Bare Walls

I was afraid of the top bunk. It was too high off the ground.

At home, I’d had a pink bed – Mommy always called it my princess bed. She’d painted my bedroom to look like a scene from one of my favorite fairytales, and the walls were covered with princesses and fairies and knights and even a magic castle. The ceiling was painted with stars and clouds and a green sparkly dragon. Every night, she’d read me stories before bed, and I would stare at my walls and pretend I was skipping down the paths of an enchanted forest, or locked high up in the tallest tower of the castle. Sometimes, Mommy and I would read a new story and afterwards she would get out her paintbrushes and add to my walls.

I wondered if another little girl was sleeping in my princess room now.

I looked up at the chipping paint of the gray ceiling in my new room, stained with brown and green splotches. My foster mother didn’t know how to paint castles or stars or dragons.

The house was quiet. I’d been lying in my bunk for hours but I couldn’t sleep. I was scared of what I knew I’d see when my eyes drooped closed. I missed my room. I missed Mommy. I missed bedtime stories and the way she’d always sing as she painted.

Slipping quietly down the bunk bed ladder, I adjusted the too-long sleeves of my pajamas and padded out into the hall. I shared a bedroom with three other girls, but they were all older than me and they snored and drooled and thrashed as they slept.

I moved down the hallway on my tiptoes, trying not to make any noise. My foster mother got mad when she caught us out of bed at night, even if we’d had bad dreams. I’d been here for a few weeks now, but I’d learned the first night that there would be no bedtime stories or soft hands to tuck me in.

When I reached the back door, I pushed it open cautiously; I knew from coming here almost every night that it would squeak if I moved it too fast. I stepped out onto the porch, my bare feet cold on the uneven wooden planks. Sitting down on the steps that led into the backyard, I propped my head in my hands and looked up at the sky. There were no stars, here. No green sparkly dragons, either. Just clouds and swirling darkness.

“You shouldn’t be out here, you know.”

I startled, my head whipping around to peer into the dark corner of the porch where the voice had come from. It was a boy’s voice, deeper and rougher than my own. I curled in on myself, frightened as I watched him emerge from the shadows.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said, sitting down on the step next to me. Close but not too close. “But you shouldn’t be out here. It’s late and it’s cold.”

I stared at him.

“You’re the one who doesn’t talk,” he stated, looking down at me.

I nodded.

“I just got here a few days ago,” he sighed sadly. “I can’t sleep either.”

I looked up at the sky again, seeking a star, but there were still none behind the clouds. The boy didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt me. He was older by a few years, probably nine or ten. I was surprised he was even talking to me. Most of the older kids didn’t want to spend time with the “little mute freak.”

“Are you scared?” he asked softly. When I looked over at him, there was no teasing in his eyes – only kindness and maybe some sadness too. He understood. He hadn’t asked what I was scared of, but it didn’t matter – fear is fear.

I nodded slowly.

“Want to hear a story?” he questioned, his voice unsure.

I felt my lips turn up in a small smile. I nodded again, turning to look at him.

“Okay,” he took a deep breath, his forehead scrunching up as he thought about where to start. I doubted his story would be as good as one of Mommy’s, but any story was better than none at all.

The boy looked up to the dark sky before he began.

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Andromeda. When she was born, her parents, the king and queen, were so proud of her beauty that they bragged she was the most beautiful girl in their kingdom, in their country, in the entire world.”

The dark haired boy looked over at me to make sure I was following his story. I watched him quietly, enthralled by his words. It had been weeks since someone had talked to me – really talked to me. The therapist visited each week, but she didn’t say much; she just asked too many questions that I had no answers for.

“When the sea nymphs heard what the King and Queen were saying about Andromeda’s loveliness, they were enraged; until now, they’d always been the most beautiful creatures in the land, and they weren’t ready to give up their title. The jealous nymphs begged Poseidon, the god of the sea, to send a terrible monster to Andromeda’s homeland and to destroy the kingdom.”

I perched on the edge of my seat, my eyes wide as I watched the boy and listened to his fascinating tale.

“The evil sea monster destroyed towns and killed villagers, and the King and Queen were desperate to end the suffering of their people. They asked an Oracle – the wisest man in the kingdom – how they could stop the monster’s violent attacks.” He gazed up at the stars overhead. “The Oracle told them the only way to end the violence was to sacrifice their beautiful daughter Andromeda to the sea monster.”

I gasped.

“They had no choice, if they wanted to save their people. So, they chained her to a rock in the middle of the ocean and left her there – alone and defenseless. When the monster appeared, with its razor sharp teeth and evil red eyes, Andromeda knew she was going to die.”

The boy looked over at me, his blue eyes intense.

“Suddenly, out of the sky, the hero Perseus appeared, flying on his winged horse Pegasus. He took one look at the beautiful Andromeda, fell instantly in love with her, and killed the evil monster before it could even touch her.” The boy smiled softly. “The princess was reunited with her parents, who were thrilled to have their daughter back. The very next day Andromeda and Perseus were married, and from that moment on they lived happily ever after.”

The boy fell silent, his tale over. I’d never heard a story like that before, and I was fascinated. Mommy had never told stories about sea monsters, flying horses, nymphs, or gods!

I had so many questions that I wanted to ask this boy – where he’d heard such a tale, and whether he knew any more like it. I wanted to thank him for sharing his strange story, but I still hadn’t spoken to anyone since Mommy had…

I reached up and touched the cut near my shoulder. Though it was wrapped with bandages and the doctor had put stitches in it, it still hurt. It didn’t bleed anymore, at least. The rest of my cuts and bruises had faded; it was the only mark I had left to remind me of that day.

I turned back to the boy and caught him staring at me.

“You should go to bed. Your name is Brooklyn, right?”

I nodded, climbing to my feet. The boy stood too, and he seemed shocked when I reached out and grabbed ahold of his hand. I squeezed tightly, hoping it was enough to tell him what I couldn’t say out loud.

Thank you.

He glanced down at my small fingers wrapped around his and gently squeezed back.

“You’re welcome.”

I smiled my first real smile in weeks and disappeared back into the house, leaving the strange lonely boy in the dark.

***

I woke with a start.

I’d never had such a vivid dream about my time in foster care before. It caught me off guard, startling me with its clarity. Sure, I’d had vague memories of the boy who’d told me stories at night. But nothing had ever been that specific. It had felt so real – like I’d really been there, standing on that porch in the darkness.

I absently ran a finger over the jagged scar on my collarbone. It was barely noticeable anymore, just a faint line of lighter pigmentation. The slightly raised, permanent mark of my past was the only physical remnant I carried from that terrible day. Thankfully, my emotional scars weren’t nearly as visible.

I bunched my down comforter around me more securely as I stared up at my plain white ceiling, instead envisioning a swirling canvas of cyan and cobalt, dotted with brilliant yellow stars and a luminescent jade dragon. I’d nearly allowed myself to forget the fairytale world my mother had created within the four walls of my tiny childhood bedroom. The dream had brought it all back.

Suddenly, the walls of my room seemed too bare. I had no pictures, no posters, not a single work of art – just plain white walls as unadorned as the day I’d signed my lease. They’d never bothered me before, or maybe I just hadn’t noticed the bleak, impersonal nature of my living space. My clothes hung neatly in my closet, meticulously arranged by color and season. My laptop sat on a clutter-free desk. My carpet was vacuumed and there were no piles of clothes or discarded papers anywhere. It looked like a ghost lived here, leaving no footprint as she moved through life.

And after all, wasn’t that who I’d become? A girl with no family, no true friends, no emotions to speak of. Had I let myself disappear? Had I forsaken that little girl who’d believed in fairytales and happily ever afters?

Yes. Because it had been easier.

But I wouldn’t do it anymore. I would find that little girl again, somehow. I would take back my life from the apparition I’d become.

For the first time in years, I was thankful for one of my nightmares. And as I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, I smiled.

***

I awoke the next morning near dawn, feeling more refreshed than I had in weeks. After making coffee, I sat on the roof and studied for a few hours. I had several exams coming up, and between Finn, therapy, and mysterious flower deliveries, I hadn’t had much time to focus on my classes.

When ten o’clock rolled around, I walked into Lexi’s room and grabbed the picture frame I was looking for from her desk. One pedicured foot dangled over the side of her mattress and a fuzzy halo of red waves quickly disappeared as she yanked her fuchsia comforter up to block the light I’d let in. Growling, she blindly threw a pillow across the room at me, evidently pissed I’d woken her up. I laughed and closed the door gently on my way out.

Looking down at the picture in my hands, I smiled. It had been taken last year at a Halloween party. Lex and I had dressed up as Mario and Luigi, and we looked carefree and happy in the photo – smiling so hard our lopsided black stick-on mustaches threatened to fall off our faces.

Returning to my room, I opened a drawer in my desk and moved aside several neatly stacked spiral notebooks. At the bottom of the drawer, I finally found what I was looking for. Two small, faded photos of my mother were all I had left. They were timeworn and tattered, but they were precious to me. She looked beautiful in them – young and incandescently happy as she grinned at whoever had taken the photos.

One was a portrait of her alone, leaning into the wind on a pier in California. Her arms were thrown up as she raced through the salty ocean spray toward the photographer. The second was a photo of the two of us. I was young, probably three or four, and she held me suspended in her arms. She was looking at me with the pure, unadulterated love only a mother can give, and I was looking back at her like she was my whole universe. Because she had been.

Tears filled my eyes, but they were happy. I’d been loved – I had the proof right here in my hands. And it had been neglected that drawer, gathering dust, for far too long. Dashing the moisture from my eyes, I grabbed the three photos I’d collected and made my way to the driveway. I hopped into Lexi’s car and drove straight to the closest photography store, where I knew I could have the prints enlarged and enhanced.

After explaining exactly what I wanted, I left the photos in the capable hands of the shop owner and headed across town to Andler’s, the only local mom-and-pop hardware store that was still in business. Most of the others had crumbled under financial strains in the recent recession, unable to compete when a national chain home improvement superstore had opened just outside of town. I wasn’t much for DIY, but whenever I needed to buy replacement light bulbs or duct tape, I’d head to Andler’s. I liked to think I was supporting the little guy.

Considering the early hour and the fact that it was Saturday morning, I was unsurprised to find that I was the youngest customer in the shop by at least three decades. I was also the only female.

As I walked in, six male heads swiveled around and performed a frank assessment of me. Equally quickly, they dismissed me and returned their attention to the items they were purchasing, undoubtedly assuming I was a lost sorority girl who’d wandered in by accident. I typically would’ve been peeved, but a glance down at my attire had me swallowing my indignation; my candy-apple red, plunging v-neck, emblazed with the words Surrender Dorothy in black script across my chest, was a far cry from the plaid lumberjack look most of these men were sporting. The wedged strappy red sandals and slim black capris I was wearing probably weren’t helping my credibility as a DYI’er either.

I obviously hadn’t given much thought to appropriate outfit selection when I rushed out this morning.

Head held high, I wandered further into the quiet store, looking for the paint section. It took me a few minutes, but I eventually found the colors I’d been searching for amidst what seemed like thousands of cardstock sample palettes. I grabbed the two I needed and made my way to the front counter, where a thin, balding, taciturn man of middle years was mixing paint.

“Can you mix me a gallon of each of these, please?” I asked, handing over the two paint samples and attempting to subtly shift my shirt higher to hide the cleavage he’d begun to eye rather enthusiastically. His fingers lingered on mine as he took the cardstock from me, and I suppressed a shudder. The man, whose nametag read Hank, leered at me with a suggestive smile that was missing more than a few teeth before disappearing into the back room. Presumably to mix my paint. Or to grab some zip ties and rope that he could use to restrain and abduct me. It was pretty much a toss up, at this point.

I was mentally calculating the probability of my being able to outsprint Hank in my flimsy – but oh so cute – wedges when he reappeared, a can of paint in each hand. When he told me the total, I tossed a few bills down on the countertop and hurriedly grabbed the paint can handles. I headed for the door, not even waiting for my change in my hurry to get away from Hank’s ogling, the less than friendly customers, and the uncomfortable store atmosphere.

“Come back again real soon, sweetheart!” Hank called after me as I used one hip to prop open the door.

“Not on your life,” I muttered under my breath. So much for my plan to support local small businesses. Next time, I was totally going to Home Depot, with its brightly lit aisles and plethora of cute employed college boys in orange aprons, eager to fill my every need. Okay, maybe not every need. But at least those that involved paint and hardware.

I finally managed to swing the door open, elbowing my way outside and struggling to balance both the paint and my purse while extracting my car keys. I was looking down, cursing under my breath, when a large hand closed over mine and grabbed both cans of paint before I could even react. Startled, I jumped about a foot in the air and my purse dropped to the pavement, exploding on impact and sending everything, from tampons to my cellphone, flying in different directions. I watched forlornly as my favorite lip gloss rolled under my car and out of sight. The puddles riddling the parking lot all contained various forms of indistinguishable goo and piles of trash, insuring that I would never again be putting that tube anywhere near my lips.

“Well, at least you didn’t scream this time,” a familiar husky voice chuckled from behind me. Every muscle in my body tensed with anger and I froze, still facing the car. “But seriously, Bee, we need to work on your reflexes if you’re going to pee your pants in fear every time I approach you. It’s either that or you start wearing adult diapers, and I don’t think that’s going to work for me.” His voice was threaded with amusement.

I turned, exceedingly slowly, to face him. Or, more accurately, to glare at him. I unleashed my iciest look, the one typically reserved for ass-grabbers and would-be rapists who got a bit too friendly on the dance floor.

Of course it had no effect on him.

He stood there, grinning like an idiot at me, looking more gorgeous than ever. His eyes crinkled, alight with humor and something less-easily defined. His toned arm muscles were on display as he held the paint cans aloft, the tattooed skin of his right bicep standing out prominently. I remembered the first time I’d seen the inky whorls that encased his upper arm – how I’d wanted to trace my fingers along the swirling patterns. Followed by my tongue.

Brooklyn! Pull it together. Jesus Christ.

I took a harsh swallow to banish those thoughts and refocused on how pissed I was, hoping like hell he hadn’t recognized the lust that had undoubtedly just flickered across my face.

“Well, maybe if you would stop SNEAKING UP ON ME,” I yelled, launching myself into his space so I was nearly pressed against him and stomping one wedged sandal with indignation, “I wouldn’t scream or drop all of my things or lose my FAVORITE LIP GLOSS. I loved that lip gloss, Finn. And now, it’s in a gutter. A sticky, gooey, gutter. And why are you even here? Why are you always here? Are you stalking me or something?”

His lips twitched with amusement and I could tell he was trying desperately not to laugh. “Did you just stomp your foot at me?” he asked, shoulders shaking with barely-contained mirth.

I glared at him and jerked my chin higher. I would not let him embarrass me. I would not back down. And I definitely would not continue to fantasize about kissing him until I ran out of air and passed out in his arms.

Shit.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone over the age of five do that,” he choked out, breaking down at last and throwing his head back to laugh at me. I smacked him hard on the arm, pivoted, and bent to retrieve some of my scattered belongings.

Finn was wiping tears his eyes and still chuckling when I felt him squat down beside me. Then it was my turn to hold in the giggles, as I watched Finn Chambers – campus’ very own mythical sex god and legendary badass – scooping up my tampons and shoving them into my purse like they were on fire or dripping with arsenic. When everything – with the exception of one tube of Sexy Mother Pucker – was back in my purse, we stood up and faced each other.

I was still muttering under my breath about rude boys and the loss of my gloss, when Finn stepped forward into my space and tilted my chin up so I was staring into his eyes. Words died on my tongue, my brain frazzled into static, and all I could think about was last night. My legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed me into the side of a pickup truck, his lips roaming down my neck, his mouth kissing away the tears that tracked down my cheeks.

His eyes captured mine and held, the smoldering desire I saw burning in them telling me that he was thinking about last night too. One hand slowly lifted to stroke my cheek, his fingers skimming lighting over my cheekbone in a soft, almost reverent caress. The other hand threaded into my long ponytail and, with a gentle tug, he pulled me closer. I went willingly, my anger long forgotten.

His head lowered until his forehead was resting in the crook of my neck. He inhaled deeply, then let out a groan. “God, you smell incredible. Like cinnamon and apple pie. It should be illegal to smell the way you do.”

I let out a breathy laugh, which cut off sharply when I felt Finn’s tongue trace slowly up my neck. I shivered when his lips reached my ear and he tugged at the lobe with his teeth. His hands moved to my hips and he walked me slowly backwards until I was pressed between his body and the side of Lexi’s car.

“What is it with you and cars?” I breathed teasingly.

His head lifted abruptly from its lavish appreciation of my earlobe and he stared down at me, eyes suddenly serious. “It’s got very little to do with cars, and everything to do with you. Doesn’t matter where – I’m always going to want you, Bee. Every time I see you, it takes everything in me not to drag you against the nearest wall and taste that perfect pink mouth of yours.” His hooded gaze dropped to my lips.

His words sent another shiver through me, and I had a sudden realization that if he was this sensual in a public parking lot, he would be a different creature entirely if – okay, when – we got behind closed doors. My thighs clenched together at that thought and I squirmed a bit under his heated gaze.

“My very own caveman,” I drawled in a perfect, much-rehearsed Southern drawl that would make Vivien Leigh proud. He smirked roguishly and then, before I could react, his mouth captured mine.

His hands gently cupped my face with a tenderness that belied the demands of his lips. My mouth parted on a gasp and his tongue sought mine immediately. I began to respond to his kiss, my hands twining up to grip his broad shoulders. When my tongue stroked gently against his in return, Finn groaned and pulled away, his breathing labored. Resting his forehead against mine, his blue eyes were full of tenuously-leashed passion.

He closed his eyes and pulled a deep breath in through his nose, trying to calm himself. I smirked, enjoying the effect I’d had on him, and he stepped back to put a few feet between us, as if our close proximity was too tempting for him to remain in control.

“What’s with the paint?” he asked, voice rough as he gestured toward the forgotten paint cans by my feet.

“I’m going to paint my bedroom,” I responded with a casual shrug, as if it was no big deal, something I did every week. As if I were one of those girls – like Lexi – who spent hours on Pinterest looking at recipes, crafting ideas, and the 99 ways you can “upcycle” old newspapers into your very own fashion line. I had never and would never be that girl – planning my imaginary wedding twelve years in advance and picking out color palettes for my dream house. Never.

Finn raised a questioning eyebrow at me but didn’t comment on my sudden desire to redecorate.

“Do you have rollers?” he asked.

I stared at him blankly for a minute, then looked away a bit sheepishly when I realized that, in my hurry to leave Andler’s, I’d forgotten to grab paintbrushes and rollers. I guessed I’d be making that trip to Home Depot after all.

“No,” I said, crossing my arms defensively over my chest, mentally daring him to make fun of me. There would definitely be no more make-out sessions if he did, and I made sure my glare told him exactly that.

He smiled as if he could read my thoughts and, for once, didn’t tease me.

Smart choice.

“What about brushes? Coveralls? Painter’s tape? Drop cloths? An edger? Primer?” He continued to rattle off paint supplies – none of which I had purchased – until I couldn’t even remember them all. I looked at him perplexedly, a bit taken aback. Who knew painting required so many materials?

“Okay, so maybe I forgot a few things,” I mumbled, not looking at him. His muffled laughter brought my eyes back to his face.

“I’ll meet you at your place in a few hours,” he sighed. “I have to go grab some supplies.”

“I don’t need your help,” I snapped automatically, trying to cover the flash of anxiety that had streaked through me at his words. “You’re not my boyfriend. And I’m not going to fuck you as a reward, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I helped Ty paint his bedroom last month and, shockingly, I didn’t fuck him after,” he growled menacingly. His eyes, which had been filled with warmth only seconds ago, were now flinty with anger. “And no, I’m not your boyfriend. But last time I checked, I was your friend. Friends help each other out – especially when one friend doesn’t know her ass from her elbow when it comes to painting.”

“Okay,” I agreed, casting a caustically acquiescent smile up at him. “You can help.”

“You are the most infuria–“ he broke off and took another calming inhale. It seemed he had to do this at near-constant intervals when he was around me. “I don’t know why I bother,” he muttered.

“Because of my sparkling personality?” I asked, laughing a little at his blatant frustration with me.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s it,” he said dubiously. “I’ll be at your house by two.”

I nodded in acceptance. He was right – I didn’t know my ass from my elbow when it came to home improvement. I could use all the help I could get.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked, glancing around the near-empty parking lot. His bike was parked a few spaces down from Lexi’s car.

“I was headed to the diner,” he said with a nod in the direction of Maria’s, the tiny breakfast place that abutted Andler’s and hadn’t been redecorated since the early 1970s. The retro feel gave the restaurant character, though, and it was a popular venue for hungover coeds after a long night of partying. Their pumpkin pancakes were legendary during the fall season.

My stomach rumbled at the thought and, with a final longing look cast at the restaurant, I glanced back at Finn. If he weren’t there, I would have happily treated myself to a short stack, smothered in whipped cream and syrup. As it was, I’d have cut off my left foot before going in there now and eating with him in front of half of the student body. If I did, I might as well paint a sign across my ass that read “FINN CHAMBERS TAPPED THIS LAST NIGHT,” given all the gossip our morning appearance together would prompt.

If we were going to get involved, I wanted a signed contract – possibly in blood – stating that no one would find out about us. My reputation was tarnished enough without adding a tryst with Finn to the list.

His lips twitched in amusement as he evaluated me.

“Don’t suppose you want to get pancakes with me?” he asked, a knowing smile playing out across his face.

“No!” I blurted, my fast response a dead giveaway of my horror at the suggestion of such a date-like activity. “I mean, I have errands to run,” I muttered, more subdued.

“Right,” he said, lips curled up in a sexy dark smirk. I wanted to pounce on him and punch him at the same time. He was fully aware of the effect he had on me. He was tying me up in knots – and he was enjoying it, the smug bastard. “I’ll just go enjoy my pancakes alone, then. See you in a few hours.” He winked, then turned and walked into Maria’s, leaving me hungry for more than just breakfast. I slumped back against Lexi’s car, drained from the interaction.

Crap.

I shakily loaded the paint cans into the trunk and got behind the wheel. Taking a steadying breath, I determined not to let Finn get under my skin. Maybe I’d let him under my panties later, though.

Damn, I’m such a slut.

I felt like an emotional yo-yo, rejecting Finn one minute and kissing him the next. I wanted to slap some sense into myself. Instead, I did what I did best and pushed the thoughts from my mind. Starting the engine, I pulled onto Main Street and headed across town to the grocery store. I had to pick up some things to make dinners for the week, refill my birth control prescription at the pharmacy, and make it back to the photo store to pick up my prints all before Finn got to my apartment at two.

A glance at the clock on the dashboard informed me that it was already past noon. I stepped on the gas pedal, speeding Lexi’s car through several yellow lights in my haste. I did not want him to beat me to the house. Something told me that having Finn Chambers unsupervised in my bedroom wasn’t a good idea.

***

I was steering my cart down the aisle of the grocery store, gathering items for the week, when my cellphone rang.

“Hello?”

The only answer I received was in the form of heavy, disturbing breathing.

“Stop. Calling. Me.” I growled into the phone. “Is this Gordon?”

More breathing.

“I don’t know who the hell this is, but if you keep doing this I will call the police. Got it, sicko?”

The breathing stopped for a minute and I thought the line had gone dead, but a quick glance at the screen showed it was still connected. Just before I hung up, I heard what sounded like faint laughter from the other line.

It wasn’t the gleeful laughter of a twelve year-old prankster with nothing better to do for amusement; it was a sinister laugh, menacing and full of dark promise. The laugh of a man I didn’t know and definitely did not want to know.

I disconnected the call and stood frozen in the middle of the grocery store. This was the second call I’d received. Then there was the deadly flower arrangement that had been delivered to my room. Could they be connected? Who wanted to scare me this much? It could be Gordon, but I doubted he would take things this far. And he probably didn’t possess enough brainpower to break into my apartment without leaving any traces behind.

I placed a quick call to the police station, asking for Officer Carlson. When he answered, he halfheartedly assured me that while they had done everything in their power to discover who’d dropped off the flowers, they had no answers for me at this time. After telling me to take extra precautions in locking my doors and windows, and to call if any more suspicious deliveries appeared, he hung up. I’d considered telling him about the phone calls, but quickly decided against it. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do to help; I somehow doubted that the paunchy, doughnut-loving officer had ever solved a case in his career.

I didn’t want to think about my phone stalker right now. I had enough on my mind, what with the dead-sexy man arriving at my house in – I glanced at my cellphone – less than an hour.

Crap!

Phone call forgotten, I rushed to the front of the store, paid for my groceries, and was on my way to the pharmacy within minutes. Grabbing my prescription, I headed to the photo store which was, thankfully, located in the same plaza. My photos were ready, and they looked perfect. I’d had them enlarged onto big 24x36 inch canvases that would adorn my newly painted walls. I thanked the shop owner countless times before paying and lugging the three large photo canvases to the car, where I laid them gently in the backseat. Smiling, I raced home, eager to beat Finn there and start redecorating.

Though it was well into the afternoon by the time I’d gotten all of the food put away, Lexi was still sleeping soundly in her room. I wasn’t surprised. If napping were a sport, that girl would take home Olympic gold every time.

I lugged both cans of paint and all three blown-up photos into my bedroom and cast an assessing glance around the room. The only pieces of furniture were my desk, chair, bedside table, and bedframe. I struggled to maneuver the heavy oak desk into the hallway for several minutes until Lexi appeared in my doorway, coffee mug in hand and eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her gaze moving from the displaced furniture to the cans of paint.

“I’m redecorating.”

She stared at me like I’d said I was planning to tattoo a swastika on my forehead and join a cult that worshipped Cabbage Patch dolls. “Excuse me? I must have misheard you. I thought you just said that you, Brooklyn Turner, were redecorating your room. The same girl who told me that I was forbidden, on pain of death, from putting up wallpaper and cute decorations in the living room.”

I rolled my eyes. “You were going to paste a wall-quote that said Live, Laugh, Love in magenta, five foot tall lettering across the wall over our couch. You seriously didn’t anticipate me vetoing that idea?”

She harrumphed in frustration, taking another sip of her coffee and realizing she wasn’t going to win this argument.

“So how was your night with the Ken doll?” she asked, switching gears. “Was it everything you dreamed of and more?” She snorted into her mug.

“Sarcasm is so not your strong suit, Lex,” I said, smiling. I turned back to the desk and began yanking it toward the door once more. “And actually, nothing happened with Landon. I walked home.”

“What?” she exclaimed, surprise evident in her voice. “Why the change of heart?”

I sighed. “Are you going to help me move this desk?”

“Only if you tell me what happened with Landon.”

“Bitch,” I muttered. “Fine. I just wasn’t into it, okay? He was hot, but I couldn’t clear my mind enough to enjoy it.”

“Clear your mind of what? Or, should I be asking of who?” she pressed.

I spun around to glare at her. “Before you even start, this has nothing to do with Finn,” I lied.

“Oh, you are so full of shit! Brooklyn Turner has a crush! I can’t freaking believe this!” She squealed, dancing into my bedroom and slinging an arm over my shoulder. “I’ve been waiting years for this to happen. And this is perfect! I’ve always dreamed of us dating best friends! Ohmigod! We should all go to this party tomor—”

“LEXI!” I yelled, cutting her off before she could start planning our double wedding, thus inducing one of my panic attacks. “There is nothing going on between Finn and I. We’re friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S,” I spelled out emphatically, hoping she’d listen to me for once.

“You let all your friends pin you against the side of their truck and kiss you like that?” Finn’s deep voice asked from the doorway.

God dammit. Was the man incapable of just announcing his presence like a normal person?

I groaned.

Lexi spun around, spied him leaning casually in the doorway, and squealed happily. I think she actually may have started jumping up and down in delight, but I was too busy looking around for a rope to hang myself with to be sure. The small digital clock on my desk read 2:05 – he was right on time, so I couldn’t even be mad at him for eavesdropping.

“You bitch! I can’t believe you were selling me that ‘just friends’ bullshit!” she smacked my arm and glared down at me.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” I snapped, ignoring Lexi and blasting an icy stare in Finn’s direction.

“I did knock. No one answered,” he said, glaring back at me. His voice was calm but his eyes were stormy as they pierced mine.

Nope, he definitely wasn’t happy about my ‘just friends’ comment.

“You. Me. Details. Later,” Lexi demanded, still glaring at me. Turning to Finn, a sunny smile crossed her face and she sighed. “Be patient with her. She’s emotionally retarded.”

I let out a mortified groan and Finn tried – and failed – to hold in his laughter as Lexi wandered into the hallway and disappeared. When she was gone, a thick silence descended on the room. A charge seemed to build in the air as Finn and I stared at each other, the laughter dying slowly from his eyes. He took a step toward me into the room and I immediately stepped back, maintaining the space between us. A dark look crossed his face and his eyes narrowed.

Striding across the room, he was in front of me in seconds. I’d backed up until I was flush with the wall, with nowhere further to retreat, and he immediately caged me in with his arms.

“Let’s get something straight,” he whispered, tone dark with something possessive and slightly scary. “We are not just friends. We have never and will never be just friends. So stop twisting this around in that head of yours and making it into something it’s not.”

“You said nothing had to change,” I said defiantly, unwilling to accept his words.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you. You’ve always wanted to fuck me. Nothing’s changed as far as I can tell,” he said, a smug smile crossing his face.

“I don’t want to fuck you! You are the cockiest, most conceited, arrogant asshole I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man left on earth and we were singlehandedly responsible for repopulating the plan—” My tirade was abruptly cut off as his mouth descended on mine.

I responded to his kiss instantly, eagerly, in complete contradiction to my words.

Fuck! What was I doing?

I reeled back and before I could stop myself, my hand shot out and slapped him across the face. I froze, stunned at my own actions. It was like my hand had acted independently of my brain. My face was a mask of shock, my eyes saucer-wide as I stared at the blooming crimson mark on his cheekbone. I hadn’t intended to hit him; I’d just been so desperate to put a stop to the kiss – to take back some control.

Breathing hard, I was still mere inches from Finn’s face. He looked equally surprised, but his face quickly morphed into something darker. “Just for that, I’m going to make you beg for it before I’ll kiss you again,” he vowed, rubbing a hand back and forth along his cheek.

“You’re going to be waiting forever.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he said, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth. I suddenly remembered another conversation we’d had, after he’d saved me from Gordon, when I’d told him he’d be waiting forever for answers about my past. He’d simply looked over at me and whispered, ‘I’ve already been waiting my whole life.’

I still didn’t know what that meant.

“I’m sorry I slapped you,” I murmured, lifting a hand to trace the red splotch on his cheek. His hand came up to cover mine, holding it gently against his face. “I really am emotionally-challenged sometimes,” I reluctantly admitted.

“Sometimes?” Finn lifted a skeptical eyebrow at me.

“Okay, fine, all the time,” I grumbled. “Can we paint now?”

“Sure,” he agreed, stepping out of my space. As I walked around him to reach the desk, I lifted up on my tiptoes and uncharacteristically pressed a soft kiss to the angry red handprint on his cheek. I felt him smile as I pulled away and began tugging on the desk.

Thankfully, Finn was a lot stronger than me, and he made quick work of moving all my furniture out into the hall. My bed was too big to move, so we pushed it into the middle of the room, stripped it of its bedding, and spread one of the drop cloths Finn had brought over it. He’d also brought over several rollers, white primer, painting tape, and white coveralls that he insisted we both put on.

“You can’t paint in that,” he said, indicating my red v-neck and capris. I’d already traded my wedges in for a pair of ratty old tennis shoes.

“Fine,” I said, grabbing the coveralls, a tank top, and cotton shorts before heading into the bathroom to change. After slipping on the tank and shorts, I stepped into the massive white suit. It had been designed for an adult male, and it was ridiculously large on my small frame. The sheer amount of fabric dwarfed me, with at least a foot of extra material hanging down past each hand and gathering over my feet. I haphazardly pushed up the sleeves and struggled to zip up the front of the coveralls. As soon as my hands fell to my sides, the extra fabric tumbled back down and covered my hands.

This was useless; I wouldn’t be able to maneuver my arms, let alone paint an entire bedroom. I trudged back out into the bedroom, concentrating on not tripping over the extra material around my feet. Hearing the sound of Finn’s choked laughter, I drew to a stop and slumped my shoulders.

“This isn’t going to work,” I said, windmilling my fabric-swathed arms in circles in the air. “I look like an idiot.”

“You’re adorable,” Finn said, a soft look in his eyes as he took in the sight of me swallowed up by the enormous coveralls. “Come here,” he whispered, crooking a finger to beckon me over to him.

Crossing the room, I stumbled on the bunched fabric and fell forward. Finn’s arms shot out and he caught me before I hit the ground, steadying me with his large hands resting on my shoulders.

“Let’s fix you,” he said, squatting down in front of me and deftly rolling each long pant leg into a cuff I wouldn’t trip over. He repeated this with the extra material of each sleeve, making sure I had full range of motion before releasing me. A funny feeling built in my chest as he adjusted my sleeves so painstakingly. There was something intimate about him dressing me, something that went beyond just friends or even friends with benefits. I looked down at the top of his head and realized something that floored me.

Finn really cared about me.

Not just in friendly way, or an I’d-like-to-know-what-color-your-panties-are way. He actually cared.

And it didn’t feel impossible, or ridiculous, or even terrifying. To be honest, it felt pretty damn nice.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 497