Page 49 of Bottle Rocket
“The whole ‘don’t hurt my sister’ spiel. I’ve gotten one from both your siblings. They love you.”
“Oh. That little punk, I swear to God.”
Leo laughed and grabbed her hand. “It was funny. He was very sweet about it. I told him his boyfriend was hot and gushing about his silver fox distracted him. Then he asked me about my Airstream. He wants to come see it.”
“He does classic-car restoration. Not surprised he’d be into the idea of your RV.”
“I told him not to worry,” Leo said.
“About the Airstream?”
“No. About me hurting you. I have no intention of doing that, Rosie.”
Leo’s intentions had nothing to do with it. He might not plan on tearing her apart, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. He’d started to bring it up yesterday, when they’d been out in her backyard. She could tell he’d wanted to talk aboutthem. She hadn’t been ready to face the music in that regard. She still wasn’t ready.
“Congratulations on your book. You didn’t tell me today was special.” She tapped the cover ofLovers.
Pink spots dotted his cheeks. “I don’t like to make a big deal out of it. I was lucky enough to have a gallery show, so it seems silly to celebrate twice.”
“Shut up. This is cool,” she said sternly. She picked up a copy. “Will you sign this for me?”
He peered up at her, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “No. Not yet,” he said, echoing her words from the day before. “I will before I leave.”
So much for locking down her emotions when it came to Leo Whittaker. She gave him another kiss, bought a bag of sex toys to make herself feel better, and left.
* * *
The morningof the Fourth of July was sweltering. Leo had stepped out of his Airstream to drink his coffee outside and had promptly turned back around to seek air conditioning.
Rosie was asleep in his bed. She had spent the night again. He’d fucked her with the prettiest dildo he’d ever seen before she’d ordered him to jerk off. It had been amazing and easy. Comfortable but also hot. He imagined a million mornings together. A million summer days in his Airstream, traveling all over. A million fall, winter, and spring nights in her condo. He had an awesome plan, if only Rosie would let him voice it.
He walked over to his canvas. He’d been messing with it over the last few days, and an image had started to take shape yesterday morning before the pop-up party. It felt like a yearlong seed come to fruition. The origin story ofLovers, finally on canvas. It was different than his other paintings. Evocative rather than bluntly erotic. Not a piece he’d ever try to sell, which was fine by him because it was a tad more personal than he was used to, and that was saying something, considering the subject matter of his other work.
He painted for another hour, lost in that space he fell into while working. It was the same feeling he got sometimes during sex—peace mixed with excitement. The calm and the storm.
When he eventually blinked himself out of his concentration and took in the painting, he realized it was almost done. An unusual pain spread through him.
Perspective—that was what he needed, and he knew exactly how to get it. He washed his hands and retrieved his phone from the bedroom. He needed to make a call. It was early—Rosie didn’t stir—but the person he wanted to talk to would be awake.
He stepped out into the oppressive heat and sat down at the picnic table at the back of his campsite. It was in the shade.
The phone rang a few times before a soft voice answered, “Hello?”
“Hey, Mal. Happy Fourth of July.” Leo normally called Mal this week, knowing he struggled with it.
That earned Leo a disgruntled scoff. “Yeah, yeah. I hate today.”
“I know. Did you and Tommy go to the cabin this week?” Leo asked.
“Yeah. We were able to get away from the noise, which was nice.”
“I’m glad.” It was a relief that Mal was away from the commotion of fireworks and firecrackers. Leo had always enjoyed Independence Day, not because he was particularly patriotic, but because he liked the excitement of parades and parties. He loved this culmination of summertime and the crackle of adrenaline during a fireworks show. It wasn’t until he’d met Mal that he’d realized how difficult this week was for some people.
“Where are you?” Mal asked.
“A picnic table outside the Airstream.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Mal laughed, and Leo’s discomfort eased. It was an old joke between them. Mal would ask where Leo was, wanting the name of the town, but Leo would over-localize his answer. He’d say he was in a bar with peanut shells on the floors or a park with no slide. “How are you, really?”
