“Me neither. Honestly, I was thinking the best I’d get tonight was your number and maybe a promise for a date.”
“Oh, God.” That caused me to cover my eyes with my hand.
He seemed to realize what his comment implied about my degree of sluttiness and quickly tried to repair the damage. “That’s not what I meant! Shit. I didn’t mean to imply anything. Believe me, I couldn’t possibly be more pleased with this evening’s turn of events.”
I peeked out between two fingers, still feeling like the biggest ho-bag in the Triad.
“Where’s your phone?” Jake asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Why?” I responded warily.
“Just give me your phone,” he insisted, propping himself up on an elbow.
I decided to hand it over but then remembered it had been confiscated by Fiona when she’d seen my phone-holder/wallet I usually carry with me. I’d been given a lecture about sparkly clutches and weddings and there was some threat about a personal search for my ovaries before she’d shoved my things in her own little bag. I’d been lucky she’d allowed me to keep my room key and some lip balm.
“Um, Jake, I think you’re overestimating the magical powers of these stockings. A keycard was about all they were going to hold.”
That, of course, brought his eyes back down to the silk that still covered my legs. The smoky look to his eyes turned hungry again. I squirmed.
He seemed to shake himself out of it, unfortunately, and stood abruptly, walking his naked ass over to his pants and returning with his phone. He settled himself alongside me once again and tapped at his phone.
What in the hell was he doing?
“What’s your number?”
Seriously?
“Seriously?”
“Yes. What’s your number? Come on.” He gestured impatiently.
I rattled off my number and watched as he entered it into his contacts.
“There. Now I can call and ask you for that date.”
I shook my head. “Jake, you really don’t need to do that. I’m a big girl,” I began, but he shook his head at me in return.
“No way. You’re not getting out of this. I delivered my best goods just now. You owe me at least one date.”
I laughed at that and let him take that as my acquiescence. And I almost managed to block out the inner voice that told me this follow-up date was just a pipe dream.
“Damn, you’re beautiful when you laugh.”
His comment sent my skin into a full-body blush.
I was thinking he was beautiful when he did anything at all. I didn’t know how to respond, so I leaned over and kissed him. He returned my kiss and was soon pushing me onto my back again.
“Help!” I cried into the phone.
“Calm down and tell me what’s wrong,” said Laney.
I knew I’d called the right person. She’s a parent, which places her in my newly designated top category of people I admire the most. She’d know what to do.
I had stupidly let the entire week go by without giving any thought to what I would wear to the damn gallery. I’d never had to worry about such things before, but even I, the queen of casual, knew that I couldn’t show up at Anton’s opening looking like a bag lady. Especially with Jake and his smoking hot “I don’t even have to try—I was born this way” aura on my arm!
I explained the situation to Laney. She made appropriate noises as I spoke, but then went silent when I finished my panicked tirade about my utter stupidity and lack of forethought.
“Are you still there?” I asked.
“Yeah?” It came out as a question. Shit. What did this mean?
“What?!”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to call Fiona on this one.”
“No way! Not this time. If God didn’t intend for me to have hair on my body I wouldn’t have it! All I need is a dress or something. Surely, you can help me without calling her.” I think I whined.
“Bailey, calm down. It won’t be that bad.”
Said a woman who’d never been pinned down by a real-life fairy and forced to wear a shoestring masquerading as underwear.
I whimpered while she continued, “I’ll make sure she knows your boundaries. What time is Jake picking you up? Oh, God—I love saying that! Jake is picking you up!” she squealed.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m happy to give you a lady boner.” I rolled my eyes like a freaking teenager. Would I ever be a real adult? Wait, I had to stop thinking like that. Confident Bailey doesn’t think things like that.
“Oh, shut up and let me have my fun!”
“Whatever. He’s picking me up at 7:30.”
“Perfect. We’ll be over at 6:00.”
“Wait, what? Why on earth would we need that much time?” But she’d already hung up.
Shit.
The cavalcade of two (yes, in this case, two is still a cavalcade—you didn’t see everything they brought) arrived at six on the dot and marched right into my bedroom without invitation.
“Do come in and make yourselves at home,” I muttered.
Fiona patted my cheek, damn her. “Oh, is somebody nervous about her big date?”
“I’m more nervous about what body part you’re going to amputate.”
She just smiled in return. Oh, hell.
“First,” said Laney, “let’s pick out a dress.” She swept her hand out like a Price Is Right model and gestured to the array of colorful outfits now adorning my bed.
I gulped. “I think we’re gonna need a bigger bed.”
“Wow,” we both said in unison when I opened my condo door and saw Jake and his cheekbones on my front porch. He was all done up in a gray dress shirt, black tie, and black dress pants that fit him way, way too well. It took me a moment to collect myself and register that he’d “wow”ed me too. Thank God!
With Laney’s help, I’d managed to hold Fiona off to a certain extent. But I was, in fact, wearing a dress and heels for the second time in my adult life—and all within a month. I’d drawn the line at the assortment of lacy undergarments I’d been presented with, though. Apparently, the information hub Fiona calls a phone housed a list dedicated to the sizes and measurements of all her friends. You know, in case she happened to be out somewhere and felt a compulsive need to use her credit card on girl shit. Unbeknownst to me until tonight, I was on that list.
But I was nervous enough as it was. I didn’t need a thong to push me even farther outside my comfort zone. And, besides, if I stuck with my granny panties I’d be less likely to jump Jake.
I looked down at my black silky dress and snakeskin heels. I’d really only agreed to the heels because, knowing Fiona, they were real and that meant there was one less snake in the world.
What? We’ve already established reptiles are not my thing.
Spurred by the smoldering look in Jake’s eyes, I even worked up the nerve to do a little turn so he could see the high slit up the side. Yeah, he liked that. I felt emboldened and was loving this new me, even if my stomach was still swirling with nerves.
Just don’t throw up on him again.
He leaned in and kissed me briefly on the lips.
“Aww,” came a little chorus from behind me. I’d almost forgotten Cinderella’s little mice were still here. (And, no, I’ve never seen that movie. I have, however, been told all about it. Apparently, I was playing the part of a housekeeper who likes to talk to rodents and ride around in a pumpkin. And girls think guys are weird.)
Jake’s gaze darted past my shoulder. Taking it all in stride, he winked at them. Because it wasn’t like Fiona and Laney didn’t have their own testosterone-laden man-persons waiting at home to melt their panties. Oh, yuck. I suddenly realized the way Jake made me feel was the same way my annoying brother and moronic friend made these two feel. Gag.
“Ladies,” Jake said. “Are you joining us this evening?” He was smiling, but he shot me a quick questioning glance.
I shook my head furiously. The last thing I needed was Tina an
d Amy following us around all night offering commentary on our date.
They slipped past us, Laney blowing us a kiss and Fiona smacking my ass on their way out. Bitch! “We were just stopping by. Have fun, kids!” And then they were gone.
“You look stunning, as usual,” said Jake, ushering me toward his waiting truck. I stumbled a bit on the “as usual” part of his comment, but regained my balance and even allowed him to help me up into the passenger seat. Look at me being all girly and shit!
This date was off to a promising start.
Chapter Fifteen
Only Slightly Better Than a Beheading
JAKE
I’d never been to the Shearwater Gallery before, and now I knew why.
Sure, my job title had the word “designer” in it, but landscape design involves dirt, thorns, sweat, and physical exertion. It certainly doesn’t involve anything remotely related to the scene that lay before me.
Crisply-dressed servers passed trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne while guests mingled and perused the artwork adorning the gallery walls. That in itself was not off-putting in the least. It was the rest of it that left me feeling like I wanted to simultaneously laugh and turn right around and find a burger joint for our date.
I’d seen what Bailey had on the walls in her condo. That was art. This? This shit was not art. I’m sorry, I know it’s subjective, but this was a bunch of pretentious bullshit.
A large canvas, probably eight feet tall, hung as the only piece on the far wall. There were six black lines crossing each other over a white background. That was it. We approached, surrounded by a throng of guests, and I caught sight of the price tag.
$12,000.
Twelve thousand fucking dollars for something Bailey could have done in five minutes, probably while shit-faced drunk like she’d undoubtedly been the night of her text.
I no you no your sexy as fuck.
My dick twitched at the memory. I told it to calm the hell down and remember where we were. My eyes went back to the painting—that did the trick.
I looked beside me to see if Bailey’s reaction was the same as mine. She was frowning. Then she swung her head around, taking in the entire space as if looking for something.
“Huh,” she said absently. She walked away without a backward glance so I followed her. We walked past several similar paintings and crossed into a smaller gallery space behind the one we’d first entered.
The work here was much different from the shit in the main gallery. Most of it still wasn’t my taste, but at least this qualified as art. I’m no expert, but it was plain to see that this work was a collection from a variety of artists, as opposed to the first exhibit.
Bailey zeroed in on one piece in particular and approached it quickly, stopping on her heel when she was a few feet in front of it.
The painting was small and colorful, and even I could identify its style as abstract. It had clearly captured her attention so I gave it a longer look, trying to see what had her arrested. Then I saw it. The shock of blond hair, the naked breast, the curve of a feminine hip. Holy shit. Was this her?
“Is that…you?” I asked.
Her eyes snapped to mine, startled. “What?! No.” She shook her head vehemently. “Of course not.” She gave a nervous laugh.
I looked at the tag next to the canvas.
Ma Rose Irlandais Sauvage by Anton Germaine
$2,000
Part of me wanted to snatch the canvas from the wall so no one else could see Bailey laid out like that. There was no doubt in my mind she was the subject of this painting. I didn’t need to know French to understand this reference. An urge to punch someone surfaced, and that someone went by the name of Anton Germaine. He’d been with Bailey, that was certain from the intimacy of the image. This was no model/painter set-up. This was post-coital. This was fucked up.
She’d brought me to an ex-lover’s exhibit, knowing there would be a nude painting of her at the event. What the hell kind of game was she playing?! My mind raced. How could I even be sure he was an ex? Maybe she’d been saying no to me because she was fucking him.
“Yeah,” I huffed out. Then I turned on my heel to leave.
“Jake, wait,” she said and I heard her heels on the wood floor following me. I had to weave through a few groups of people on my way to the main gallery so she managed to catch up to me. I felt a tug on my shirt. “Jake, please.”
I took her arm and quickly escorted her to a quiet corner of the room, not wanting to cause a scene. We stopped short. Her cheeks were flushed as she looked up at me, her brows drawn together.
“What, Bailey? Are you serious with this shit?” She looked taken aback and her mouth gaped as she quickly shook her head. I continued before she could answer, “You’ve been driving me crazy with how hot and cold you run. Then we finally have a great date and you decide to follow that up by bringing me to the art show of one of your boyfriends? And don’t even try to deny it.” I pointed behind us to the painting of her. “That painting is of you. That painting is of you, in bed, right after that Anton guy fucked you.”
She winced. “I…I,” she attempted to speak but just stuttered.
“Why would you bring me here?” I squeezed her arm in some attempt to force out an answer I could live with.
“Jake...” She shook her head again. “I…It’s not like that…I didn’t know…”
“You made it!” came a loud voice from behind me. My eyes were still locked on Bailey and I saw her visibly pale. I released my hold on her.
Even through my anger and confusion, a wave of protectiveness surged. Before I could turn to see what had her so addled, I felt an arm brush mine. Two hands grasped Bailey’s bare upper arms and a fedora swooped down alongside her face. The fedora sat atop the blond head of a man just shorter than me. He kissed Bailey’s right cheek and followed with the left. Her eyes found mine and all I saw was panic.
WTF?
The man stood back, still holding her arms. His eyes swept over her form and my fists clenched. He had yet to even acknowledge my presence, even though Bailey and I had clearly been involved in an intimate conversation when he’d approached.
I took the brief opportunity to look him over, trying to determine who he could be. Skinny black pants and pointed-toed shoes were topped off by a tailored leather jacket and that dumb-ass hat. There was a ring on his pinky finger and the t-shirt he wore under his jacket swept down in a V too low for any straight guy. Black hipster glasses rested on his nose and he reeked of patchouli. Ah, this must be one of the artists exhibiting along with the “boyfriend.” But if that was the case, why the deer-in-the-headlights look on Bailey’s face?
“Beautiful, I’m so pleased to see you,” the man said with a smile and a hint of an accent I couldn’t quite place.
I did not get a good feeling.
He released her arms and swept his hands out in a dramatic gesture. “What do you think?” The dude let his eyes take in the room around him, not even pausing to acknowledge me.
Bailey stammered, “I-It’s really wonderful, Anton.”
Anton? Anton.
This motherfucker was going down.
“I knew you’d think so,” he said and reached for her hand just as a slender black-haired woman slithered up to Anton’s side and placed a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder.
With the distraction provided by the woman, I noticed Bailey was able to pull her hand back from this douchebag. At least that was something.
Anton turned to the new arrival and then back to Bailey. “Ah, you remember Sloane, don’t you?”
Bailey took a step back as if she were about to retreat, but the wall stopped her and she wobbled a bit on her heels. I instinctively reached out to steady her. She looked up briefly into my eyes and I could see a hint of relief.
There was something going on here and I did not like it one bit.
With one hand still holding Bailey’s arm, I turned abruptly to this asshole and stuck out my other hand. “
Jake Beckett.”
He looked first at my face and then my hand as if I’d suddenly materialized before him in that very moment. Then he looked back at Bailey, ignoring my hand.
She seemed to recover somewhat and attempted introductions. “Of course. Anton, this is Jake. Jake, this is Anton.” She gestured awkwardly to her side with one hand. “This is his show.”
Anton begrudgingly accepted my hand then, as there was no graceful way out of it. His eyes stayed on Bailey. “Well, my dear, it’s not entirely my show, as you can see.” He released my hand as quickly as possible and brought it to the side of his mouth for a stage whisper. “Just the good parts.” He and Sloane both cackled at this.
“And what do you do, Jake?” asked Sloane, her hand caressing Anton’s shoulder. She was all sharp angles, from her nails to her hairstyle, right down her bony body to her black heels.
I didn’t need to impress these people. “I’m in landscaping,” I answered, rocking back on my heels and putting my hands in my pockets.
The couple glanced at each other and Anton nodded. “Well, that’s just fascinating.” His patronizing smile flashed from Bailey to me and back again.
I felt Bailey’s hand on my arm as she stepped closer to me. “It is, in fact,” she said.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Anton replied. “So, what do you think of your piece?”
Bailey colored and I watched her face, trying to decipher her reaction.
“Oh, well…Anton. It’s not exactly what I expected.” She ducked her head.
“It’s quite a nice little painting,” interjected Sloane. “It’s amazing what Anton can do given any subject, no matter how…raw.”
Oh, wow. These people were good. Good at being complete dicks.
“Come now, Sloane.” Anton patted her hand. “I seem to remember you being quite…enthusiastic…about our little subject once upon a time.”
Um, what the hell did that mean?
She waved him off. “Yes, well, we’re all entitled to lapses in judgment now and then, aren’t we? Anyway, come get some champagne with me.” She turned on her heel and slithered off, leaving Anton with me and a trembling Bailey. She looked like she might go down, so I snaked an arm around her waist in support. Her eyes were still on the floor.
The Lucky One (Carolina Connections Book 3) Page 11
