“Crosby! How could you?” Chansey screamed.
I made no move to retaliate and the crowd seemed shocked by my tolerance of Crosby. “I’m okay,” I said, as I wiggled my jaw up and down, then side to side. I was impressed with him because it was a hard lick for a drunk, but I feared his fist might not have faired quite as well as my face.
Crosby was speechless as he laid on the sand holding his hand. Drew jerked him to his feet and recruited assistance with getting him to the car, then turned and said, “Sorry, man. I don’t know what got into him, but I know he’ll regret it tomorrow.”
I doubted it would be tomorrow before he regretted it. He’d be waking up before morning with an aching head and the pain of a broken hand. “It’s okay, Drew. It wasn’t your fault.”
Chansey attempted to inspect me for injuries, but it was useless by the light of the bonfire. “Come on, let’s go back to the house and clean you up because I can’t see anything out here in this dark.”
We said our goodbyes and walked back to my apartment. Chansey followed me inside and suggested we go to the bathroom to inspect my injuries. She closed the lid on the commode and ordered me to sit as she retrieved a washcloth from the linen closet and wet it, then wrung out the excess water.
She ran her fingertips under my jawline, lifting my face for a better inspection while she stood between my knees. The exhilaration of her touch returned, only this time, multiplied times infinity and the light brush of her soft fingertips across my face sent charged tingles up and down my skin. Her hazel eyes searched my lips, as she washed the blood from my mouth, looking for the source of the bleed. When she finished washing the blood away, she used her finger to trace to outline of my lips and her eyes pleaded for something unfamiliar to me.
The moment was interrupted by a knock at my door, returning both of us to reality. “I don’t know who could that be.”
I answered the door and saw Whitney, one of Chansey’s friends from the beach. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I really need to use your bathroom. That beer has gone straight through me,” she giggled.
“Oh, sure. No problem.” I showed Whitney to the bathroom, then joined Chansey in the living room.
“I honestly don’t know why you don’t have a huge, gaping cut on your face because he hit you so hard. When I heard the pop, I just knew we were about to head to the ER for stitches,” she said, confused.
“I guess I have a hard head. That’s what my parents always said, anyway,” I laughed.
“Well, I’m proud of your good genes, or whatever.”
Whitney returned from the bathroom. “Hey, Curry, you weren’t kidding about being an artist. That painting of Chansey by your bedroom door is awesome.”
Oh, no. Idiot, you left it out.
“What kind of painting is she talking about?” Chansey asked.
“That fabulous painting of...,” she trailed off.
“It’s not finished,” I said, rudely interrupting Whitney. This girl needed to go and fast.
“It looks finished to me. Chick, it’s gorgeous,” Whitney said.
“I want to see it,” Chansey said as she stood to walk to my bedroom.
I intercepted her and stood between her and the entrance to my bedroom. “Please, don’t,” I pleaded.
“Why don’t you want me to see it?” she asked, going toe to toe against me.
“I told you, it isn’t finished,” I lied.
Whitney called our attention back to her. “Alrighty then, I’m gonna ease on back to the beach while you two have your little lover’s quarrel.”
We simultaneously said together, “This isn’t a lover’s quarrel.”
I heard Whitney sneak out the door as she said, “Sorry I said anything.”
I was sorry, too. Chansey saw the seriousness on my face and backed off, asking, “When can I see it?”
“When I decide it’s finished and not a second earlier,” I said with a smile, attempting to return a lighter mood.
“You promise?” she asked.
“I promise,” I lied, sorta. I didn’t tell her it would never be finished, but I knew the battle wasn’t won. It was just postponed until another day.
Chapter 11
I awakened to a knock at my door and as I walked to answer it, I ran my fingers through my unruly waves to make them lay down and behave, but as usual, they rebelled against me. I opened the door to find Anna on the other side.
“Oh, Curry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologized.
“I should have gotten up already. I’m afraid I’m guilty of being a little lazy this morning,” I admitted.
“Well, there’s no harm in being a little lazy every now and then and I reserve the right to be a little lazy next week. I don’t know if Chansey told you, but our grandson is getting married here this weekend, so it’s going to be a very busy couple of days.”
“Actually, Mr. Emerson told me about the wedding. Do I need to find somewhere to stay for a few days?”
“Oh, no, but I do need to ask a favor of you. We have several guests coming to stay the weekend, so I need to use my studio as a bedroom. Would you mind terribly if I stored my studio supplies in your apartment while our company is here? It’s only for a couple of days and I’ll get everything out of your way when they’re gone.”
“Of course. I’ll keep your things safe, for as long as you like. I don’t mind at all,” I assured her.
“Oh, thank you so much.”
“I’ll even move your supplies for you,” I offered. “I know you must have a lot to do with the wedding being so soon.”
“You are so considerate, Curry Brennan. Some young lady is going to be very lucky to have you as a husband one day.”
“I don’t know about lucky. Maybe, unlucky,” I laughed, knowing I would never be husband material for any woman.
“Well, I disagree with you and I bet you’d be surprised at exactly all the things I do know,” she said, flashing her all knowing grin, and I took her at her word because I had seen that mischievous little grin a little too often lately. Intuition told me she knew much she kept to herself.
* * *
I knocked on the kitchen door around lunchtime, but Chansey didn’t answer, so I knocked again, still with no answer. I opened the door, saw her standing in the kitchen with her back to me and heard the light buzz of music from the earbuds she wore. While she prepared her lunch, she hummed and danced to the beat of the music. Unaware of my presence, she began singing into the banana in her hand and I leaned against the doorway and enjoyed her impromptu performance while she finished making her lunch.
She shimmied across the floor and opened a cabinet door to retrieve a glass. As she turned to go to the refrigerator, her eyes caught view of me and was so startled, she dropped the glass from her hand, shattering it into a million shards across the kitchen tile.
I did it again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She took her earbuds out of her ears. “What?”
I repeated myself, “I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I did knock, twice, in fact.”
“It’s okay.” She squatted, barefooted, and started picking up pieces of glass.
“Please don’t cut yourself. I would feel even more rotten if you did. Let me clean up this mess.”
I walked over to her and said, “I don’t want you to step on a piece of glass and cut your foot.” I placed my hands on her hips and understanding my intentions, she placed her hands on my shoulders and jumped as I lifted her to sit on the countertop. She allowed her hands to linger on my shoulders as I stood between her knees and her touch ignited wonderful, tiny flutters of heat under my skin.
Without consideration for how it might sound, I asked, “What are you?”
She mistook my question as a joke, leaned forward and said, “I’m just a girl...with broken glass all over her kitchen floor.”
She licked her lips, applying a wet sheen and a new wave of heated sensation coursed thr
oughout my body. Her sweet, musky scent closed around me, tempting me, even daring me, to lean closer to her. “How are you doing that to me?”
She smiled and answered, “Tell me what I’m doing to you and I’ll consider telling you how I do it.” The look in her eyes declared her innocence and I knew she was completely unaware of the things she did to me.
I stepped away and asked, “Where do you keep the broom?”