Walking in, I quickly realize this must be one of the girls’ rooms. It’s perfectly fitting for a little girl, and it’s clear what Amelia is trying to achieve. If only she had a little talent where painting is concerned.
What is it with chicks and painting? One would only assume you would want to make work easier for yourself, not harder. I don’t know whether the mess is worse from Amelia thinking she was rocking out to her own private concert and flicking paint everywhere or because she’s just that bad at painting. Either way, it looks like a pink massacre. It’s on the ground, splattered across the walls. There’s even some up the hallway. Don’t get me started on the poor ceiling fan.
OCD has me itching to fix it while Amelia showers. Hell, I might as well give it a crack.
Slowly rolling up my sleeves, I walk over to the window and open it up, so we don’t die from the paint fumes. Wandering back to the doorway and sticking my head out, I check that the shower is still running.
Seeing as she’s still occupied, I make my way over to the paint tray, grab the brush which she carelessly dropped when I startled her, and place it back onto the tray. I can’t say I’ve ever worked with pink paint before, but I guess there’s always time for new experiences in life. Besides, this shit is giving me ideas for my niece’s bedroom. She’d love this girly crap in her space.
I look closer at the wall and notice Amelia has started taping it up, but on closer inspection, it’s clear that she’s only taped to as far as she can reach. I smirk to myself as I grab the tape off the floor and finish taping around the top of the window and cornices.
I step back and double-check it’s all done before grinning to myself. I have to give her credit for buying the tape. Clearly, she knew she was going to need it. I crouch down by the paint tin and open the lid before giving it a good stir, doubting that Amelia remembered to do that earlier. I refill the tray she was using then grab the brush and make sure there’s a nice, even amount on each side before getting started.
If I’m being honest, she’s done an alright job but the caveman inside of me doesn’t want her having to get her hands dirty. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have her sitting back and watching, keeping me company while I take care of this shit. Though it’s clear that she’s independent, I want her to need me. And sooner or later, she is going to need to get that shit through her head.
From now on, this is mine to handle. I just hope she doesn’t feel the need to put up a fight, but my gut is telling me that she will. I can’t wait.
Smirking to myself. I come to the conclusion that we have a change of plans for tonight. Screw the elaborate, sweep her off her feet date that I had planned. This right here is where I want to be.
Looks like we’re eating in tonight, and with that sorted, I press the paint brush to the wall and get busy giving this little girl the bedroom of her dreams.CHAPTER 10AMELIAI tilt my head under the hot stream of water and let it cascade down over me while hoping it somehow has the power to wash away my fears. What the hell was I thinking? Zoey warned me that Bull was going to show up, even he warned me himself, yet I chose to be an idiot and didn’t believe it for one second.
What the hell would he want with me anyway? I’m a single mother with two rug rats and an ex who is more trouble than he’s worth. Not to mention, I’m not exactly a Victoria’s Secret model. I could definitely benefit from a few extra squats and possibly a sit up or two.
I am the definition of a girl with baggage, and it makes absolutely no sense why he would be interested in me. Actually, if anyone is nuts around here, it’s got to be the crazy woman who left the strange, intense man alone in her home.
I can only imagine how Zoey is going to react to this. She’d demand to know why the hell I was alone in this shower right now, not having the time of my life. As soon as she finished hounding me about that, she’d be grilling me on why I felt the need to escape so urgently.
What can I say? My priorities are all screwed up.
The shampoo rinses from my hair, and I’m left here wondering how else I can prolong this shower and avoid heading back out there. I’ve washed and conditioned my hair, scrubbed myself clean, and even shaved my legs. He probably thinks I’ve been doing ungodly things to myself being in here this long.