Her words and the dreamy expression on her face penetrate deeply, cementing her permanent hold on my heart. Hearing her talk about me like that will never get old. Knowing she supports my passion has always meant everything to me. I don’t even know if I’d be where I am now if she hadn’t encouraged me from day one. She has always believed in my talent, like I have always believed in hers.
“Oh, yeah, baby, yeah,” Linc says in his best Austin Powers voice, gyrating his hips.
Sydney rolls her eyes and fights a smile. “I said with his hands, not his cock, dipshit.”
Wilder grins at me, and I know that look. He’s pleased she has fit seamlessly into our circle in a way my ex never did.
Anyone that can handle the enigma that is Lincoln Lee is a keeper.
“You make me look good, and the painting is incredible. Better than any of the artwork I’ve bought over the years,” I say, softly squeezing her hand.
“I suppose it’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” Linc almost screams. “It’s fucking awesome. I want one.” He steps up beside her, flashing me a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “Can I hire you to paint me? I’m thinking in the nude. Just me, my guitar, some JD, and quality weed.”
“Nice fucking try, mate. Not happening.”
“I wasn’t asking you.”
“I don’t do commissions,” Sydney says, still staring at the painting.
“Why not?” Wilder asks. “I bet you’d clean up.” His eyes pop wide. “We can help spread the word. I’ve just had an awesome idea.” His excited gaze bounces between us. “Sydney should paint the band, and we can use it for our new album cover.”
“That’s a fucking genius idea,” I agree, looking at the boss man to see what he thinks.
“I love it,” Ryder concurs.
“Would you do it?” I ask.
Sydney finally turns away from the painting. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it,” Ryder says. “There’s no pressure. You could drop by the studio, take a look, see if it’s something you vibe with.”
“I’ll reflect on it,” she says, and that’s as much commitment as she’s prepared to give right now.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Sydney
Jared rings the bell before letting himself into my bungalow with his key. We swapped house keys last week because we spend most every evening together at either his place or mine. I also have a fob and code for his front gate and the code for his security system. His footsteps thud in the hallway, and I try to quell the butterflies running amok in my chest. It’s the same every time I’m with him, and I don’t know who I’m kidding with our friendship pact. It’s getting harder and harder to be around him and not want more.
Another couple of weeks have passed, and it’s almost one month since Jared and I discovered we were neighbors and agreed to restart our friendship. Some days, it’s hard to imagine the time when he wasn’t in my life.
“Hey, Syd.” Jared’s handsome face swims into view as he enters my kitchen. He holds up a grocery bag. “I got the ingredients.”
“Good stuff.” Our few cooking lessons have gone well. Jared even cooked the oven-baked salmon fillets with spicy tomato rice recipe for me last weekend, and I was impressed. He’s a quick study and an eager student. Depositing the bag on the island, he leans in to kiss my cheek, like always.
Like always, I silently swoon.
“I noticed some oil under your car,” he says, pulling back somewhat reluctantly. “When was it last serviced?”
“I don’t know. I bought it secondhand when I got to San Fran.”
“Did you purposely not buy a new car?” he asks, unpacking the supplies.
“Yes. I think new cars are such a waste of money. I got that way cheaper, and it’s only two years old. It’s virtually new.”
“That’s a very practical way of thinking.”
