He moves in to hug me hello. It’s sincere—a rarity for him. I really do feel like he’s glad I’m here.
I pull back with a smile. “Why are you complaining about the chance to get drunk and make a fool of yourself?”
He laughs. “That’s why I like you. Sharp tongue.”
My gaze flits around the room. There’s Ryan and Walker lining up bottles on the front counter. But where’s Brendon?
“I’m not complaining.” He releases me and turns to Em. “I’m making sure I get an invite.”
“You’re a little old…” She smiles, reveling in her teasing.
He mimes being stabbed in the gut. When that gets her laughing, he takes it further. Pretends to double over. Falls to his knees. Mumbles his last words as he falls backward and lands on the floor, splayed out.
Emma nudges him with the toe of her shiny silver stilettos. “Dead. Let’s check his pockets.”
“Pervert,” he mumbles.
“Not the word I’d use.” Ryan steps forward. He nods to me in that I don’t think there’s any reason why we need to show compassion toward each other Ryan kind of way. “You’re always welcome here, Kaylee.”
“Thanks.” I study his expression. Should we hug? Shake hands? Uh… I step forward. Move my hands out from my sides.
Ryan pulls me into a hug. It’s quick. Messy. Awkward. He steps back, wipes his brow, sighs. Let’s never do that again.
Dean jumps to his feet. He actually jumps from his position flat on his back. That’s circus acrobat stuff.
He looks to Walker. “You joining this party too?”
Walker shrugs, effortlessly cool. He’s the type who takes everything in stride. Nothing bothers him. Or so he claims.
He’s a lot like Brendon, really. He’s tall and broad with dark hair and dark eyes. He has that same tendency to keep everything to himself. But, with Walker, his typical state is fun, party boy. With Brendon it’s serious, quiet artist.
They’re the same, but they’re opposites too.
He takes his turn hugging me then motions to the booze set up behind us. “What are you drinking?”
Uh… making a fool of myself at my party was bad enough. I’m not doing it in front of everyone.
But I’m not going to be the weird girl who doesn’t drink either.
“Jack and diet,” I say.
“A girl after my own heart.” Walker winks. He brings me to the counter/bar, pours a generous cocktail for me and a straight whiskey for himself. “You’re starting school soon, yeah?”
“Two weeks.”
He looks to the party—Dean, Emma, and Ryan are in some triangle of teasing. Ryan is actually laughing. Weird.
“Where’s Brendon?” I take a sip of my drink. Not bad. Like a richer version of soda. One that destroys my inhibitions. Gets me saying all the things I need to keep secret.
“Something about mind your own business.” Walker laughs. “I think he’s making something for you.”
“Yeah?” My voice jumps two octaves.
“The glimpse I caught looked fucking amazing.”
“You’re not gonna give me a hint?”
He shakes his head. “More fun this way.”
“Cruel.”
“Maybe.”
“How was the meeting? Was he excited.”
“Yeah. Well, for Brendon. You know him. Deadpan.”
“And you?”
“Hey, I’m charming. He’s—”
“He’s charming.”
“Well, yeah.” He looks me in the eyes. “You tend to find people charming when you’re into them.”
“What?”
“Everybody knows.”
“Who’s everybody?”
He motions to the room.
“Not Em.”
“Maybe.” He plants his hands on the counter behind us. “But everybody else.”
“It’s just… I, um…” God, it’s hard to talk. Or think. “Don’t say anything.”
He brings his fingers to his mouth and pulls an invisible zipper. My lips are sealed.
I bury my nose in my drink. The booze only makes my cheeks warmer. It only makes my throat drier.
Everyone knows?
As in everyone talks about it.
As in—
“Hey.” Brendon’s steady voice flows into my ears. He plants next to me, on the other side. His eyes go to Walker. “You mind?”
The tattoo artists share a look. It says a lot and it’s all about me.
Still, Walker takes his leave.
Brendon moves closer. The back of his hand brushes mine. His thigh presses against mine.
He leans in to whisper. “I have something for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Close your eyes.” His breath warms my neck. It sends shivers down my spine. It sends heat to my core.
“Okay.” I do.
His fingers skim my shoulder. Then it’s a cotton swab. Rubbing alcohol on my skin.
He pats it dry.
Presses something against it.
Wets it.
Oh…
I turn toward him.
He grabs my other shoulder. Stops me. “I didn’t say you could open your eyes.” His voice is low, demanding. That same tone he used the other night. “One more minute.”
My tongues slides over my lips. My knees knock together. My breath hitches.
Slowly, he peels off the paper sticking to my skin. Then it’s cool air on my shoulder. And his fingers curling around my wrist. Peeling my hands from my eyes.
He takes my other hand, leads me to his chair, and turns me toward the mirror. “What do you think?”
It’s the topless mermaid he promised for my birthday. She’s sitting on a rock, her long blond hair covering her chest, her green eyes on the book in her hands.