Page 31 of Every Broken Thing

He chuckled, pushing off the wall and sauntering over with his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Well, Your Highness, this humble servant requests admission into your great and mighty kingdom.” He finished off his sarcastic speech with an exaggerated bow.

“Well, pageboy, what kind of services can you offer me?” I grimaced at the possible sexual innuendo, and Ben grinned slyly but didn’t comment on the double entendre.

“I can help you if you want, though I’m not much of an artist.” He pointed to the background behind me, and I nodded.

I needed all the help I could get at this point and wouldn’t turn down an extra pair of hands. “I’m not an artist either,” I reminded him pointedly and rooted around in a bucket of brushes. “Just draw trees.”

“You’re not going to use my kneecaps as a cork board if I mess up, are you?” I chucked the paintbrush at him, and he caught it with a laugh.

“I haven’t decided yet. Your punishment may be more severe.” I continued with my half-finished tree. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I saw your truck in the parking lot, so I figured I would search you out.”

“Well, at least you didn’t come with pick-up lines this time.”

We worked side by side in silence, and I finished three more trees by the time Ben lowered his paintbrush. I dropped my own brush into the water bucket and inspected his tree. I balked, startling Ben with my horrified cry.

“What the fuck is that?”

“What do you mean?” He studied his painting with obvious bewilderment as I cackled at the deformed shape. “It’s a tree.”

“That’s not a tree! It’s like a disgusting lollipop or”—I cocked my head to the side and squinted—“if you look at it like this, it resembles an upside-down penis with severe medical issues.”

Ben huffed in indignation. “I tried my best, okay?”

“Well,Afor effort, I guess,” I conceded as I reclaimed Ben’s paint brush before he could do any more damage.

I did my best to fix his monstrosity of a tree and, eventually, blended the thing into the background. Ben watched in embarrassed amusement as I dropped my brush into the water when I finished. I showed off his better and improved tree with a flourish of my hand.

“Now this is a tree!”

“I thought you said you weren’t an artist?”

My chest warmed at the cloaked compliment, and I hid my pleased grin by squatting before the bucket and cleaning our brushes. “I’m not an artist, but when you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you learn a few tricks to make trees not look like lollipops of death.”

“Hey, I warned you I wasn’t good.”

“True, and I should’ve listened to you.”

The paint fumes made my head swim, and I shook the excess water from the brushes before laying them on the newspaper spread over the ground. Paint dried on my face, cracking and flaking from my cheek, and I scrubbed at it with my moist palm. I could paint a whole set without getting a drop of paint on me, but, of course, Ben catches me messy.

“So,” he said as I straightened with hands on my hips, “should I fear for my knees?”

I understood the reference, but my brain hated me, filling with a series of different, more naked scenarios where he would worry about his knees. My heart jumped to my throat, and I flitted my gaze around the room, banishing the tempting imagery.

“Uh, no.” I cleared my throat noisily. “Your, uh, knees are safe.”

With a worried look behind me, Ben pointed over my shoulder. “So, uh, those kids don’t know what they’re doing.”

Timothy smashed his hammer into the nail, bending the metal to a ninety-degree angle, and my temper rose. “Ted!”

Ben put his hand in front of my chest—without actually touching me—to stop me from charging over there. “I’ve got this.” He approached the two trembling freshmen, and they watched him with wary awe as he squatted to their level. “Hi, there, I’m Ben. Don’t worry about Silas. He’s a little hormonal right now.”

Ignoring my silent outrage, he proceeded to explain the best way to use the tools without crushing their tiny, freshman fingers. After a few instructions, they handled the tools better, and he gave them each a thumbs-up. I glowered hatefully as he rose and meandered his way back to me in the wings of the stage. The moment he was close enough, I punched him in the arm with as much strength as I could muster.

He leapt back and kneaded his arm, clearly unaffected by my outburst. “Hey, now, no need for violence.”

“Hormonal? Really?” I lunged at him, but he danced out of reach, an infuriating grin plastered on his stupid face.

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