by Lucy Smoke
Grayson: Aw, did you get dumped? I'll heal your wounded heart.
I breathed through my nose, shoving back the urge to maim and kill.
Harlow: I hate you.
There, that was a completely reasonable response. I nodded to myself. Texas turned into the driveway to the house and my phone buzzed once more.
Grayson: Hate is very close to love.
He sent a second text almost immediately after that.
Grayson: But seriously, we need to talk.
I bit my lip, wondering what to say. Marv and Bellamy would automatically say no. Texas would just direct me to Knix. He would be the only one who could overrule the others. I sighed and bent my head over my phone to reply.
Harlow: I'll see what I can do.
Texas hit the garage door opener and pulled in right next to Marv's half repainted BMW. My phone shook in my hand and I glanced at the screen.
Grayson: Away from your boyfriends.
I rolled my eyes and got out of the car.
Chapter 3
Texas eyed our surroundings as we exited the car. The paint on Marv’s BMW was unfinished and still wet.
“Keep a look out,” Texas warned in a whisper as he scanned the area, stepping towards the door that led inside.
I spotted Bellamy’s long legs under the front end of the car and had to smother a chuckle as we attempted to tiptoe around him. Bellamy’s hand shot out and grabbed ahold of Texas’ ankle. As he cursed and jerked, I dove for the door. In another split second, Texas yanked me back with his hand on my dress. I glared over my shoulder as Bellamy released Texas’ ankle only to snag his wrist before he could get away as he pulled himself to standing.
I knew exactly what Texas was thinking before he did it and still, I couldn’t stop him. Texas looked at me with an apology in his eyes right before he pulled me back hard. I tripped, and Bellamy released Texas long enough to grab me in order to keep me from falling.
“Traitor!” I yelled as Texas disappeared into the house.
“He’ll go easier on you!” Texas yelled back, laughing.
I shook my head before looking up at Bellamy’s soulful brown eyes.
He frowned. “Sweetheart,” he said, “you are in so much trouble.”
I grimaced. "Really, Bellamy, it's not that big of a deal. If you want help finishing the car, I can do that," I offered, hoping to escape whatever nefarious revenge he had planned. He set me back on my feet and I turned, backing towards the doorway.
"If you're going to help me then maybe you should stop trying to escape and pick up a paint can." He bent over and picked up an airbrush can he had been using to repaint Marv's BMW.
I sighed in relief and stopped backing away, instead, reaching for the can he held out to me. As my fingers grazed the metal, he dropped it and it slipped from my fingers. I squealed as he leaped forward, and went straight for my weak spots. I laughed as he tickled my sides, going right for the area under my ribs. I gasped for air, trying to kick away, but he was too strong.
I screamed as Bellamy changed tactics and bent down, lifting me up and over his shoulder. I released a breath of surprise as he hefted me further up and tugged the bottom of my dress down to cover me before he swatted my butt. I growled as he strode towards the back of the garage. I had no clue what he was going to do, but I knew it couldn't be anything good. He and Texas had both proven to be tricksters in their own right. Bellamy may have appeared more serious, but once I had gotten to know him, and once I had let Texas convince me to trade sugar out for salt when he went to drink his morning coffee, that serious façade had broken. A part of me wondered if I shouldn't just give up and let him have his revenge. There would be no living with him until he got it. Then I saw what he was going for and my struggles increased tenfold.
"No!" I yelled. "Not that!"
Bellamy chuckled darkly as he stepped through the open door that led to the side yard. There could only be one reason we were going outside. I pressed my palms to his back and tried to push myself up. He didn't even hesitate in bringing me down in a bridal hold with my back pressed against one of his arms and my legs dangling over the other. As he rounded the house my eyes widened.
Marv, who was sitting outside in nothing but a pair of trunk shorts and a white shirt, arched an eyebrow. He pressed the screen of his phone face down on his belly, placed his hands behind his head, and watched as Bellamy stalked towards the edge of the pool. My eyes beseeched him, but he merely saluted me with two fingers and sat back to watch the show. I turned my gaze to Bellamy.
"You don't have to do this," I said. "I promise I'll help repaint the car. I won't let Texas talk me into another prank–I'll–"
"Sit still long enough for me to paint you?" Bellamy asked, stopping at the very edge of the pool. I glanced down hesitantly; the toes of his shoes were just over the rim, the water looking bright and wet.
I sighed. "Yes," I said with a pout. He had been trying to get me to let him paint me for days now. I didn't like the idea of sitting still for a long time, so I had refused each time he asked. But if it got me out of being tossed into the pool, then I'd freaking do it.
He nodded his head and I breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped away from the pool. The bastard had only been gearing up to swing me back and make sure that when he tossed me, I landed smack dab in the middle of the deep end. I surfaced, choking on water, and glaring in his general direction as I wiped the water from my eyes. I was sure the makeup I had painstakingly applied earlier was running in rivulets down my face.
He and Marv both smiled in my direction as I waded towards the steps leading to the patio. "You're both jerks!" I stepped onto the stones, dripping wet.
"You painted my car pink," Marv reminded me.
"This," I said as I strode up to his seat and wrung my hair out over his lower legs, snagging the towel under his feet. "This is why."
"You wouldn't have gotten thrown in if you had left my car alone," he reminded me.
"Pft." I turned away and headed towards the back door, Bellamy at my side. Now that he had gotten me back for leaving him to deal with the fallout, all was well again. I didn't even have it in me to stay mad at him.
"So..." he started as we strode through the sandstone tiled kitchen and into the living room. Cleo meowed from the couch. "Painting?" he asked.
I groaned, but nodded as I headed off towards my room. "Let me get showered and changed," I called over my shoulder. "I'll meet you in your room."
After I showered and changed, I made my way to Bellamy’s room. Cleo followed me up the stairs and waited while I knocked on the door before opening it. I hadn’t even bothered to find her a different home and the guys had welcomed her into our new one with open arms. Bellamy emerged from his closet laden down with supplies. As he began to set up, Cleo meowed. She continued to do so until, with a sigh, Bellamy stopped and patted her on the head in acknowledgement. I stifled a giggle as Cleo closed her eyes and purred into his hands. Finally, when she decided that he had done enough petting, she stood up and stretched before padding away from him and leaping onto the bed. Bellamy went back to the task at hand.
Bellamy's room was a lot like the man who lived in it. The walls were dark gray on the far side, with the furthest wall tilted so that the bottom of the window edged outward towards the side of the house. His bed was a simple platform structure with a mattress covered in dark gray sheets and a lighter gray comforter and matching pillows on top.
It seemed rather plain, yet it was anything but. I saw the paint spots on the floor at the end of one side of the bed. They looked like he had tried to clean them. The spots were light – barely discernible, but they were there. In the far corner, there was an acoustic guitar set straight up in its stand. Cleo leapt up on the bed as I moved past, pausing to smile down at the paint spots.
There were adjustable lamps bolted to the walls on either side of the headboard. Neither of them were turned on. I debated reaching for them, wondering if he would need the light. Didn’t a
rtists need light? The only illumination in the room came from the window. He would have turned the lamps on if he had wanted them on, I decided.
Bellamy waved me over as he bent and lifted the solar screen shade so that the window was fully open. Near the end of his bed beside the window, he had set up his easel and was waiting for me. I grimaced at it. I strode in and waited near the opposite side of his bed. He gestured for me to move closer, and I sighed but did as he requested.
"Okay," he said. "Do you want to sit or stand?"
I shrugged. "It's your painting."
"You're going to have to be still for a long time. I'm not going to get it all done today, but if you're standing, it might be uncomfortable after a few hours."
I shrugged again. "I can take it." My eyes strayed to the rest of the room, but more repeatedly back to that guitar.
Bellamy grinned. "Go ahead and stand over there." He motioned towards the wooden sliding door that matched the gray tones of his bedroom and led into his private bathroom. He stood me in front of it and then turned my body to face the window. "For the lighting," he murmured, as he tugged my wrist forward and adjusted my arms so that one was down, and the other was raised. He paused and took a step back. "How does that feel?" he asked.
"It's fine,” I choked out. He was so close I could smell his cologne. I wasn’t actually sure if it was cologne or not, but it was crisp and spicy. I breathed deeply. I jerked as the scent tugged me back to the memory of Bellamy and I kissing in Marv’s car. I sucked in a breath as my eyes zipped down to his mouth.
"Your arm might get tired," he muttered more to himself than to me. I watched his lips move for a brief moment before shaking my head to clear away the rampant thoughts. It was wrong of me to want a repeat especially when I had kissed Knix as well, and Marv… My face started to heat up.
I smiled, trying to alleviate my embarrassment – though, thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. "It'll be fine, whatever you do," I assured him, "you're talented." I knew this, because when I had helped move everyone from the condominium complex to the house, I had carried some of the most startling paintings I had ever seen. Reminiscent of dark, abstract art and hand drawn profiles dispersed with pastel coloring, they had been achingly beautiful.
When I had asked where the guys had gotten such art, Marv had pulled me aside and told me. Finally, Bellamy finished adjusting me how he wanted and returned to his easel. He was right, within minutes, my arms grew tired, but noticing the enraptured look on his face, I didn't dare move or say anything about my discomfort.
"So," I began.
"Hmmm?" He bit his lip and stared at the canvas, flicking his eyes back and forth between the easel and where I sat.
“You’re an artist… a mechanic… a recruiter…” I paused at that when he shot me a look beneath his brows. I grinned. “And a musician,” I finished, nodding towards the guitar. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
Bellamy shrugged, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the instrument against the wall. His entire focus was on the canvas. “I have hobbies,” he answered vaguely.
“Lots of hobbies,” I commented. “Do you have a favorite?”
Bellamy’s eyes flickered once again, taking in my position for a brief moment. He didn’t answer for several minutes as he eyed me and the stretch of canvas in front of him. He wasn’t painting yet. Not exactly. Was he… outlining? Sketching? I wanted to see it already.
“I like everything I do,” he said, finally.
“Could I hear you play something sometime?” I asked, curious. Would he be a slow strummer? A fast and hard rock player? I had met kids back in high school who loved listening to rap and rock and roll, and yet, when they played their guitars in the courtyard or by the stairs in the early morning before classes had started, they had done so quietly. Maybe it had been nerves, or a lack of confidence, but their fingers had moved slowly over the strings, plucking and making them dance at a pace that was simple and seductively intimate. I wondered what kind of musician Bellamy was.
“I suppose so,” he replied with a wince. “I haven’t played in a long while. I might not be much good anymore.”
“I doubt that,” I replied. “I bet it’s like riding a bike, you never forget.”
“I suppose,” he repeated.
I sighed.
He paused and then his arm dropped as he leaned around his easel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so…” Bellamy reached up with his free hand and tugged on a strand of his dark hair. It was getting longer. When I had first met him, it was already around his shoulders, it wasn’t that much longer now, but perhaps that was because he had all of it dragged into a side ponytail. To keep it out of his face while he was painting, I assumed. Maybe it just seemed longer when it was down. “I’ll play for you sometime,” Bellamy said without looking me in the eye. “I’m just not really big on playing much these days.”
“Why?” I didn’t move. I didn’t want to forget my position, but had I been able to, I would have dropped my arms and gone to him. I was curious. Bellamy was such an enigma. I felt like I needed to be close to him. To uncover all that he was. The Artist. The Musician. The Mechanic and car lover. And most certainly, the Iris Boy.
He shrugged, his muscles bunching under his clothes, making the fabric stretch with him. “I’m just out of practice is all.”
I wondered about that, but he looked so uncomfortable, I decided to just let it go. “Okay, then some other time…”
He relaxed almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth and smiled at me that sweet Bellamy smile that reminded me of cotton candy and possessive kisses. I blinked as he stepped out of sight and refocused his attention on the canvas. That kiss… we hadn’t talked about it.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did," he said, a teasing note in his tone. He remained hidden by the canvas, barely peeking around every now and then.
I bit my lip and promptly released it with a sigh. Time to settle on a different subject. Sometime soon, though, we would have to talk about that kiss.
"It's about Grayson,” I said.
He stopped and looked at me. I resisted the urge to tense or show any discomfort. It was an innocent question, something that had been bugging me for a while. When Bellamy didn't say anything, I took that as my cue to ask.
"Why don't you like him?"
Bellamy waited a beat before he set his paintbrush to the side and came around the easel. He didn't approach me, he simply stood in front of me and crossed his arms. "Why do you want to know?" he asked.
I raised my brows and blinked in surprise. I didn't know what I had expected, but it wasn't this defensiveness. "It's just a question," I said. "You and Marv both don't like him, you've made that clear. I just wanted to know why. If there was some bad blood between you or something. It doesn't make sense to me for you two to show such a hatred for him just because of me." I paused. "Is it because of me?"
He closed his eyes and sighed, uncrossing his arms. "Harlow–"
"Is it?" I demanded again before he could say something to avoid the question.
"No," he said, opening his eyes and catching my gaze. "It's not just about you."
"Just?" I repeated. "So, it's partially about me?"
"It's more complicated than that."
"Uncomplicate it then," I insisted.
He grinned ruefully. "That's your go-to, isn't it?"
"Is it working?" I asked, dropping my arms to cross them over my chest.
He shook his head and sighed. "Maybe."
"Then yes," I said, "it's my go-to."
Bellamy’s expression gave me the impression he was trying not to be amused and was failing pretty horribly at it since I could see the twitching at the corners of his mouth. He strode to his bed and I turned to face him with my arms still crossed. He patted the spot next to him and I stepped forward, dropped my arms, and sat.
"When I say it's complicated, Harlow," he started, "I'm not saying that to piss you off. It r
eally is complicated."
"Did you, Marv, and Grayson know each other before you met me?" I asked. He tensed and scratched his neck. I sighed. "It's not a hard question." I tried to make him meet my eyes. "It's a 'yes' or 'no' question."
"I didn't exactly know him," Bellamy said through clenched teeth. "But we were acquainted. He was more acquainted with Marv and Knix."
"Knix?" I asked, surprised. “Really?” I frowned. “I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised if Marv and Grayson knew each other. Marv really doesn’t like him. But, Knix? They knew each other?”
Bellamy tilted his head at me and sighed, his eyes closing and then reopening after a moment. "Who do you think paid to have this place built?" He nodded towards our surroundings, meaning the house.
"Marv?" I asked. I hadn’t even realized that I had just assumed…but now, I wasn't so sure.
Bellamy shook his head. "It's not a secret that Marv has money, you've seen his parents."
"I met his mom today," I admitted. His eyes widened, and I nodded. "Yea, he took me over to meet her and we had tea–well, Marv and I had tea. She had champagne."
Bellamy chuckled. "That's Caitlyn for you."
"So... Grayson?" I prodded.
Bellamy closed his eyes and stood. "I think it's something you should ask Knix or Marv. It's not really my story to tell." He held his hand out and I frowned at him as I took it. He chucked me under my chin. "Don't look so serious or your face will stick that way," he warned. "Do you need help getting back in the position?"
I shook my head and retook my spot in front of the sliding door. I lifted my face and turned my body towards the window. As it was, despite my stance, Bellamy had to angle my face so that I was looking at him. It allowed me to watch the look of concentration that overtook his face as he dipped his brush into his paints and stroked it across the canvas.
He had an assortment of brushes each tipped with their own color; some so dark I couldn't tell their color, but that didn't seem to matter to him. He would drop them into their various holders and then pick another to continue his work. I don't know how long I stood there, but when the sun eventually began to set Knix called for dinner.
