Page 25 of Roads Behind Us
“Yeah, that’s the guy. It looks like he got mad at you. You’re an idiot. This couldn’t have waited? You know your brother has equipment that will do this job in a nanosecond compared to how long it’ll take you? And he has people on the payroll who can do the job. I could do it. There’s no need to endanger your ability to walk for the rest of your life.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled. “I gotta do somethin’. I’m goin’ out of my mind.”
“Okay, well puzzles are just as fun and those you can do in a chair.”
“A stupid puzzle? That’s what you want me to do?” He rolled his eyes again, then swiped paint from his brow.
“For fuck’s sake. Stop tryin’ to wipe it off. You’re just makin’ things worse.” Walking closer, I noticed the paint had landed in his hair on the crown of his head and had dripped beneath his shirt. It was probably in his pants too. His sweats had been coated with it. It was everywhere. “Alright, Michelangelo, let’s get you cleaned up. That shit dries on your skin, you’ll be scratchin’ yourself bloody by the end of the day.”
He looked down at the mess in his lap and on his arms, then rolled his shoulders. “Fine. If Rye gets back and sees me like this, I’ll never hear the end of it. There’s a hose around the side of the house.”
I laughed. “As much as the idea of hosin’ you down like a detainee in an Alabama prison amuses me, a hose isn’t gonna do the trick, genius. We need warm water and soap. Lots of soap.”
“I can’t shower yet.” Remarkably, it seemed not one speck of paint had landed on the part of his cast covering his foot and peeking out the right leg of his sweats.
“You have a tub, right, and I’m assumin’ you have garbage bags? I’ve got duct tape in my truck.”
With a good dose of apprehension in his voice, he asked, “What the hell you gonna do to me with duct tape?”
“Anything I want. Duct tape is magic. Just sit back and watch me work.”
Chapter Nine
Bax
Mortification was my word of the day.
Out of everyone I knew, it had to be Bea who found me right as I was falling on my ass and dousing myself in paint the color of sunshine?
She was enjoying my humiliation and, for the second time today, stripping me bare and getting ready to help me with basic hygiene. It hadn’t escaped my careful attention that had she not been on my farm, I wouldn’t have been trying to paint my house in the first place.
Something about Bea made me want to at least try to act like a productive member of society. And then I felt guilty because poor Athena had been living in a dump, and it had taken a veritable stranger to push my ass into gear. Candy would’ve been on me ages ago to repaint the house, if she were still here.
In my bathroom, Bea smacked the back of my shoulder with her sticky hand. I heard the suction when she tried to pull it away from my skin. “Stop fidgetin’!”
“Stop ticklin’ me,” I spat back. I couldn’t see her, but I felt her behind me, like a sexy, pint-sized shadow. Every time her skin brushed over mine, I shivered. “What’re you doin’? You’re givin’ me goosechills.”
When she snorted and bent over in a fit of laughter, her hair dusted my low back, and she caused even more chills. “What the hell are goosechills?”
I tried to turn to see the laughter in her eyes. I twisted but lost my balance and gripped the sink. “You know, when you break out in?—”
“Goosebumps?”
Her puffs of giggles rushing over my skin had me smiling too. “Yeah, same thing.”
“No, you made it up! Nobody says goosechills.” She pushed me forward so I couldn’t see her anymore and dragged a towel down my back, and I smiled. Her laughter was infectious. I couldn’t help myself.
My bathroom really needed a makeover now. It was almost as annoyingly yellow as the outside of my house. Why had I never painted it a different fucking color? My mama had picked out the canary-cum shade when I was ten years old. It was ugly as sin, but I just kept repainting it.
I stood on my good leg, still braced against the sink, trying to see Bea in the mirror. After managing to wrangle me out of my shirt and sweats, she covered my cast with trash bags, which she’d patched together and sealed with duct tape. And now she was covered in paint too. While the bath water ran and warmed up, she wiped the excess paint off my shoulders and back with old, holey and threadbare bath towels I used to wipe Figs paws off when it rained. Luckily, Athena had recently washed them.
“You’re a bossy little brat, ain’t you?” As soon as the whisper left my lips, her head peeked around my arm and her eyes locked on mine in the mirror, and I clenched my jaw closed so nothing else ridiculous would come out of my mouth.
“Yeah, what of it? Now, stop movin’,” she challenged, arching an eyebrow. “You’re makin’ a mess.”
Her green eyes landed on the back of my neck, and she rolled her lip beneath her teeth again. She was always doing that, particularly when she looked at my body, and it was making me wild. I wanted to grip her jaw and smash those lips to mine.
The realization made the broken heart inside my chest jump and race like a jackrabbit.
