Page 35 of When the Smoke Clears

Everleigh opens the back door. “Nope.” She slams it shut behind her.

“That girl,” Liz grumbles, ripping paper towels from the holder. “She’s stubborn. And she didn’t get that from me.” After setting the brushes on the paper towels, she shoves her feet into her white canvas shoes and opens the door. “I’m going for a walk.”

The door closes, and I drop my head into my hands. Why did I think I needed a roommate? I lumber off the sofa and head upstairs. Maybe it’s not too late to go to the bar. It’s definitely not too late to hook up with someone. As I pass Maren’s old room with its door slightly ajar, I cave to my curiosity and push it open a few more inches. The canvas on the easel is facing away from me.

Shut the door and go to the bar.

My common sense has been honed from years of making mistakes. It’s earned a badge of honor. That was before Everleigh moved into my shed. Now, said common sense gets discarded to the floor, and I squash it with my foot on the way to the easel.

“Damn,” I whisper, gawking at the painting. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but it’s incredible. I grin, taking in her crossed legs and casual gaze over her shoulder out the window to hide her face.

Her curves and her breasts are just—

“Shall we hang it above your bed?”

I jump, attention shooting to Everleigh with her shoulder resting on the side of the doorway, hands in the pockets of her loose, white linen pants.

“I was just thinking what a relief it is that your pussy isn’t visible. They’re pretty ugly, don’t you think?” I spew the first nonsense that comes to mind.

Her eyes flare as she curls her lips between her teeth to hide her grin. “Hmm, yes. That’s a good observation.”

Despite the erection straining against my jeans, I continue to stare at the painting, thoughtfully rubbing my chin. “You know what I can’t help but wonder?”

“What’s that?” Everleigh’s ease with me staring at this painting is so damn sexy. Her confidence has come a long way.

“Where’s your tattoo?”

Her right eyebrow makes a slow ascent up her forehead. “My mom has been oversharing.”

“Nah. Oversharing would have been disclosing the location of the tattoo or what you got tattooed on your . . .”

She laughs. “On my body?”

I step around the easel and sit at the end of the bed.

“It’s stupid,” Everleigh says.

“I think that’s the point, right? If people overthought that stuff, no one would get a tattoo.”

“You have one on your tricep.” She points to her arm.

I nod. “It’s the date Maren’s brother died.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I shrug. “It’s been years. Where’s your tattoo?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Is it a cheap-ass kite from the shop near your dad’s place?”

A slow grin of recognition works its way up her face, and she shakes her head.

“Is it your IQ?”