Bianca

I’m not sure how long I’ve been at it, but brushstroke after brushstroke, I paint my way through my thoughts. Taking my aggressions out on the canvas before me. Emotions pure and raw.

I’m pissed at the world; my Grans for leaving me in this mess, Ford for standing on the sidelines, waiting for me to fail, and myself for being selfish enough to get us in this situation to begin with. All the signs were there. I was just too self-absorbed with my goals that I didn’t notice what was going on around me.

I miss her.

“I need you,” I say to the empty room.

“Well, it’s about time you figured that out.” Ford walks in, throwing a bag down. He comes to stand beside me, hands on his hips, examining my painting.

“Wh-What are you doing?” I set down my brush and wipe my hands on my shirt.

“This is different than the stuff downstairs,” he says, and I’m instantly taken aback by his observation.

“Yeah, it’s a little more…” I search for the words, trying to find ones that don’t give me away.

“Dark?” He looks out of the corner of his eye, gauging my reaction.

“Yeah. I guess it is,” I agree.

We both stand there staring at my work, which tells a story I’m not willing to admit. Not out loud at least.

“So…” he breaks the silence. “Electrical issues up here as well?” He looks around. We’re standing in the dark, only the city lights illuminating the room.

“Huh?”

“I flipped the switch when I came in. Nothing.” He looks around again. “Do you have something against lamps?” He gestures at the rest of the room to point out I have no other source of lighting except the overhead one that is burned out.

Laughing, I reply, “Yeah, it’s out.” I point to the ceiling.

“It’s so bright up here, you almost don’t need it,” he says, turning toward me.

“It’s my favorite spot to paint.” The natural light during the day and this during the night are what inspires my work — the contrast of the two.

“I can see that. It’s an amazing view,” he nods.

But he’s no longer looking at the city.

“Ford?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you here, and why do you have a bag?”

“Oh that? Well, I figured since I’m hands-on with all my projects, that I should probably just stay here,” he informs me.

“Hell no! There is no way I’m letting you stay here. Do you see this space? It’s small. It’s made for me.” I wave my hands in the air towards him. “Not me and you.”

“Calm down, B. I’ll take the couch.” He wanders over and plops down. “See, this isn’t so bad. I can make do.”

“No! Out! Now!”

“The way I see it, with the updates, we are co-owners of this place for the next thirty days. Don’t you agree?”

Deal with the devil.

I knew this would happen. If it seems too good to be true, it normally is. Walking over to stand in front of him, I grab his hand to try and pull him up, but Ford Phillips is solid muscle and I would have better luck moving a mountain.

Mountain of a man…mmmmm.

Digging my feet into the rug, I give it my best try.

“I’m not going anywhere.” His smile is wicked.

“Come on, Ford…get up now,” I grunt.

“No.”

And just like that, with one single tug, I’m in his lap, his palms on my ass, holding me in place. Wiggling around, I try to get up.

“Ummm…” I begin to feel something a little hard.

Oh, my! A lot hard.

Groaning, he picks me up and sets me down beside him, then stands up. “First, we need rules. You cannot strut around here half-dressed like that.” He looks between my tank and boy shorts. “You’re a walking distraction.”

“It’s my place!” I yell.

“For now.” He winks.

Walking over to his bag, I pick it up and open the door.

“Don’t do it B,” he warns.

“Stop calling me B!” I toss it out into the hall. “Get out, now!”

I need him gone. Having him this close is causing my body to do all sorts of things I don’t want him to know about. Now…my little friend in the nightstand, I’m willing to bare all my secrets to it.

“Come on B. It’s late and I just had my driver drop me off.”

“Now!” I point through the open door. He walks past me, but stops in the doorway. “There are two other floors. Take your pick.” I give him a shove and hurriedly shut the door, locking it for safe measure.

“Oh cute! You think that is going to keep me out?”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

 

**********

 

Ford

There are two other floors I can sleep on, but what’s the fun in that? Copping a squat, I relax outside the door, checking my messages and answering a few emails.

After several minutes, I decide to call it a night. Reaching inside my bag, I grab a sweatshirt and lay it down for a little comfort and use the bag as a pillow.

Closing my eyes, I begin to settle in until a light humming noise catches my attention.

Is that?

“Mmmmm.” I hear her purr inside.

Yep…it is.

This is going to be fun. Closing my eyes, I begin to fake snore.

“Shit!” I hear a loud noise, like something was dropped. The humming turns into a vibrating. “Oh, God!” Then silence.

I continue my snoring, but not so loud that I can’t hear what is going on. She’s out of bed, padding over to the door, which flies open.

“What are you doing?” She stands in the doorway, hair wet and wearing a barely-there T-shirt that leaves little to the imagination.

“You okay?”

“I-I’m fine. What are you doing out here?

“You sure? You face looks flushed.”

“Yes, I’m good.”

“I bet you are.” I wink and her face turns red.

“You can’t be comfortable out here?” She ignores my comment.

“I was sleeping like a baby. I was having the best dream where you were—”

“FORD!”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be back.” She shuts the door, probably to get dressed before she lets me in.

Getting up, I dust myself off and stuff the shirt back in my bag. I swing it over my shoulder, ready for her to come back.

The door swings open. “Here!” She throws a pillow and couple blankets at me. “You looked uncomfortable. I would have chosen the second floor…Grans’ room.”

Winking, she waits for my reaction, but I’m speechless.

“Okay, then…sweet dreams.”

There will be nothing sweet about them.