Page 117 of Wild Love
“Thanks for the tea,” I shout over the music, walking over to the record player to drop the volume to a more reasonable level.
Ford keeps a close eye on me as I do it, then grumbles, “You’re welcome,” before turning back to the wall.
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Painting.”
I snort. “Oh my god, really?”
“I’m starting to agree with Cora about the perv dads. If I can’t find someone who isn’t a perv painter, I’ll just do it myself.”
“Very manly. You talk a big, tough game for a guy who slunk out this morning before I even woke up.”
He continues giving me his back, like a dog I’ve pissed off or something.
“I’d have gone again if you’d been there. Almost just did the job myself,” I add, layering a teasing tone into my voice. “You chicken, Junior?”
His free shoulder rises and falls in a shrug. “I don’t know where we stand with everyone knowing or being public. Or whatever. West is completely in the dark. And then they showed up and I… I’m trying to respect your wishes to keep things professional.”
I roll my eyes and drop my head back before making my way closer to him. “Ford, you’ve been riding my ass for years. You fucked my brains out last night.” I smirk as I say the words, knowing they’ll get under his skin, and I’m rewarded with a sour scowl from over his shoulder. “You really gonna get all respectful on menow?”
“I’ve always respected you.” He crouches to glide the roller back and forth over the paint tray.
“Fine, but you’ve never tiptoed around me. We’ve always gotten in each other’s faces. What’s with the”—I step closer, my wet sandals crowding the space near the paint as I wave a hand over him—“weird pacifist approach? It doesn’t suit you.”
“I told you. I’m just trying to respect your?—”
I use my toe and upend the tray, watching the palest blue ooze out over the drop sheet. “Respect my wishes a little less.”
“What the fuck, Rosie?” He shoots up, towering above me. “That’s going to soak right through this sheet and stain the floor.”
“Good. It will give you something to do while you live out this new World’s Handiest Billionaire era of yours.”
“I had a plan for my life. You—” His jaw pops and his hand flexes tight on his narrow hip.
“Take all your plans, tear them up, and scatter them tothe wind?” I ask as I lift each foot to take my sandals off. Unlike his neatly stowed boots, I toss mine across the office, making him flinch. Then he nods tightly, agreeing with my assessment.
I step right into the pooling paint and it squishes between my toes as I shift my feet back and forth. I give him one raised brow.
“Guess what, Ford. Sometimes life gives you lemons, even when you didn’t order them. And you can either make lemonade, or storm around stressing about how yellow isn’t your color.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“I’m not lemons?”
“No, you’re…” His hand swipes through his hair, but his eyes stay trained on my toes. The pink polish on my nails disappears beneath the thick blue liquid. “I had come to terms with the idea that you would never happen for me. You were a memory, not a goal.”
My head tilts as I absorb his answer. The longing in those two sentences hits me right in the chest. I reach for him, fingers hooking around the brown leather belt that props his jeans up, pulling his bare feet into the spreading paint.
“Ford, what if you stopped trying to control everything for a minute?”
I take the roller from him and drop it at our feet right as I slide a hand up his chest, over the warm, firm skin and a smattering of hair. My fingers wrap around my key and give the chain a firm tug. The clasp gives way, and now I’m holding this little piece of us in my hand.
This little piece he’s held on to, an ode to the girl I once was.
I drop it into the paint at our feet, and he sucks in a hissing breath.
“What if you stopped worrying about the girl I used to be and started seeing me for the woman I am instead?”
