See, the mouthpiece. Isabella has gone from topic to topic, to conclusion back to speculation.
“No clubs for me tonight,” Reese says, and then she quickly takes a look at me before giving Isabella all her attention again.
“Alright, mama’s looking too damn good not to go.” Isabella coifs her huge hair. “If you're feeling up to it later, get the brat to swing by too. Feels like I'm losing my party buddy here,” she gestures toward me.
“Between you and I,” she leans closer to Reese ready to lay on the gossip, “I think the brat’s got himself a main squeeze or something. Valentino’s even brattier than ever and hell bent on being a friggen couch potato. A friggen couch potato,” she repeats to herself, shaking her head, “in Armani. What a waste, eh?”
“Yes, it is.” Reese softly gnaws her bottom lip.
My cock goes into overdrive. I want to fuck her sideways but the moment Isabella shuts up and finally leaves, I find myself in the wrong position. Being more of a confidant than what’s displayed on the cards for us. There's a tension in the air as I opt on asking what's wrong.
“Sheesh, I really put my foot into my mouth,” Reese says, shaking her head. “Your cousin is nice, though. I shouldn't have come over here unannounced, Evan.”
“You're welcome here anytime you like, Reese. You want a key, you got it.”
She shakes her head, eyes instantly tearing up though I was joking. “I don't need a key. I don't need to be here trying to confide in… you.”
I kneel before Reese, grab her hips and pull her to the edge of the couch. Yet giving her a pick-me-up, doesn't cross my mind. My only endeavor is for her to understand that I'll be there for her.
My eyes must say it all because Reese turns away.
My thumb clasps her jawline and I train Reese's gaze back to mine.
“So your father is going to have some sort of family reunion soon?”
I shrug. I still haven't had that talk with Tony. The one where I appeal to the man who once loved my mother and not the new disassociated, horn dog he's become. Lolita seems nice and all, but they can’t be together.
“Then everyone will know us as stepbrother and stepsister, Evan.” She shakes the notion out of her head. “Look, I didn't come here for that. Besides, I’ve known you less than a friggen month, so it honestly doesn’t matter.”
My entire being tenses as Reese minimizes us. “Okay, shoot. I'm all ears.”
Her usual apricot skin tone is dull, and her white teeth grab hold of her pink bottom lip, sinking into its perfect plumpness.
“Let's take a walk.”
Reese glances out the window. “It's dark, dreary,” she mumbles, lackluster.
“I'll grab one of my jackets for you. And you know without a doubt, you're safe in my arms.”
“Alright, but we have other means of a workout we could be doing.” A loud roar of a laugh takes over as I meander toward the walk-in closet. “Have I ever let you down in that department?” I finally quip, what the fuck is wrong with me? I should screw her into submission. Fuck the sadness from her mind until she's left with one thought as usual: my dick.
“Touché,” she replies, attempting to brighten her spirits.
As I pull a wool coat from the rack, the thought hits me like a bullet to my Teflon chest. That shock and all of that shit never gets old. It's because I keep going back to her. Sex with Reese makes me want more sex with her… And even more than that…
It's a damp, wet March evening, we venture down Main Street and end up at the Downtown Art Walk where not only are there many art galleries to step inside of, but the downtown streets have become art in itself.
Reese and I stop in front of one gallery, boasting a Tokyo style of art. The red, rock walls have become a mural surrounding the door. And though I can't tell what the images are, the bright painting beacons me toward it. Bright indicates happy, something in me yearns for Reese to be happy in my presence… just because.
“Shall we,” I gesture.
“Sure,” she shrugs, and I open the door.
Inside, the room is flooded in light. The ceiling is all old railroad tracks, and pillars. Long wires allow for low-hanging bright light bulbs. Some even dip so low as to add an additional glow to the paintings. Every color ever created is splashed against one canvas or another, none of which are streamline hung but all over the place in no particular order.
Reese stands at one wall. She's silent for a moment, as she observes the canvas of a few splashes in a bright orange and blue hue. While she stares, I take in every inch of her.
Her shoulders aren't as fragile as they were earlier, clearly the frigid night air has helped with that. Her nose has a touch of pink to it, she's still cold. My fingers glide into her hands, though she's wearing a pair of my leather gloves that are bunched around her wrists and still makes her fingertips appear long and droopy.
“Tell me what I'm seeing,” she says, then places a hand over her mouth to hide a lopsided grin.
“Beautiful, if I could, I would.”
“Hey,” Reese chides, “you've got the upbringing, you're supposed to be enlightening me.”
“Honestly, my mother’s art gene was never mine for the taking, though she tried. I really was the brat Isabella always refers to me as. Wish I could go back, and give mom all the attention as she went into great detail over just one brush stroke. And
