Chapter Eleven
Eden
“You’re all up in my space, dude,” Zeke teased, as we both reached for the same bottle of tequila. He hip-bumped me out of the way, and I hip-bumped him back, grabbing the bottle before he got the chance.
“I win.”
He winked at me. “Only because I let you.”
“Eden!” someone shouted over the indie rock band’s music. I turned to look at Hailey who had worked her way up to the bar. “Congrats. You got the job.” She leaned in for a high five, a big smile on her face. “How’s it going?”
“Great. I owe you.”
“Flowers are always welcome. Or chocolates.” Hailey grinned to let me know she was joking. “I should get your number. We can hang out sometime.”
I gave it to her, and she punched it into her phone and sent me a text, so I had hers too. “I’ll buy you a coffee. Or chocolates. Or both.”
“Totally not necessary.”
“Did you need a drink?”
“Yeah. I’m with some friends.” She looked over her shoulder then back at me. “They’re watching the band.” She pointed to one of the beers on tap. “Three please.”
I poured the beers and set them in front of Hailey who was watching Zeke flirt with the girls he was serving. As if he sensed her watching him, Zeke looked over, and gave Hailey a big wink and his signature smile. She dragged her gaze away from him and handed me the money.
I rang it up and set the change in front of her. “Thanks,” she said, leaving a tip on the bar. “In case you’re wondering, I already know Zeke’s a player. But I’m in it for the long game. Players have to stop playing sometime, right?”
I gave her a little smile, not convinced. Zeke had confided that he had no interest in settling for one girl anytime soon. “It’s just a matter of how long you’re willing to wait.”
She groaned. “You’re right. I could be old and gray by then.” She tossed her hair and squared her shoulders as if preparing for battle. “In the meantime, I’m going to find someone else.”
“Good luck,” I said, laughing as she gave me a little wave and one last look at Zeke before she disappeared into the crowd.
A little while later, while we were side by side at the beer taps, Zeke asked, “Are you friends with Hailey?”
I told him how we’d met, and that Hailey had tipped me off about the job. “Why do you ask?”
“She seems cool. Sometimes she’ll talk to me and it’s all good. But other times, she’ll totally ignore me.” He scratched his head like this truly puzzled him. I smothered a laugh.
“Interesting.”
“It’s just weird.” He shook his head like this had never happened to him before. It probably hadn’t. “I don’t get where she’s coming from.”
“Maybe she’s not that into you,” I tossed over my shoulder.
Louis chuckled and shook his head. “Reverse psychology. Works every time.”
“Does it work on everyone?” I asked.
“That remains to be seen,” he said cryptically. “Some people need to be bashed over the head a few times before they see the light.
“Sounds violent. Are you doing the bashing?”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“You’ve got some pretty big muscles,” I pointed out.
He grinned. “For display purposes only.”
It had been a long night, and we didn’t lock up until four in the morning, but like all the nights I worked, I was running on adrenaline and I knew sleep would be impossible.
“Can I do a sketch of your face?” I asked Killian as we walked to his Jeep in the purple light of the moon.
He looked at me like I was crazy. I couldn’t blame him. I surprised myself by asking. “Why?”
“You have an interesting face. And it’s not unattractive.” He snorted. “Will you let me do it?”
He narrowed his eyes, considering my request. “No.”
“Are you scared?” I asked, trying out some of that reverse psychology. He didn’t respond. If he was scared, that made two of us. It’s an intimate thing to sketch someone’s face. Maybe he didn’t want me looking that closely. Maybe he had a lot to hide. I could almost see his brain ticking over, and I sensed he might be persuaded to change his mind. “All you need to do is sit on my sofa and chill out. It’ll be like we’re hanging out.” I threw in a please for good measure.
He pulled up outside my building and gripped his upper lip between his teeth, weighing the pros and cons of letting this crazy girl get a glimpse of his soul. “You really want to do this?”
“Yes, I really do.”
“Okay.” He sounded uncertain, but I wasn’t about to give him a chance to change his mind.
When we got inside my apartment, I flicked on the floor lamp with a dimmer switch that cast a soft pool of light on the room. My apartment felt stuffy, and I always thought this city was noisy, but it was suddenly too quiet. I opened the two windows facing the street and scrolled through my playlists. Nothing felt right so I hit random shuffle and left it to chance. The Fray’s “How to Save a Life” came on. Good choice? Bad choice? Kind of a downer, maybe, but I left it playing. Killian was standing at the window, looking outside, with his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans.
“Just make yourself comfortable on my one piece of furniture. I’ll be right back.”
He nodded but didn’t move from the window and all I had was a view of his back, and the rigid set of his shoulders. I escaped to my bedroom, closed the door, and dumped my bag on the floor. Why was I doing this, I wondered, as I changed into shorts and my favorite blue T-shirt, soft and faded from too many washings.
Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I gathered up my sketchbook, eraser, and pencils and walked into the living room.
Killian was standing behind my easel, studying the painting I’d been working on. He looked over at me and I felt so exposed I might as well be naked. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect? Unicorns and smiley faces?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He returned his gaze to my painting. “You like all the dark colors and the blues.”
“I guess those are my favorite colors.” I’d used a lot of different blues, bottle green and mossy green, black and shades of gray.
“Mine too. But I like that there’s some hope there. With the burst of yellow.”
I stared at him a few seconds, but he kept his gaze fixed on the painting, and he kept his face shuttered, so I had no idea what he was thinking. But it was interesting he’d seen hope in the citrusy yellow, and he’d commented on it. “That’s the sun coming through.”
He smiled, and it was just like the sun coming through, lighting up the drabs and dark colors, warming me up from the inside. I didn’t mention that the painting was him, or rather, it reminded me of him. That would probably freak him out or send him running. I also didn’t mention that I’d painted a few abstracts that reflected the way he made me feel, as if my paintings would somehow reveal everything he kept hidden.
“If you want to paint over it, feel free. Throw some glitter and fairy dust on it.”
“I like it as it is,” he said quietly. “I like it a lot.”
And I like you a lot. Even with your dark colors and the drabs and the blues, there are moments when you shine, and let the light in, and it’s so beautiful to watch.
“Thanks.” It suddenly felt like the room was too small for both of us. He filled all the empty space and I just stood there, staring at him. Which it seemed I did a lot. Sometimes his looks still caught me off guard. In his fitted white T-shirt and faded jeans, the beat-up combat boots I loved. His dark hair unruly and tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked like dirty sex and hidden pleasures. He radiated heat and tension and danger. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of guy I should want or crave, probably the worst possible choice for me, but it didn’t stop me from wanting him. He was right here, so close, yet so unreachable. Which always seemed to be the way with him.
I dragged my stool over and sat in front of the sofa, my sketchbook in my lap.
Killian sat on the middle cushion, his arms draped across the back of the sofa, his legs slightly spread. He dominated the room, but I had the feeling he’d dominate any room he entered. I studied his symmetrical face. The strong chiseled jaw. Broad cheekbones. His full, sensuous lips. Deep-set almond-shaped eyes. Straight nose. Thick, dark eyebrows. My gaze dipped down to the scar on his neck. I held my pencil horizontally and measured the distance between his eyes. A rough estimate but I could work with that.
I lowered my head and lightly drew the shape of his eye.
“I feel like an animal in the zoo,” he said.
I laughed, feeling some of the tension lifting. “Which animal would you be?”
He thought about it for a minute. “A wolf.”
I pictured him as a big cat. A panther or a tiger. A predator—sleek and powerful and graceful. But I guess he could be a wolf. “You’d be the alpha, leading the pack.”
“Or a lone wolf.”
A lone wolf. I could see that. Even surrounded by people at the bar, Killian appeared to hold himself apart.
“Or the big bad wolf,” I teased.
“Sounds about right.”
“Which animal would I be?”
“One of the big cats,” he said without hesitation, as if he had already given this some thought. I wanted to tell him I felt the same about him, but I didn’t. “A snow leopard. They’re the rarest. And beautiful,” he said, his voice low and husky.
My cheeks flushed with warmth. After a beat I said, “I think wolves are beautiful.”
Were we talking about animals or each other? I kept sketching. Shading in his nose. Drawing the planes of his face. By the way he kept rubbing the back of his neck, I could tell it was making him uncomfortable and he didn’t like me watching him so closely. But he was doing it. For me.
“This isn’t meant to be a form of torture,” I said.
He ran his hand through his hair and blew air out his cheeks. “Yeah, I know. It’s just…”
“That you feel like an animal in the zoo?”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay, I’ll entertain you with a story. I can talk and sketch because I’m a multi-tasker.”
“Prove it,” he challenged, a teasing tone in his voice.
“Okay.” I filled in his dark hair, and the off-center part that wasn’t really a part but the natural way his hair fell. The ear-length layers in front, longer in the back. While I sketched, I told him about the time Sawyer and I were sword-fighting on the beam of our wooden climbing frame.
“We were into pirates that summer. The beam was our plank. The swords were two sticks tied together with string. When he stabbed me, I enacted a dramatic death scene. It was pretty sensational. I fell off the plank and got eaten by crocodiles. But Sawyer was disappointed. He was aiming for my eye and hoped I’d have to wear an eyepatch the rest of my life.” Sawyer and I were using our own version of sailor jargon and we were pretending to be drunk on rum, so we were staggering and saying “aaargh matey” and “bloody hell” a lot. “He called himself Captain Mad Dog, and I was Captain Chicken Little.”
Killian found the story hilarious. I’d never seen him laugh so hard. “Why Chicken Little?” he asked.
“He said I had scrawny chicken legs.”
Killian’s gaze swept over my legs, and I thought maybe he appreciated the view, but he didn’t comment on it. “Are you and Sawyer still close?”
“Yeah. We’re a lot alike and we’re only fourteen months apart. Growing up, everything was a competition. He drives me crazy. But he was always my best friend and, secretly, I love him best. I worry about him all the time.”
“Why?”
“He’s a Marine. He’s in Afghanistan right now. But he’ll be home soon.” My voice rang with conviction. I needed it to be true. He’d been there for six months already, and Marines rarely stayed longer than seven months. So, yeah, he’d be home soon, and he’d come home in one piece. The last email I’d gotten from him, he said it was quiet, routine stuff. But he always said that, even the last time when it hadn’t been true.
We grew silent, and I continued sketching. The next time I lifted my head, Killian’s eyes were closed. He’d sunk lower on the sofa, his hands folded over his stomach, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. I watched him sleeping as the sun rose in a burst of orange and purple then faded to a pale yellow. His face was at peace in a way it never was when he was awake, the frown lines smoothed out. With his guard down, he looked softer, more vulnerable, and achingly beautiful.
I longed to run my fingers through his hair, press my lips against his slightly parted ones. Sink into his lap and feel his arms around me. I wanted him so badly it hurt. If it had been any other guy, maybe I’d be bolder, and I’d close the distance between us. But this was Killian and he was unlike any guy I’d ever met so I stayed where I was and just watched him sleeping.
His eyelids fluttered open, and I averted my face, but not quickly enough. He knew I’d been watching him, that I’d stolen a little piece of his soul while he slept. Linkin Park’s “Bleed It Out” was playing and he stared at my sound system for a few seconds before he stood and walked to the door, letting himself out without saying a word. I followed him to the door.
“Killian?”
He was out in the hallway already, his back turned to me, shoulders straight, head lowered.
“Yeah?” he said.
“Thanks for letting me sketch your face.”
He turned towards me and opened his mouth as if to speak, but he shut it without saying anything. I stood inside my doorway and watched him jog down the stairs like he couldn’t get away fast enough, before I closed the door and locked it.
I slid down against the door and sat on the floor, wondering why everything was so complicated with us. Why was I drawn to a guy who was emotionally unavailable? Why did I persist in trying to know him better? He ran hot and cold, and he had me up, down, and twisted around.
For the sake of my sanity, I needed to stop thinking about Killian Vincent.