Chapter 60

I felt like a stalker watching him from behind the front curtains, but I didn't know what else to do. I'd waited upstairs for at least an hour, hoping he'd come to his senses. But he hadn't.

So I'd come downstairs and nudged aside the curtains for a better look. His shirt was off, and his body was glistening as he pushed the mower from one side of the yard to the other. If he didn't look so angry, I might've enjoyed the view. But there was nothing enjoyable about this.

For someone who claimed that he wasn't an artist, he sure was temperamental. A wistful smile tugged at my lips. Funny, my dad had been the same way.

But he didn't mow the lawn. He played the drums. Badly.

I glanced down at my watch. In a couple of hours, it would be dark. Would Joel stop then?

And if he didn't, what would I do?

With an effort, I turned away in search of a mindless distraction. I found it in the laundry room, where I began folding a load of towels.

I'd just finished when I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I looked to see Joel, standing shirtless in the open doorway.

He gave me a wary smile. "Hi."

He looked so boyish that I had to smile back. "Hi. So, um, you're done?"

"With what? Making an ass of myself?"

I had to laugh. "At least you weren't drumming."

He shook his head. "Drumming?"

"It's what my dad used to do. But never mind that." I moved closer. "Is everything okay?"

"I dunno." His eyes searched mine. "Is it?"

The way it looked, the storm had passed. I gave a happy nod. "It is now."

"I'm gonna take another shower. After that, you wanna start over?"

"Or if you want…" I smiled up at him. "We could start over in the shower."

So we did.

We had makeup sex in the shower and afterward, lay, clean and sated, on my bed. I was dressed in casual shorts and a sleeveless shirt. As for Joel, he'd thrown on a pair of casual shorts, but no shirt at all.

I snuggled against his bare chest, simply enjoying the moment.

The bed was made, and I'd left the balcony doors open to let in a summer breeze, along with the sounds of the waves, lapping at the bluff below.

As I lay, cradled in his arms, I might've felt absolutely content, except for the fact that I still didn't know what had set him off.

Reluctantly, I pulled back to look at him. "Hey Joel?"

He smiled. "I know."

"You know what?"

"That I owe you."

I still wasn't following. "You owe me what?"

"An explanation."

Carefully, I said, "I wouldn't say that you owe me one, but it would still be nice." I hesitated. "Earlier, what'd I say?"

"Nothing. It wasn't you. It was me." After a long pause, he said, "Wanna know what my dad used to call me?"

"What?"

"Cigar."

I felt my brow wrinkle. "Why?"

"Because I always got close, but never made it. Like I was cursed or something."

I ran a soothing hand along his shoulder. "Oh come on. That can't be true."

He smiled without humor. "That's what I used to say." He turned to stare up at the ceiling. "Then I wised up."

"Why? What happened?"

"Life," Joel said. "It's like all these great things fall into my lap, but the moment I want them, really want them, they go up in flames."

"Is this about the deal with that sports agent?"

"Not just that. But it fits."

"How so?"

"Like get this. When the whole thing started, the guy's begging me to sign with him." Joel turned his head, once again, to face me. "He goes through the whole bit – fancy dinners, meetings with big stars, and promises like you wouldn't believe. But all along, I know it's a crock."

"Why?"

"Because this is me we're talking about. Cigar, remember?"

Already, I hated that word.

Joel continued. "Sure, I let him talk, but there's no way I'm taking it seriously, especially when the guy mentions underwear commercials."

I had to laugh. "Underwear commercials? Seriously?"

"Swear to God."

I let my gaze travel down the length of him. He had a body to die for and a face to match. No doubt, he could sell a lot of underwear. But this was no time to be distracted. "So what happened?"

"So I tell him to shove it."

"But wait," I said. "You backed out? I thought your brothers ruined it."

"Not that deal," Joel said. "The second one."

"There was a second one?"

"Yeah. After I tell the guy to shove it, he starts contacting me again, upping the deal, making it sweeter every time. Finally, he makes one of those offers you can't refuse."

"What kind of offer?" I asked.

"Total control. I don't do anything I don't want – no prancing around in my underwear, that's for damn sure."

Somehow, I couldn't see Joel prancing, but I got what he meant.

Joel went on. "And we're talking lots of money, probably millions."

"Wow," I said. "That much?"

"With endorsements? Sure. So I start thinking, 'Maybe my Cigar days are over, and holy shit, this is really happening.' And the more I think about it, the more I want it. So I call the guy and tell him we have a deal."

"What'd he say?" I asked.

"He was thrilled. Or at least, that's what he told me."

"So then what happened?"

"Oh, that's the best part," Joel said. "We get everything worked out, papers drawn up, the works. But the day I'm supposed to sign, I walk into his office, and where's the guy standing?"

"Where?"

"At his shredder."

My breath caught. "His paper shredder?"

"Oh yeah. And he gives me that look, like I just caught him screwing a goat."

I knew exactly what kind of look Joel meant. I saw it on my uncle all the time. But that was hardly relevant.

With growing trepidation, I asked, "Don't tell me he was shredding the contract?"

"That's exactly what he was doing."

I wanted to kill the guy. "Literally? Like right in front of you?"

"He wasn't being a dick about it," Joel said. "It's just that I got there early and, well, there he was."

"So, did he say anything?"

"Yeah. He tells me, 'Sorry no deal.'"

"Just like that?"

"Yeah. Except the guy takes an hour to say it."

I recalled the details from our previous conversation. "And he canceled it because of your brother?"

"Yeah. Some brother, huh?"

"Did you ever ask him about it?"

"Jake?" Joel's jaw tightened. "Yeah. I asked him."

"What'd he say?"

"He claimed he was doing me a favor."

I stared in disbelief. "A favor?"

"That's what he said, told me the agent was a snake, and that I'd thank him someday."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him where he could shove it. And then, I call Bishop, hoping he'll talk some sense into Jake. But what does he do? He says the same damn thing." Joel gave a humorless laugh. "Tells me it's for the best."

"So what'd you do then?" I asked.

"You know what I did."

He was right. I did. He'd taken something valuable from each of them and then, he'd skipped town. Trying to fill in the blanks, I asked, "So after the deal fell through, did you contact any other agents?"

"Hell no. Why bother? You think Jake wouldn’t step in again?"

"But maybe it was something about that agent in particular."

"It wasn't the agent," Joel said. "And you want the truth? It wasn't even Jake. It was me. Cigar, remember? If Jake hadn't stopped it, something else would've."

"Oh come on. Stop saying that."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. I'm just telling you the way it is."

I couldn't quite agree. But there was something I wanted to say, even if Joel might hate me for saying it. I hesitated. "Have you ever wondered, if maybe it is for the best?"

Joel stiffened. "How so?"

"Well, because you hate fighting."

"So what?" Joel said. "Everyone hates their jobs, right?"

"Not always," I said. "My dad didn't." My voice warmed as I continued. "You know, he really loved what he did. He'd go out in his studio every morning and create the most beautiful things. And then, when his work was licensed, in reproductions and stuff, well, he did really great for himself."

This was a massive understatement, but hopefully, Joel got the point.

Joel said, "I'm not your dad."

I gave a little flinch. "Uh, yeah. I know."

Instantly, his voice softened. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying, stuff like that? It's one-in-a-million, not even worth thinking about."

"But why won't you at least try?" I asked.

"Because, it's a waste. You know that story I just told you?"

"About the agent? Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, I've got a hundred just like it. Maybe not as big. But they add up."

I pulled back to get a better look at him. "So you won't even try?"

"Look, I'm not gonna die in a gutter or anything. I'm just saying, it's time to give it a rest."

"For how long?"

"I dunno. Maybe a month. Maybe forever. I'm still working on it."

As far as the endowment was concerned, he didn't even have a month. In only three weeks, Claude would be making the final selections.

Bracing myself, I said, "About the endowment–"

"Forget it."

"Just listen," I said. "Is it that you don't have any interest? Or that you don't want to get your hopes up?"

Joel looked at me for a long time, but said nothing.

I tried again. "Like, just out of curiosity, if you happened to be selected, you wouldn't turn it down or anything, would you?"

"Hell yeah, I'd turn it down."

"But why?"

"Because I don't want any special treatment."

"But I'm not the one who decides," I explained. "Claude, this art critic from Chicago, he's the one with the final say. And it's not like he's gonna give you special treatment."

When Joel said nothing, I tried a different approach. "Okay, about that whole cigar thing, let's say you won the lottery, you wouldn’t rip up the ticket, would you?"

"With my luck? I wouldn’t buy a ticket." He pulled me closer. "Don't get me wrong. I love that you care. But I don't. So just forget it, okay?"

But I didn't forget it. I had a plan, and Joel didn't need to know about it, unless it worked out the way I wanted.

I smiled against his chest. After everything he'd done for me, I owed him at least a chance, even if he wasn't willing to take it himself.