Page 68 of Wicked Design
“Sort of. Zeke called. We got to talking, and I didn’t notice how late it was. Forgive me?” He brushed his lips over hers.
She kept her eyes open. “The Zeke you mentioned from last night’s party?”
“Yeah. He’s Portia’s twin.”
That made sense if Clover had known who the hell Portia was. Possibly a Mila Kunis look-alike who actually resembled Megan Fox after her crappy plastic surgery. “I’m glad you and Zeke got to talk. But didn’t you think to call or text me that you’d be late?”
“I should have. Won’t happen again; I promise.” He slung his arm over her shoulders. “Let’s eat. I can’t wait to show you the designs I’ve come up with.”
Surprised, she smiled. “I was going to ask you about my tat. Did you settle on geometric like you said, or did you find something else?”
He stopped at her door. “Neither. I meant the ones for the people at the party. I’ll do your stuff as soon as I finish with them, I swear. They’re in a huge hurry. There’s an important party next month on Star Island. If I work things right, I can get everyone inked in time.”
She pushed back her disappointment about her design and unlocked the door. “Did they invite you to the Star Island party last night?”
“This is a new one Trinity just put together. Don’t know where they get the energy to play so hard.”
“They probably pay their assistants and housekeepers to sleep for them.”
“What?”
Clover had mumbled her last comment. “They don’t have jobs, right? They’re trust-fund babies. It’s easy to party when you don’t have obligations and bills to pay.”
“I guess. Do you mind if I turn down your unit? It’s stuffy in here. Like I said, I’ll pay the whole bill, since you’re having trouble.”
Only because her jewelry wasn’t selling because she wasn’t popular with the right people, like him. “Knock yourself out.”
He gave her an odd look and turned the dial back to sixty. “Where do you put your forks and spoons?”
“Top drawer on the left.” He’d seen her grab them a dozen times and should have remembered by now. Juvenile on her part, she knew, like her other snotty thoughts, but her hurt kept mounting, fueled by how he’d behaved at last night’s party then showing up late this evening. As if she was an afterthought.
He joined her, utensils and napkins in hand. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving you the chair.” She sat cross-legged on her table.
“Thanks. But you can have my lap. In fact, I prefer it.” He patted his thigh and smiled.
The old Van Gogh shone through. Sweet, considerate, uncertain. She came close to caving but wanted him to grovel a bit for delaying her tat because it wasn’t as important as what Peaches, Shell, and the others wanted. More perverse and unfair thinking on her part yet she couldn’t stop, her full bitch-mode kicking in. “Why do you want me on your lap?”
He pulled out his smartphone. “I can show you my designs for Zeke and the others more easily.”
Wrong answer by a mile. Her shitty mood spiked. “Show me from where I am. I’m good.” She nibbled her roast beef and parmigiano sandwich.
He grabbed his chicken salad layered with raisins and apple slices. Last time they’d eaten this stuff they’d shared their orders, unable to keep their hands off each other.
Tonight he kept his distance and devoured half his sandwich before speaking. “Forgot the beer. You want one?”
Booze would never replace closeness or soul-deep conversation. “I’d rather talk. Please.”
He stopped and turned. “Sure. About what?”
She wanted to say about how he was suddenly behaving, his casual disregard for her feelings. Sadly, she didn’t have the courage yet. She’d never loved a guy before and wasn’t sure how serious arguments should play out, especially if she spoke directly as she preferred. “Stuff like we always have.”
“Absolutely. Go ahead and start while I grab a beer.”
Catching him on the run wasn’t her idea of intimacy. “Do you like to talk to me? You’ve never said, and I just assumed you didn’t mind, since you went along with the program. If you don’t want to, say so.”
He finished his sip, his eyebrows lifting. “Granted, I’ve never talked a lot before we met, but I don’t mind.” He frowned. “Why would you think I did?”
