“Just Garrett,” I say. Just f**king Garrett who can’t help me out when I’m desperate. I take a sip of my water.
I don’t know why it upsets me to know that Paul has Kelly’s name inked on his skin. But it kind of does. I’ve seen him without his shirt on before, but I’ve never noticed it until now. She was and always will be a big part of his life because they have a daughter, but it still gets under my skin. I hate that it does, actually.
Paul jerks me from my thoughts when he asks, “And what did you ask Garrett to do for you? And why did he refuse? And why did he call me a stud muffin?” He grins and hitches a hip against counter.
“How did you hear all that?”
He shrugs. “Your volume was really loud.” He stares at me for a minute. I’m pretending that I didn’t hear him. He heaves a sigh and sings, “Fridaaaayy!” He waves his hands in the air wildly. “Earth to Friday.”
“He calls you a stud muffin because you are one.”
A dimple appears in his cheek. “Okay,” he says. “And the rest?” he prompts when I don’t say more. “What did you ask him to do?”
I look around the room. There’s nothing I can use to distract him. “Is Hayley calling you?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “She’s with her mom this week. But nice try.”
He’s not going to stop asking. “I asked him to help me with an art project,” I say. I may as well have just spilled my guts out.
“What kind of art project?”
I shrug. “There’s a contest going on at Bounce.” Bounce is a local club, and all the Reed brothers have worked there at one point or another as bouncers, so I know he’s familiar with the place.
“What kind of contest?” he asks.
“A paint contest?” I say. It comes out like a question, even though I didn’t mean for it to.
“The f**king body paint contest?” Paul asks, and he slams his hand down on the counter. “Are you entering that?”
“I already entered. And I had a model for it, but then she backed out at the last minute. Her grandmother died or something. I don’t know why her grandmother couldn’t have waited until after the contest, but I guess I don’t get any say-so.”
He chuckles. “God, you make me laugh,” he says.
I glare at him.
“So your model backed out and you were going to do what? Paint Garrett?”
“Umm, not exactly.” I raise a finger to my lips and start to nibble the nail.
“Then what?” He throws up his hands.
“I was going to have him paint me.” I look down the hallway. “Maybe Sam could do it. Is he here?” I start in that direction, but Paul grabs my arm and jerks me back. I fall against him.
“There is no f**king way any man, even Garrett, is going to paint your naked body. No. Absolutely not.” He folds his arms across his broad chest and stares down at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“The entry fee was a hundred dollars and I spent a month working on the design. It’s perfect, and I think I can win. And just when did you become my father?” I ask. I pull back from him.
“Trust me,” he says. “The last thing I want to be is your father.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
He pulls me to him again, and I feel his dick pressed against my lower belly. “Trust me,” he says again. “I don’t feel like a parent when I’m with you.”
“Oh,” I breathe. My heart stutters, and I get this little flutter in my belly that only happens with him.
“Oh,” he mocks. “I’m acting like a jealous boyfriend because I am one.”
I close my eyes and say, “You haven’t even kissed me since I told you about Jacob.”
“You told me you needed time,” he cries softly. “I’ve been right here waiting. Patiently, I might add.” He chuckles.
“Well, quit being so patient!”
He brushes my hair back from my face with gentle fingers and doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me, his eyes soft and full of something I don’t understand. I wish I did. It would make this so much easier.
“So about this contest,” he says.
“Reagan and Emily are both busy.”
“There’s no one else you can get to model?”
“There isn’t enough time to teach them the position.”
“Position?” He grins.
I shove his shoulder.
“I’ll paint you.” His eyes bore into mine. “I’ll enjoy the hell out of it.” His dimple grows deeper and even cuter.
“No.” I shake my head. “You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll be naked!” I cry.
“I know!” he yells back softly. “That’s why I don’t want anyone else doing it!”
Paul
This is a really bad idea, and I know it before I ever step a foot into her bedroom. “Close the door behind you,” she says. Her voice quivers, and I f**king love that she’s this torn up over me painting her body.
“Nobody else is here,” I remind her.
“Someone is always here, or on their way here, or thinking about coming here.”
She’s right, so I close the door. She has transfer sheets spread all over her bed. They’re arranged in a weird pattern, and I can’t quite make out what it is. “What are you going to be?” I ask.