Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) (6 page)

“Nothin’.” That was all he said.

“Well, if—” I started to ask if it was anything regarding the mural, but he cut me off quickly.

“Look, it’s a list of numbers,” he said keeping his eyes firm on the road.

“Numbers?”

“Yeah, for chicks. I was looking to see who I was going to call tonight when we’re done here.” Ouch, not what I was expecting, and not what I believed, but that didn’t mean I needed the reminder of his overtly friendly ways.

“Awesome,” I said focusing on the irritation I felt rather than the jealousy masking a smidgen of pain.

“You know how I am, C,” he said callously.

“Yep,” I said popping the p.

He nodded slowly, softly, and bit the corner of his full bottom lip, but he never looked at me again. Just as well, because I’d probably sneer at him and sneering didn’t look good on me.

“So what do we need?” I asked pulling out the paint cards and reading the names of the colors.

“I’m thinking maybe a red. Something bright and fun,” he said reaching behind me to grab a sample card. With the position he was standing in, his outstretched arm caused his much larger body to wrap around me. The scent of his cologne had warmed on his skin and curled into my space. My insides got all gooey at the feeling of being literally wrapped up in Wes. Then, I remembered his comment in the car. Bitch slapped by reality.

“What about this one?” I pointed to the sample labeled “Sizzling Salsa.” I took a step closer to the sample wall, furthering myself from him.

“Eh, that’s more orange than red,” he said stepping closer to surround me again. He shifted on his legs, bringing his chest so close to my back that I could feel the fabric of our t-shirts brush against each other. I was suddenly hyper aware of every inch of that shirt against my own. The rough brush of cotton on cotton teased my shoulder blades and tickled the bottom of my neck. The heat of his closeness nipped at my own skin when he leaned in a bit further.

“This one looks red.” He leaned forward even more, and his chest melted into my back. My stomach tightened on contact. I had no clue what color Wes was looking at, and I didn’t really care at freakin’ all.

“Perfect,” I said through my tightened voice courtesy of my lungs that forgot to breathe. He was so close, too close.

“Capri?” Wes whispered to me, but he was cut short of whatever question required such a tender tone by the most unflattering squeal. Not my own. Naturally, my squeals were adorable.

“Hey, Wes.” A female voice beckoned him from behind us, and his words were gone along with his body.

“Tori, hey. What’s up, darlin’?” Psh. Darlin’, what a stupid nickname. I continued to pick and pull at the wall of paint colors, but my ears were listening to everything behind me.

“I’m so happy I ran into you. I need a man’s opinion.” Tori’s voice was like the sound of a fork scratching against an empty plate. I pulled a lump of paint samples and shoved them back into an entirely different space.

“Sure thing, whatcha need?” Wes asked, all too willing to help Tori. Typical. I flicked my nails across brown shades ones after the other.

“I’m bolting my headboard to my wall, you know how much it rattles—”
of course he does
“—and I can’t figure out which ones will keep it steady.” Well, that was enough eavesdropping for me. I started to walk away when I felt the rough yet soft touch of his hand on my elbow.

“C?” he asked, and I turned around for a split second before I ran off. I was so not dealing with this. “I’ll be right back, ‘kay?” he said, and I nodded sneaking a glance at Tori.

Tori was short, but thanks to her obscene pleather pumps, she towered above me and met Wes’ height. I didn’t know shoes came in pleather. Her feet must be ridiculously sweaty.

She peered down at me from under her false eyelashes and gave me a knowing smirk. I didn’t like it. Then she bit her super thin bottom lip as she pulled her shoulders back. The way her eyes traveled down Wes’ backside made my skin crawl and, to be quite honest, it pissed me right off. Nope, not walking away that easily.

I took a step toward Wes and placed both hands on his chest, and I looked up into his eyes that doubled in size by the millisecond. “Okay, baby. I’ll go see if I can find us some rope to use later, and maybe some duct tape in case I have a hard time controlling myself like last time.” I patted his arm and turned to walk away.

“Oh,” he whispered. I turned back around and tried not to giggle at the look on Wes’ face. He looked completely confused as he scratched at his head and his bottom lip quivered while he tried to decide what to say.

“A feather duster too, yeah? I know how you like when I tickle that spot under your balls.” I didn’t wait to see his reaction, but I heard his high-pitched yet whispered,
“What the fuck?”
loud and clear.

I wandered the hardware store for another fifteen minutes alone trying to decipher what had gotten into me. It just wasn’t like me to speak up like that. Being around Wes had me spitting sass all over the place, and I had to admit it felt kind of good. I felt like there was a little flicker of spunk in me that ignited within his presence.

On my mini journey around the hardware store, I learned two very important lessons. One, aprons took on a whole new sexy appearance when worn by muscly young men eager to help you find your way, and two, the lumber section was the motherland of gorgeous hard-working men. So here I was, in lumber trying to decide what I could make with this piece of lattice while inconspicuously watching the manliness come and go.

“Excuse me?” a smooth voice said next to me. I turned around to an attractive guy who looked close to my age, not that age was a prerequisite for me. He was taller than I was, though not by much, and had a shaved head with a diamond stud in one ear. I should note he also wore an apron and possessed muscles but had no visible tattoos. “Do you need any help?”

“No thanks,” I said automatically. I blinked hard. Where did that come from? My reply should be,
Yes, kind sir, muscle me into submission.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he kindly said before walking toward another customer. That was when I heard the fork-scraping giggle that gave me a set of unpleasant chills. Wes must have been an aisle over with Tori, teaching her how to sturdy her bed.

“You know what?” I called out to muscle man. “I do have a few questions if you don’t mind?”

He turned back with a gorgeous smile, sans dimples. “Of course.”

“What kind of paint should I use on this?” I ask him pointing to the shorter piece of the lattice.

“Spray paint will give you the most even coat, and you will need to make sure you sand and prime it first so the wood doesn’t suck up all the paint,” he told me remaining completely professional. I had to admit it was refreshing. I was used to guys hitting on me far too often. I didn’t even know why. I was pretty plain as far as looks went, and I tended to be fairly reserved. Sometimes I thought maybe that I was too nice, maintaining a sweet, composed demeanor. They thought my smiles were for them, but they were more for me. With a smile on my face, no one asked any questions.

“And I’m guessing a latex one would be best?” I asked him.

“You got it,” he said cheerily, flashing me his perfectly straightened smile that elicited a smile of my own. “Anything else, let me know.”

“I’ve got it from here, homie.” I was startled by Wes’ voice directly to my right.

“Sir.” The employee nodded his head and looked at me. “Miss, have a nice day.”

“Dude, did you just check out her tits, yo?” Wes’ voice heightened an octave, and the employee shook his head giving Wes a look reserved only for the crazy train.

“Wes,” I hissed.

“No, sir. I was just helping the lady out, and I’ll be on my way.” He nodded again and took a steady step back like he was trying not to startle a bear. A crazy bear.

“Damn right, you will. And next time I catch you looking at her tits, I won’t let you off so easily.”

Oh, my God. “I’m sorry.” I waved apologetically at muscles then grabbed Wes by the side of his shirt and pulled him away. He jerked stiffly still reared up in territorial mode before he softened into his usual heavy steps along with me. “What’s the matter with you?” I hissed again trying not to make a scene.

“Dude checked out your tits, C,” Wes said.

“No. He did not. He was answering my questions like he is paid to do.”

“While looking at your tits.”

“Stop saying tits.”

“Would you prefer I say cock?” Wes’ voice took on a playful tone at the question, and I froze in an aisle somewhere between the mailboxes and trashcans.

“What?” I squeaked.

“Cock. Would you prefer if I told you that he was thinking with his cock while staring at your tits?” My pulse was jackrabbiting through my veins. Something about that word on Wes’ lips had always gotten to me, to a place in me that no spoken words had touched before.

The first time I’d heard him use the word, he was over at our house and hanging out with August. I was walking past August’s door when I heard the word and felt it tear through my body. I remained motionless in the hallway and listened to every detail about Wes getting a blowjob from one of the school cheerleaders. The tingling and warmth that overcame me was altogether foreign and addicting.

I walked back toward my own room on shaky legs that day, the same shaky legs I was attempting to stay upright on now. Ever since, the moment Wes uttered that word, those same feeling came rushing back to me. Only now, they were a pleasant annoyance, and clearly, he’d figured that out.

“That’s enough, Wes,” I hissed.

“Cock-a-doodle-do, C!” He looked over his shoulder with a huge grin and winked. I followed behind him and watched his ass rock beneath his long torso as he walked. Gah, he could be so aggravating.

“I’ll meet you at the car!” I shouted up to him and turned around, making a point to go in a completely different direction than he had gone.

Back in the car, Wes continued to irritate me further. First, he held my door open for me. I mean, what? Did he think I wasn’t capable of opening my own door? This was the twenty-first century. Women knew how to open and close doors. Then, he went and turned down his music so he could apologize. “I overreacted, Capri. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Wes.” I shoved the words out quickly, not wanting to discuss this with him.

“Why do you always have to have a dude?” he said staring straight ahead, but my head snapped in his direction.
Say what?

“What? How is that any of your business?”

“It’s not.” He shrugged.

“Well, why do you always have girls hanging all over you?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“She wasn’t anybody important, Capri.” I rolled my eyes and let my head fall against the window.

“Who you hook up with is your own business. I really don’t want to hear about it.” I watched as we passed through the city back to SYC.

“I didn’t hook up with her, C. That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Wes leaned forward onto his steering wheel.

“You didn’t hook up with her, but you know intimate details about her bedframe?” I cocked my head at him.

“Stop.”

“I mean, how else would you know that? You obviously hooked up with her.”

“Capri, stop.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel, sending a ripple of tension from his forearm up to his bicep. His pulse thumped through the protruding veins on his lower arm in a quick and thunderous pace.
God, that’s hot
.

I shook my head.

“Of course, you did, Wes. It’s what you do! You hook up all the time! Every time I turn around, there’s another freakin’ girl!” Now I leaned forward flailing my arms around like a crazy chick.

“And every time I turn around, there’s another fuckin’ dude!” Wes bellowed at the windshield. I guess I had the same effect on him as well because he nailed crazy guy. I slammed back against my seat crossing my crazy arms over my chest and glared at Wes.

“Excuse me?” My words slipped coolly over my heated voice.

“You. You act like I’m out there hooking up with anyone and everyone. Meanwhile, you have a new boyfriend every week. How is that any different? What if I called all the chicks I fuck my girlfriends? Then what? Fuckin’ ‘em is suddenly okay?”

I squinted at his declaration. “Cool, so I’m a slut now?” I asked masking the bruise he’d just left on my heart.

“You calling me a slut?” He cocked an eyebrow but damn if he still wouldn’t look at me. You’d think the stupid windshield grew a pair of boobs with the way he was fixated on it.

“Yeah,” I said honestly. “Well, he-hussy actually.” I cocked my head proudly.

Wes’ eyes squinted, and I caught a hint of a smile peek out from his profile. “He-hussy?”

“He-hussy.”

Wes shook his head, chuckling lowly. His oversized body shook with gentle laughter and his grip on the steering wheel loosened.

Dammit. I smiled, too. I didn’t know what it was with this guy, but he smiled? I smiled.

“Look, Capri,” he said driving into a parking spot. He pulled on the emergency brake and shut the car off before turning to me and looking at me for the first time since we left the hardware store.