Page 75 of Nailed

He flicked his fingers at me and a splatter of paint hit my face. Because we were all dressed in painter’s whites complete with safety glasses, there was no harm in what he did, the worst offense being that I would have to get the paint out of my hair.

I gasped in indignation and he laughed a little, going back to his corner. “Feeling a bit more relaxed yet?”

“Hmm. Not quite,” I answered, dipping my hand in the nearest tray and shaking it at him, effectively showering him in paint droplets.

His laugh deepened and he got to his feet, grabbing his brush. “Oh, it’s on, darlin’.”

I shrieked, trying to run away but he caught me before I even took two steps and dragged his wet paint brush down the side of my neck. I fought back, wiggling my arm free to plant a paint-covered hand right on his cheek.

“Children,” Rafe said in disdain but I picked up that he was a lot happier recently than he had been in a long time. Maybe because of the warehouse stunt, or something else that I wasn’t aware of. Still, it felt good to have him back, in all his prickly glory. I put a clean finger on my lips to silence Callum, then crept toward the tray when Rafe had turned his attention back to the wall.

Brock sighed. “I feel the need to dutifully inform you, Wolfhaardt, that any paint you waste will be on your own dime—”

Rafe turned around just as I raised the tray. His gaze sharpened with warning. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I tipped it over him. Callum was still laughing behind me and Rafe froze for a second before tackling me and hoisting me over his shoulder, covering me in even more paint as he barreled into Callum. The three of us fell onto the plastic sheeting protecting the floors from our foolishness, and began wrestling among ourselves, our hands finding more paint trays and cans to collect as we engaged in a very mature and sophisticated three-way paint war.

In fact, we were so focused on winning, that we registered the newest contender far too late. Brock’s little sigh and “fuck it” from the top of the ladder was lost in the sea of laughter and screaming, right up until all three of us were splashed with another tray’s worth of paint.

There was a heavy pause as we all looked up to see Brock toss the now-empty tray off to the side with a smile on his face. An actual, eye-crinkling smile. I had a feeling that all these hours of collaboration both in and out of the bedroom was honing our alignment because the three of us all grabbed the nearest wet brush and set our target on Brock, in one accord.

He backed up, holding his palms out. “Hey, I thought this was supposed to be every-man-for-himself!”

“Nah,” I said before pouncing. Our trio became a quartet as we chased each other around the engine bay, looming in and out of ladders and lobbying one another with so much paint that there was more of it on us and the sheeting than what was left in the cans.

But I would pay for this ten times over if it meant we could stay and enjoy this. The silliness of everything combined with the positivity we were feeling about the project made for an atmosphere that was so relaxed and joyful, it was priceless.

Between the messiness and touchiness of the paint war, I felt so at peace. I loved that these same men who could do things to my body that made me want to weep in pleasure, could also give me this.

Safety, space to act like an absolute idiot but knowing that there was no judgment here. It made me giddier than the sex did.

“Nobody panic!”

The unexpected shout caught all four of us off-guard. Our heads whipped to the entrance as Clara waltzed into the firehouse, her hand raised like she was a queen about to bestow a favor.

Her look of surprise at the sight in front of her was almost funnier than finally noticing that Brock had been targeted so much, the only paint-free part of him that was visible was his mouth. And just barely.

But Clara asked no questions, apparently a woman on a mission. She grinned at us, perfect white teeth practically glinting.

“I just saved all of your lives.”

30

Lauren

We managed to get most of the mess cleaned up, with Rafe and Callum carefully trapping the excess paint on the sheeting in the center and sponging it up until we could discard the plastic without further mess.

It took around half an hour to get ourselves cleaned up though, but Clara waited patiently until I was decent enough to actually sit on a couch with her.

“So, you have good news?” I asked, offering her a cup of coffee.

She took it with a grateful nod. “The best, actually. I called in a favor. Actually no, that’s not quite it—I called in a debt.”

She said it with enough flourish to capture the guys’ attention. Brock stood close by, still rubbing at a smudge of Swiss Coffee on his jaw. Rafe was leaning against the doorframe, but his body perked up in interest. Callum’s hands paused where they’d been scrubbing at splotches of paint that we’d carelessly splashed onto the arm of a chair that stood a bit too close to the warzone.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Clara continued, setting her coffee down to pull a manila folder from her bag. “You know the zoning chair, Miller? A few years back I gave his daughter an early heads-up on a pocket listing. It’s been her dream home ever since and Daddy Dearest promised he’d be waiting for the day I cashed in on his promise to repay me for my generosity.”