Then Kiss Me (21 page)

So, feeling surprised—shocked, even—I went to the door, not even putting pants on.  My night shirt covered the important stuff, and I planned to get rid of my unwanted visitor by letting him or her know I’d just been getting ready to go to bed.

I opened the door…
to Scott. 
Scratch that last thought
.

Chapter
Eleven

OKAY
.  S
O
SCOTT
couldn’t be classified as
an
unwanted
visitor
. 
Ever.
  Did I say I was getting ready to go to bed?  He had a cute lopsided grin on his face, and he seemed almost shy when he said, “Hi there.”

Relief rushed through my veins.  After all the thoughts that had been running through my head all day long, he was quite a sight.  I opened the screen door and asked, “What are you doing here?”
  Oh…
did
that come acros
s as rude?

It must not have.  “I
was hoping
you might want to talk.”

My heart leapt in anticipation
.  Yeah…I was ready.  “Sure.”  Scott turned around and waved to a car full of rowdy guys. 
Great
…now our business was pretty goddamned public.
  They hooted and hollered, yelled
hi
to me and
bye
to both of us.  I
waved,
hoping they’d drive off
now
and then saw Jim hanging out the passenger window like a dog. 
Enough already.
  I pulled Scott in by the arm, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“How are you?”

He was close enough for
me to smell his breath.  “How much have you had to drink?
”

“
Not much
.”
  He stood up straighter.  Then he sighed at the look on my face.  “I’m not
totally
wasted.  And
I promise to be good.”

God…he looked really cute…almost
vulnerable
. 
I
nnocent and sweet.
  I’d known so many mean drunks that Scott was a welcome change.  “Would you like some coffee?”

He nodded. 
“Yeah.”

He followed me to the kitchen.  I turned the light back on.
  I touched the side of the coffee pot.
  Ah…the coffee I’d made earlier was still hot, so I grabbed a couple of cups.  “It’s not totally fresh.  Is that okay?”

Scott shrugged. 
“Yeah.”

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Black’s fine.”

So I brought over two cups
full of
joe
and we sat at my little kitchen table.  He took a sip of his coffee and said, “Do you always answer the door looking like that?”  I took a few seconds inventorying myself
like that
, but before I could answer, he said, “
‘Cause
if you do, I’ll come over more often.”  My legs…must have been my legs.  There wasn’t anything else special or different today.

I also realized that, even though he was in a good mood, we probably couldn’t talk about what had been bothering me.  He wasn’t completely
trashed
, but he wasn’t sober either.  And he was in such a fun, playful
mood,
I didn’t want to wreck it.  So I just smiled and took a drink out of my mug, deciding maybe silence really was golden…or something like that.
  I decided too that I was okay with
not
talking right now.  I wanted to just enjoy his company, something I’d failed to do last night.

Scott took another sip of his coffee, and then pierced me with his green eyes.  “You owe me something, you know.”

I cocked my head, trying to figure out what he might be referring to.  “What’s that?”

He smiled. 
“Something about a drawing.”

I considered him.  Having been drinking, did he just forget about the entire second half of the night
last night
?  Or did he figure I’d just been acting like a crazy girl (which
, granted,
I had been) and thought if we ignored it, it would go away?  And why was I willing to just do that?

It was because, drunk or not, and no matter what had happened last night, this guy turned me on beyond all belief.  And having slept with him once, I knew what he was capable of.  I doubted we’d be able to do anything tonight, though, considering he
had
been drinking…a
lot
, I guessed.  But he was just so goddamned cute too…displaying a boyish quality I’d never seen
in him
before.  So I said, “Sure…why not?”  I stood up.  “Come on.”

He stood and I led him back through the living room.  As we walked through, he said, “Are these your paintings in here?”

I sensed he’d stopped and was looking at the half dozen paintings I had hanging on the walls
, so I stopped walking and turned around
. 
“Yeah.
  Do you like them?”

He walked closer to one, really scrutinizing it. 
“Yeah.”
  He looked back over at me, a serious look on his face.  “You’re fucking
talented
.”

An
embarrassed
lopsided
grin spr
a
ng up on my face.  “Thanks.”  He turned back around, moving a few feet to look at the big painting over the couch.  I said, “There’s no money in it, though, and I’m one of thousands of
starving artists
.”

He shook his head but his eyes stayed on the canvas.  “Don’t dismiss it, Casey.  This is good shit.”

I’d had enough admiration for the time being and grabbed his hand.  “Come on.”  I took him into the studio.  Once there, he looked around at all the sketches and paintings, finished and unfinished
, around the room
.  I smiled, because I could tell he hadn’t just been saying that in the living room.  He really
did
like my art.  So I showed him the oil painting that I’d been working on earlier, resting on the easel.  “This is what I was working on today.”

He studied it, shaking his head.  “Wow.”

Okay…I’d had enough.  “You’re drunk.  You’re just saying that.”  He examined me, knitting his brows
and frowning
, but he didn’t say anything.  “Sit over here,” I said, pulling a chair from the wall and placing it in the middle of the room.  He sat down, but he continued to look at the walls where I’d taped and tacked dozens of sketches here and there.

I pulled up my stool a couple of feet away with my sketch pad.  I’d decided to just use pencil.  I’d considered charcoal and then decided I wanted precision for this drawing.  “Just so you know…people aren’t my forte.”

He grinned.  “So what
is
your forte?”

I started doing a light outline
of him
on the page, deciding to draw him from the waist up.  I was okay with faces but not close-up portraits.  And, like Michelangelo, I tended to
enjoy
the male
form.  I smiled, making eye contact. 
“Weird shit.”

He nodded.  He kept looking at different drawings around the room, and I was sure that took some of the pressure off
him from
my scrutinizing gaze.  I would look at him,
then
move my eyes to the page to
draw
a stroke or two, then look back at him.  Right now, I was viewing him as an object and trying to get him just right.  But when I looked up at him again, he was smiling at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.  I stood, set the sketchpad on the desk behind me, and marched over to him.  I grabbed his
gray
t-shirt at the shoulders by my fingertips and said, “Sorry, but you’ve
gotta
lose this.”  He smirked and the eye contact that time was electric. 
No
...I was going to finish the drawing.  After all, I’d promised.

He took off the shirt, setting it on his lap, and I said, “Much better.”

Smartass Scott was back.  He said, “Why?  What
’d this shirt ever do to you
?”

I couldn’t
stop
the smile from forming on my face.  “I’d rather draw your chest without your shirt on.”  I needed an excuse.  “You can’t tell talent by drawing a shirt.”  So that was total bullshit.  Some of the best drawings I’d ever seen had captured the folds and creases and texture of fabrics in a way I’d never be able to imitate.

I started to turn back to my stool, but he took my arm
gently
in his hand.  He stood up.  “Look, Casey, I’m still not sure what happened last night.  All I know is…we’re friends, right, and…there was something…
crazy between us
the other night
at the party
. 
About l
ast night…I told Jim he was way out of line.  He ever does
anything
like that to you again, I’ll beat the shit out of him, and I told him that.”

Then I felt really guilty.  So, before he could finish, I said, “Scott, listen.  I’m sorry about what I said last night.  I was upset and I lashed out at you. 
I
was out of line too.”

He looked down at my arm where the red marks had been last night and saw the bruises that had taken their place.  “Were you?”
  He ran his fingers over the marks, acting like he wanted to erase them with a brush of his thumb.  “Seeing this, I don’t think you were.  Jim can be a fucking asshole sometimes.”  I didn’t say anything, but I agreed completely.
  “And I’m not going to stand here and try to convince you either way about what he said.  I know why he said it, but I’m not prepared to explain. 
Same with Wendy.”
  He looked up from my arm.  “I just want you to know that I don’t intend to
share
you with Jim.”
  He shook his head.  “That makes it sound like I own you and have any control over that.  I didn’t mean it that way.”
  He frowned.  “Fuck…I don’t know why I’m saying any of this.”  He looked up from the bruises and into my eyes.  “You probably don’t want anything to do with my anymore anyway.”  He shook his head.

The doorbell rang again. 
What the hell?
  It was starting to feel like Denver
all over again
.  Unable to resist him, I stroked Scott’s cheek.  He had slight stubble and it scratched against my fingers.  I said, “I believe you.”  His eyes showed relief.  “I need to answer the door.  Wait here.  I’ll be right back.”

The doorbell rang again.  Someone was impatient.  When I got
to
the door, I pulled it open to David.  The
rowdy car
was again parked on the street in front of my place.

“Hey, Casey,” David said, acting sheepish.  “I came by to see if we needed to pick up Scott now.”  He swallowed and grinned.  “Sorry…we’ve all been drinking a lot.  Has Scott already left, or should I come back later, or—”

I cut him off.  “He’s still here.  I’ll give him a ride home.”  I just didn’t know when.

“I was hoping you’d say that.  Here’s his jacket.”  I opened the screen door, taking Scott’s jean jacket in my hand, and David saw my bare legs.  He nodded and smiled.  “Have fun, girlfriend.”

I smiled, feeling playful.  “Get the fuck out of here.”  David laughed as I shut and locked the door.  I placed Scott’s jacket on the couch.  Before heading back to the studio, I stopped in the restroom and grabbed a bottle of baby oil.  I was ready to heat things up a little bit.

When I walked back in the studio, Scott asked, “What’s up?”

I walked over to where he was sitting and said, “David brought your jacket by for you.”  I squatted down beside the chair.

Scott’s eyes were closed and he nodded. 
“For the long walk home.”

I let out a breath.  “I can drive, you know.”

He just looked at me and I wondered what he was thinking.  But I wasn’t going to ask.  I opened the lid on the baby oil and squirted some on my hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I fought to keep my face as straight—and my tone as professional—as possible.  “I’m going to put this on your torso.
  It will help your definition stand out so I don’t have to strain my eyes.”  I paused.  Was he falling for my line of bullshit?  Sure, it would help…
a little
.  But it
would be
nice rubbing his chest.
  I wanted to touch him without having to follow through if necessary.
 
But
m
mmm
…
  “Is that okay?”