Page 12 of The Fake Out

I laced my fingers behind my head and waited while he shuffled around beside me.

With a snap of his finger, Kyle said, “It’s what Gianna smells like.”

“Oranges.” The word left my mouth instantaneously.

“Jesus,” Chris muttered. “Neither of you should know what my sister smells like.”

I winced. Shit. I probably answered that a bit too fast. But I’d spent the three days since she’d moved in immersed in that scent. Every detail of it was lodged in my brain. “I live with her, man.” With a yank, I pulled my blindfold off and searched the room for him. “Even though I’m not eating the flowers, I can’t help but smell the bouquet.”

He blinked, and his entire body went rigid, but after a couple of heartbeats, he relaxed and shook his head. “Whatever the hell that means. But yeah, okay.” Then he turned his death glare on Bosco. “Stay away from my sister.”

Shit. Gi would hate that. Chris liked to issue demands, and already, it was obvious to me that Gianna wasn’t big on being told what to do.

“She can take care of herself, man,” I said. “And you know she’d cut out your tongue for trying to be her boss.”

Chris scowled, but then he shrugged. “Probably.”

“Well,” Hannah muttered, “this was a disaster. Let’s just hope we can edit it into something somewhat usable.”

With a wave to the crew, she started cleaning up, and they followed her lead.

Chris shuffled closer. “Sorry, man. I’m not trying to give you shit,” he said, shocking the shit out of me. With one hand in a pocket, he scratched at the back of his head. “You’re doing me a solid by letting her live with you. I know she’s a pain in the ass.”

She really wasn’t. I’d hardly seen her in the three days she’d been there. I wasn’t home much, and when I was, she was usually camped out in her room.

“It’s not a big deal.” I shrugged. “If the place didn’t smell like orange blossoms all the damn time, I wouldn’t even know she’s around.”

Which was good. Because now that I knew her boyfriend was out of the picture…nope. I wasn’t even thinking about it. She was a sexy, talented woman who’d no doubt easily find another guy to worship her. And for so many reasons, that guy couldn’t be me.

I stood at the massive wall of windows, studying the Boston skyline. The zoo sign needed finishing touches, but the skyline had been screaming at me for hours.

It could be a challenge to channel creativity into what I was forced to do when deadlines and client demands became the priority. And I’d learned not to ignore inspiration for too long, or I’d get all gummed up. Then nothing I painted or drew would be anything but trash, whether for myself or for the job.

The zoo signs were going well. I’d have no trouble finishing the detailing before opening night under the stars next week. Even if I gave myself the night off.

My mother always said that food feeds the body, but creativity feeds the soul. And my soul felt bruised.

I was hopeful that being in Boston would give me a break from dealing with Jake on the regular, but even while I worked remotely, he emailed and called me multiple times a day. Almost like he was checking in on me. Like he was concerned that I wasn’t doing my job with the zoo. I’d never given anything but a million percent to any of my designs, so the distrust was unnecessary and frustrating.

Between dealing with my asshole ex—who, although didn’t leave me heartbroken, definitely left me feeling dumb and unwanted, not to mention embarrassed—and not having a place or space that was my own, failure hovered strong. I needed some soul food. And in this moment, between the view and some angry music, I found some peace.

I lifted my brush again and turned off all thought. The yellows blended into the grays and blacks, giving light to the buildings. My lips moved along with the words to the Miley Cyrus song, as if they had a mind of their own, while I worked. I had just finished lighting the buildings when a noise in the kitchen startled me.

I turned and jumped when I caught a glimpse of a figure standing at the counter. My heart pounded, even as he came into focus and I realized it was Emerson.

Pausing the music, I shot him a glare. “How long have you been standing there?”

He shrugged. “I’m not good at time.”

Lips parted, I sucked in a breath, ready to lay into him. But I had no idea how to respond to that. He couldn’t mean he didn’t know how to read a clock. That would be ridiculous.

“Sorry.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t. It’s just weird that you’re standing there.” I pressed my lips together, squirming as he watched me with a look of concentration on his face.

What was he hoping to see? I was a mess. I could guarantee I had paint on my face. It tended to happen when I got into a design. Hackles raised, I braced myself for him to comment on it, to mock me. He wouldn’t be the first.

But rather than criticize me, he took a swig of his water and shrugged. “Standing is not weird. Juggling would be. Especially since I’m not good at it.”

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