Chapter 5
Madison
"Isn't he a daddy?" my best friend Trinity asked me as she was rummaging through my clothes.
"Isn’t who a daddy?" I asked. I put back every article of clothing she’d taken down from my closet or ripped from one of my drawers.
"Duke, He's like way older, isn't he?"
"I think he’s older, but not old enough to be my dad or anything like that. I think, a few years older than Charlie at the most."
"Who's Charlie?"
"Just this guy who teaches a few courses at the University. I think he's a student-teacher. He's super smart."
She held up one of my tops, a solid black top with red satin trim. My Gran had picked it out for me thinking it was the latest trend. Gran and I didn’t exactly share the same taste in clothing.
"Wait, one brother is a Brainiac and the other one’s a high school dropout? I’d love to be a fly on the wall during Christmas dinner at that house."
I snatched the top from her and glared. It was a little bit weird that I felt so incredibly defensive of Duke already, after only having spent one day with the man.
"He's not a high school dropout. He's a business owner, and an amazing artist."
"What business does he own?"
"A tattoo parlor," I said, busying myself correcting the mess she'd made. Trinity was a tornado, a knock-out bombshell tornado that was, and I loved her like a sister. "He also has his GED. It's not like he never went back or has like an eighth grade education or anything. Not that there would be anything wrong with that. A lot of people work technical jobs or even physical labor. There are entire countries in this world that have a labor workforce composed of children, who never even get a chance to go to school."
Trinity made the zip lip gesture to me. Her friendly way of letting me know that my mouth had gotten away from me again. I shut up, but the need to defend Duke felt like a weight on my chest I had to throw off. I wanted people to see him for who he really was, not just judge him by how he looked.
"I gotta tell you, Mads, I'm awfully shocked that you're into a bad-boy."
I shrugged, falling down on my bed and propping a pillow behind my head.
"He's a contradiction, a walking anomaly. People seem to think he’s a bad boy, but I suspect that he’s actually really sensitive. He’s got the soul of an artist, but the exterior of a convict. Must be hard to walk through life like that. You look like a badass, but underneath it all, you just want people to see the real you. That first day when I met him, even I was confused. His looks said danger while his personality was so congenial. Who else would have dropped everything they were doing to hop behind a coffee counter and keep a total stranger from spontaneous combustion?”
“It is unusual that he did that, he must have really felt a connection when he saw you,” Trinity said. She flopped on the bed next to me.
“Then he took me to eat and let me be myself in front of him, which is, let’s be truthful, the rarest thing ever. I completely let my guard down, because that’s how comfortable I felt with him.”
“The quickest way to your heart, Mads, is through your stomach. He gets you.”
"He's not bad on the eyes either," I said. I didn’t want to bring up his looks because he’d expressed frustration that everyone focused on his appearance. But Holy God, Duke was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Like mind-bending, toe-curling, let me take a picture and hang in on my bedroom wall—level hot.
"Well, then let me find you something a little more sexy than your normal get up. California surfer-slash-skate Betty is cute, but probably like only if you’re from California, or you actually skate, which you don’t."
"What's wrong with my clothes?"
"Nothing, if you're going to the grocery store or a swap meet. Actually, I dress up more than you do when I stay home sick from school. You’re not even fit for Safeway.”
I crossed my arms across my chest and gave her my best stink eye.
“It’s like you’re always trying to hide your body, Mads. You’ve got great boobs and all you ever do is cover them up like you’re embarrassed or something.”
Trinity held up an oversized weather. "Did your gran knit this one? What do you call this color? Puce?"
"She did." I grabbed the sweater out of her hands. “The color is called oxblood, thank you. And I happen to love this thing. It's very comfy."
"Sure, a bag is comfortable, too. Would you like me to run to the kitchen to get you a Hefty and I’ll help you cut out a hole for your head to poke through?"