It sucked. I felt anxious and guilty and when I finally made my way back to Bertha two days later, I realized he’d left half of his baggage with her. I tried calling him, to figure out a way to get him back his things, but he never picked up.
I havezerointerest in repeating that mistake. So, no, we can’t be friends. Because Ireallywant to fuck this woman. It’s becoming an issue, actually, how badly I want to. “All right, well, do you want to tell me anyways?”
“Long story short, I have to get a life or fly the nest. And, if I’m out, Mom’s out too. Dad’s already made a plan for her, if so. She’ll be in some care home outside of Huntsville becauseIam, apparently, throwing my life away.” She falls back onto the floor, looking up to the ceiling.
“Is that what this is, then?” I look around the partially cleared-out space. “Are you getting ready to leave?”
Prue laughs dryly. “No, this is me trying to stay.” She pauses, biting that full lip of hers. “If I can get Mom out here more, doing what she loves, I think it’ll help. If she sleeps better, I can go out…. Go into town and meet people or, I don’t know, take up a hobby or something. I really haven’t thought it through just yet.” She turns her head to look at me. “That’s what I was doing when you showed up.”
I nod, hypnotized, my eyes tracing the curl of her hair in sequence as I follow one strand through each loop, from the top of her head to the end of the coil that touches the floor. “Maybe I could help,” I suggest—as I seem to keep doing in the Welches’ presence.
“Again, I’ll pass.”
“No, not with that.” Then we catch each other’s eyes as she levels me with a healthy dose of skepticism, and I mischievousness. “Though, if you’re willing to discuss that…” I mumble out the corner of my mouth.
She rolls her eyes, but smiles this time.
“I mean help more with this,” I gesture around the room. “With Mrs. Welch.”
“You know, you can probably call her Julia now. It’s been, what, ten years since you were in her class?”
“Never.” I dismiss the suggestion quickly. “But, really, I could help. I could paint with her, hang out with her…I miss it. You know, I spent most of my lunch periods in her classroom.”
“Are you a painter too?” she asks me, in what may be an attempt to change topics or refuse my help. I’ll get us back there, eventually.
“Not really.” It’s odd, because we’ve only just met, but some part of me is surprised she doesn’t know the answer. Surprised that she, this near-perfect stranger, doesn’t already know everything there is to know about me. What’s scarier is that some part of mewantsher to. “I like it, your mom saw to that. But I’m a pencil-sketch type of guy. More portable that way.”
“Mmm, portable.” She nods, a few times too many as if she’s logging that information away somewhere important. “Got any I could see?”
Oh, just three of you so far and about four hundred more of all of theother people I’ve ever wanted to kiss before.“Maybe if you’re lucky, someday, yeah.”
She smirks, like she’ll have her way much sooner than thatsomedaysuggests. I unfortunately agree.
“Consider it?” I say, moving to stand and reaching down to pick up the drill. “We could say…two hours per day? I’m just next door working, and Nik can spare me. You could squeeze an awful lot of Tom-approved life into two hours a day.”
“One hour,” she returns.
“You’re terrible at negotiating,” I tease. “You’re supposed to ask formore.”
She stands, then leans her head toward me. “Fine. One hour with her, and I get that other hour with you to myself.”
I steal a breath, my eyes widening in surprise. “Oh?” I fumble and nearly drop the drill, but she helps me recover, placing her hand on my forearm for balance.I’m never this uncoordinated. I hate it.“Wait, so you do…Is that…what you want?”
“I didn’t mean an hour forthat.”
“No?” I ask, pouting. “Really? You sure?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “Friends?” she asks, simply. Like two kids on the schoolyard agreeing to trade lunches.
By saying yes, I’d be giving up on the hope of figuring out if those lips taste as good as they look. By saying no, I’d be going to bed tonight with two guilt-ridden scenarios to play back keeping me awake. Neither option feels right.
“What about lovers?” I ask, not so subtly. “Paramours? I could be your boy-toy? Your little bit on the side? Your hot piece of—”
She giggles again, and I swear it nearly stops my heart from beating. “Good night, Milo.”
“I’ll be out front with Tom if you need me,” I tell her, walking backward toward the door. “I’ll put in a good word for you.” Forsome reason, I don’t turn around. I think tripping and falling on my ass would be less painful than turning away from that gleeful expression she’s wearing. The one that replaced the heavy storm cloud she’d had when I’d arrived.
I did that.
