickly, stomping on August’s hand. I skipped out on working with Blue that afternoon because I couldn’t leave her until I knew she was okay.

I sat with her and August on the Hunter’s back step eating out of a tub of ice cream until Donna finally convinced me that Capri was going to be okay and she’d give me a ride home. She was okay, but damn she had a black eye for days. I could really kill it in tetherball. I bet I could still kill it now.

Anyway, I was certain I had a thing for her, Capri. I was certain I wanted to pursue said thing. When I was standing there in her presence though, I got jumpy.

She was so smart, so talented, and so
Goddamn Beautiful
, that I felt completely lame when I was around her. Our amazing to lameness ratio was way off. She was like a ten thousand in amazing, and I was so far below, I had no business trying to keep up.

I didn’t necessarily mean to tell her how much it bugged me when she was with other dudes either, but she got me all fired up. I couldn’t figure out why, but with each tool she dated, I grew more and more berserk. The more I noticed her, the more her boyfriends pissed me off. When they touched her, I wanted to break off each one of their weasely fingers, and when they kissed her, it took everything in me not to jump up and pull them from her. I’d been morphed into some crazed green monster on the inside, and I wanted to be in their shoes. Well, not literally because my Chucks were badass.

“Nice ink, Bro.” A dude a seat two chairs over distracted me from that beast inside that was churning up with my thoughts.

“Thanks. Yours is tight, too.” I nodded at the script wrapped around his forearm.

“Thanks, man. Just had it done.” He pulled up his sleeve so I could get a better look, and I took this as my go ahead to ask about it.

“What’s Bella Stella for?” I asked noticing how tight the shading was on his piece.

“Beautiful Star. For my girlfriend.” He pulled his sleeve back down.

“Girlfriend? Dude, must be legit then.” No one got tattoos for their girlfriends and boyfriends unless they were sure, like, more sure of this than I was on the length of my dick sure.

“Oh, I’m sure. She changed me for the better.” He nodded at the bartender when he set down a mug for him. “I was an addict when we met. She didn’t know for a while, though. I did an okay job of keeping it on the down low until I started hitting the harder stuff.”

“Dude.” Was that appropriate? I wasn’t sure what to say here.

“Yeah. When she found out, she told me get clean or she was out. I wasn’t sure she’d stick around, but I knew I had to try. She was my light. You know?” He squinted at me, and I nodded. I think I was finding out. “Anyway. I got clean. Took me a year, and she was there with me through it all. I got this for her ‘cause in my shitty life, she’s the star.”

“Dude.” Really though, that was beautiful.

“You got a girl?” He nodded at me, taking a sip of his beer.

“Nah.” I shook my head and clicked my tongue against my teeth. “I mean, I’ve got my sights on one,” I added but left out the part about probably setting my sights too high.

“That’s tight. She could end up being your star, man.” He held his mug up in silent cheers, and I picked mine up doing the same.

“Dude.” I nodded and took a drink, ‘cause that would be crazy.

I
watched the paint smear under the brush. The deep pigment surrendered to the water dispersing into a translucent shade of gray. Watercolor. It was unforgiving, reckless, and lawless. No amount of change could erase the truths born unto the paper the moment it met with a brush.

I swiped the brush harshly against the paper towel and dipped it into the water before smothering it in black paint again. Putting the brush back to the paper, I gently dragged a line of the fishtail then pulled the brush back and watched the line blur.
Dammit.
I tossed the brush into the cup and stood up cracking my knuckles.

A tired honk sounded from outside. I shook my head and stood from my bed. Leaving the mess behind, I grabbed my purse from the hook before heading downstairs to meet Lennon.

At first glance, they all looked the same—all the people looked the same, all the cars looked the same, all the irritated expressions, as I stood still in the crowd, looked exactly the same. If I focused though, and paid attention to the fine details, then looking became seeing.

Some people sashayed while others shuffled. Others laughed loudly while a few pouted in contemplation. A woman to my left propped her hands on her hips and glared around the parking lot, searching for a wayward husband, I assumed. A little boy next to a vintage pickup slumped and flopped his tiny limbs behind his dad out of sheer boredom.

“Poor kid,” Lennon chirped from next to me. “He’d probably rather be home playing with his Skip It, and he’s stuck here looking at cars with all the old people.”

“A Skip It? Do they even make those anymore?”

She shrugged. “They should. It was great exercise.”

“And weren’t they more of a girl toy?” I asked scanning the rows of cars looking for Wes’ Chevy.

“Don’t pigeonhole the kid. He can play with whatever he wants.” She scanned the rows of men looking for shaggy musicians.

Every year, the tattoo shop Wes worked at put on a car show fundraiser.

I’d never come to one of the car shows before, but I’d heard it advertised on the radio for the last three years. Not that I was opposed to the good the fundraiser did. The best part of the event was that the money went to local kids in need.

I was more opposed to seeing the tall tatted man who aided in the event. Especially with the way we left things off at the youth center the other day. After our argument in the car, we painted in an awkward silence that got worse when my “sexy times” playlist came on. I hadn’t seen Wes since he left when NERD’s “Lap Dance” came on. Okay, I might have made a point to sing some of it out loud, but that was his fault. He made me sassy.

“You see Wes around here anywhere?” I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail. Eighty-degree temperatures in January, it was a pleasant outcome of living in Southern California.

“Please, like you wouldn’t immediately find him in a crowd.” Lennon scoffed at me and pulled a French fry out of a passing guy’s paper bowl. When he turned to say something, she winked at him, stuffing it into her mouth. Just like that, her thievery forgotten.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. Wes wasn’t even here.

“Oh, please. One of these days you two just need to bang it out.” She wiped her salted hands on the thigh of her skinny jeans.

“There will be no banging, Len.” Seriously, where was he? I turned behind me to take in the crowd at our backs.
Person, person, thin person, short person, broad solid shoulders, person, wait
. I traced my eyes back.
Sexy saunter with long gait.
“There he is.”

“Uh-huh.” She turned toward Wes smiling sneakily. Oh, no.

“Ladies.” Wes smiled taking each of our hands to place a kiss on our knuckles. I watched in equal parts horror and anticipation as his full lips descended upon my hand. I thought to pull it away before they made contact and felt my fingers flinch within his grasp, but the second his lips touched my waiting skin, I was limp to his touch. I gave up.