Page 34 of When the Smoke Clears

What the hell? Who weaves kite string?

“The string is fine. The kite can probably be salvaged. It’s not that far up there. Here. I’ll lift you onto my shoulders, and then you can probably reach it.”

Her nose wrinkled. “What if you drop me?”

“You’re a half-pint. Why would I drop you?”

Everleigh’s lips twisted for a beat before she nodded. “Fine. But if you break my dad’s kite and his daughter, this won’t end well for you. My dad is very protective of his little girl.”

I rolled my eyes and squatted. She climbed onto my shoulders, and I gripped her legs while standing.

“Forward. Back. Back . . . stop!” She guided me while freeing the kite.

I set her on her feet, and we walked toward the parking lot while I ordered a cab. She kept her head bowed, inspecting the rip in the kite. What was I supposed to say? It was her fault. And yet, I felt bad.

“I’m sorry. Really. We’ll fix it.”

She sniffled.

Shit. I made her cry, so I slipped my phone into my back pocket and sighed, contemplating what else I could say.

It was over. A fun night. Gaming. A breakfast orgasm. Kite flying. Crash. The end. Would seeing her at the wedding be awkward? Undoubtedly. Would she tell Victoria and Tyler? I hoped not.

The cab arrived, and as I opened the back door for her, she scuffed her feet along the sidewalk toward the trash bin and shoved the kite and string into it.

My lips parted, eyes unblinking, as she sauntered toward me.

The biggest shit-eating grin engulfed her face. “My dad sends me a kite every month. Like a kite-of-the-month club. He buys them at a little shop down the street from his place. I think they’re the equivalent of a couple US dollars.”

I hated her.

Also, I grabbed her face and kissed her so hard I nearly chipped a tooth against hers.

The cabdriver cleared his throat. “The meter’s running.”

I didn’t care if I had to pay to kiss her. Everleigh was unlike anyone I had ever met. Everything about her was sticky and hard to shake.

She was smart and sexy.

Sassy and downright evil.

More addictive than any drug.

Chapter Twelve

I play Call of Duty while Liz paints her daughter in the upstairs bedroom. There’s a west-facing window, so I guess the light is good. I should have gone to tai chi class or the bar. I should have found a friendly hookup to keep my mind from wandering into naked Everleigh territory. So many should-haves, but here I am, killing characters on a screen and thinking about a specific painting.

“You missed out,” Liz says, descending the stairs.

Bang. My character dies, so I toss the controller aside.

“The lighting was perfect. In fact, I like the painting so much, I’m going to have it shipped home and display it in my gallery.”

“Everleigh is okay with that?” I ask, resting my elbows on my knees and glancing up at her as she washes her hands in the kitchen sink along with a few brushes.

“No, I’m not okay with it. No, she’s not shipping it home,” Everleigh says, coming down the stairs in a white kimono robe. “She’s just trying to get you on her side to convince me to say yes.”

“Sweetheart, you can’t see your face behind your hair. It’s an elegant painting. Stunning, really. If it sells, I’ll give you all the money from it. You can donate it to your favorite charity or whatever.”