Needless to say after our little encounter, he got the concept.
I watch as my sister leaps from the table and saunters where Cole and I play pool. Anthony’s eyes follow her. I lean on my pool stick as I watch the love triangle unfold in front of me. A man so desperate for a woman eager to be in another man's bed.
It’s messy, so fucking messy, but what family isn’t?
They’ve helped me realize that family isn’t by blood, but love. They are my true family. There was a hollowness in my chest that I’d spent my life questioning. Something that I wondered would ever feel full. Then I met them.
I keep a tight shield around our family. After Macey, no one has really been able to make their way into our circle. Even with Shelby, I hadn’t told her about our dinners until six months prior to our breakup, and I also never invited her.
She was an obligation I put off for too long, and it bit me in the ass. I think a part of her knew that, which is why she did the things she did to me. Her red painted nails were sunk deep into me, leaving an imprint so deep it makes me question whether or not I’ll ever be able to escape her. I have a plan, but is it worth it?
That’s why I sit in this purgatory. This in between of what to do with Shelby. I have to be strategic in either choice I make. My life is a series of roles necessary for a means to an end. Whatever I do with Shelby is just that, too. If I piss off the wrong people, they will hit me where it hurts.
I look at my family, knowing they’d be the first target.
Sam's dramatic laugh breaks me out of my thoughts, and my eyes focus the moment she places her hand over Cole’s callused ones. I don’t even have to look to know Anthony is shifting in his seat. I do, and there he is, doing just that as Macey watches with a soft smile. Another perk of my father’s grooming. I’m always somehow able to predict the next step.
Twirling my pool stick, my thoughts are brought back to the little fire in the coffee shop. She’s consumed most parts of my thoughts and I don’t even know her name. I don’t know her age. I don’t know her job. I don’t know her favorite color or food. I don’t know the way those pink lips feel or what ignites that fire that sits in those eyes.
I don’t know anything except for one thing — I want her. IfBoston doesn’t bring her back to me, then I’m just going to have to find her myself.
Another perk of my grooming —data breach.
As the clock strikes eleven, the music is bumped louder in que for Tuesday night Karaoke. Because for some reason, Boston is obsessed with it.
Stopping her flirtatious banter with Cole, my sister looks me dead in the eyes as she yells, “let’s karaoke!”
Before I know it, I’m being drug to the tiny dance floor and a microphone is being shoved in my hand, making me cringe but still stand my ground, nonetheless.
Only for my family.
CHAPTER FIVE
SUNNY
Walking along the harbor,I watch the sunlight glimmer on the water. The air feels fresh and crisp as it fills my nose and lungs with the salt water smell. Even the sunshine feels different on my skin than at home, but somehow, it still brings a small comfort, like I’m exactly where I need to be.
As I make my way to my destination, I pass by the little shops that it’s nestled between across the harbor. It must look stunning with the moon hanging above it at night. I imagine a lot of the artists getting inspiration watching the sun or night sky above the river.
With a deep inhale, I look at the sign above the door.Color My Life.Walking into the little shop, my heart leaps inside my chest at the sight of all the canvases, paint brushes, easels, and paints.
I peer around and see the walls painted in a magenta, the tables already prepped for the class coming, and a small stage where the teacher will guide us.
Today, I opted to take a class instead of the free paint hours. The painting we’re doing is of a table with wine glassesoverlooking the city. Seems fitting upon my arrival to the city, and maybe I’ll even hang it up in my apartment.
I browse the place leisurely, touching the paint brushes with my free hand while the other holds a death grip on the wine bottle I brought.
A loud sound thrums from the low set stage, making me suck in a harsh breath. That’s where I see the instructor, setting up on stage and picking up the paint brushes she dropped.
She’sgorgeous.
Her dark brown hair is streaked in fiery, hot pink pieces, twirled up in a messy bun on top of her head and held together with paint brushes. Her amber eyes sparkle as she sets up the studio, the love for what she does so prevalent.
I smile at her paint covered overalls. I used to have a pair just like them. For now, I have a clean new canvas. Such a rhetoric for my life.
Red lipstick coats her lush lips and the smile never leaves her face as she continues to set up.
You won the genetic lottery.
