Shrugging, I wondered if that was true. Did all the other moms know better? Was it less about real friendship and more that I was the lone remaining sucker? “I had fun,” I admitted honestly.
“Looks like it,” he said, walking toward me. “You have some…” Reaching around me, he grabbed a paper towel from the counter and folded it over the side I’d used to clean the edges of my cans. He wiped it along my nose. His smile ticked wider. “It’s kind of everywhere.”
He stood close, his muscular thighs pushing into the side of my softer, squishier one. I decided I should do some squats this week. And maybe go for a run. Or take up yoga or something—anything. He should not get to look like that, while my tummy had never quite recovered from having a baby. I mean, what was that pooch? And how did I get it to go away? Besides doing sit-ups. What I meant was, how did I get it to go away without really sweating or putting in a strong effort?
Not that I was so much bigger than when I was in high school. Less gangly and more filled out for sure. But my hips had widened after Max. And the baby pooch that didn’t want to disappear. My thighs were thicker, but I blamed standing for hours on end at the diner. And my boobs were definitely bigger. Which would have been awesome if I hadn’t nursed Max. Now they were a voluptuous DD, but also weirdly flat on the top. And wrinkly. And stretch-marked.
Levi rested his hand on my shoulder to get a better grip on my paint-covered nose. “This reminds me of high school,” he chuckled. “I used to find you in the art room like this. Paint in your hair and on your face.” He brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek, demonstrating the exact spot I would habitually rest my paintbrush. “What I wouldn’t have given for you to let me do this back then.”
I rolled my eyes and yet remained completely still. “The only times you set foot in the art room were to torture me. Remember that one time you drew boobs on my self-portrait? Or the other time you replaced my art show entry with one of your originals?” It had been a ridiculous attempt at impressionism. Thankfully, Mrs. Perry had realized right away that it wasn’t mine and had given me time to track down my piece and replace it for the competition.
“I was flirting with you, Dawson.” I snorted and he added, “Okay, I admit, they were pretty bad attempts, but I was seventeen. I just wanted your attention.”
“You always had a girlfriend,” I pointed out.
His hand with the paper towel dropped to my other shoulder and he hit me with those serious, intense, sparkling green eyes of his. “Because you wanted nothing to do with me.”
I leaned forward, a teasing smile dancing in the corners of my mouth. “Maybe because you were always messing with my art.”
His smile was slower this time, wicked in the way it took its time lifting his mouth. “Maybe I still want your attention.” Just when my breath caught in my throat and I was convinced I would pass out before I remembered how to breathe again, he added, “Maybe I’m stilling messing with your art.”
His gaze moved to the counter and I followed it, noticing his poised fingers holding a paintbrush gloppy with black paint. His hand hovered near my freshly finished ghost.
“Levi…” I warned, my hand sliding down his warm forearm so as not to spook him. I circled his wrist with my hand, not able to touch my fingers together. “Don’t you dare.”
His rumbly chuckle vibrated through him. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll dump a can of paint over your head just like I did junior year.”
His gaze flashed back to mine. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I sat up straighter, letting him know I was serious. “Oh, I would.”
“You know I’m the one that got a detention for that paint stunt, right? You had the faculty wrapped around your finger back then.”
I rolled my eyes again. “I think they all felt sorry for me.” My words rang true, but I hated the way they sounded inside this wealthy home, across from this wealthy, spoiled rotten man. So, I quickly added, “Because I had to deal with your bullying.”
He shook his head, calling BS. “I wasn’t bullying you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I groaned. “You were flirting with me.”
“Let’s be friends.”
His words were so out of the blue, so from nowhere that it took me a second to fully process what he was asking. “Friends?”
He leaned closer and I inhaled him, whiskey and some kind of orange-scented body wash or deodorant or maybe he’d just eaten one or maybe I wanted to eat him or what was the question?
“Friends,” he repeated. “We’ve never tried it before. Could be fun?”
“This feels like a trap,” I murmured honestly.
“If it is, I’ll let you dump a can of paint on my head. Fair’s fair.”
I laughed, despite myself. “What reason would you have to trick me into being friends with you?” The smell of him and the feel of him so close and the utter enigma that was Levi Cole had me totally confused. But there were reasons, tickling the edges of my sanity.
Max, for one.
Did he suspect? Did he know? I wanted to believe that he couldn’t possibly have put the pieces together. He couldn’t suspect anything with zero information. Okay, fine. He could suspect if he wanted to. I mean, this was Levi we were talking about. Who knew what went on in that mysterious head of his? But my hopes remained. Max was still a secret. He and I were still safe.
