Page 19 of Beneath Your Beautiful
“Yeah. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s good people, and I couldn’t have done this without him.”
In the past week, I learned a few things about Killian. On our drives home, we talked. I did most of the talking, but he didn’t seem to mind. And every now and then, he came out with an insightful observation.
“Is art like therapy for you?”he’d asked one night, genuinely interested in my answer. Killian didn’t make conversation just to hear himself talk, and he didn’t waste his words on idle chit-chat.
“Yeah, it is. I guess it’s easier to express your feelings through painting sometimes. You can take all the crap inside you and put it on the canvas. And believe me, I put a lot of crap on the canvas.”
“I bet it’s not crap,”he’d said, though I’d had no idea what would make him think I was any good.
I also knew Killian worked out at the gym every day and ran in McCarren Park like I did, although our paths had never crossed. He appeared calm on the surface, but I could tell he worked hard to control his temper. I got the feeling he was hiding a lot inside, and he locked down his emotions, like Sawyer—like all the guys in my family. I should have been used to it by now, but I still felt compelled to dig deeper—one of my tragic flaws.
Since I’d moved to Brooklyn, I’d been doing a lot of soul-searching, not only trying to figure out where Luke and I went wrong, but what I wanted out of my life. Growing up in a small town, people labeled you and put you in a box. In high school, I played the role assigned to me. Head cheerleader dating the captain of the football team. Homecoming Queen. Younger sister of the wide receiver, the school’s bad boy who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. High school was a popularity contest I’d pretended not to play.
I’d always loved art with a passion, but I’d kept it private and never hung out with the artsy kids. I hung out with the jocks and cheerleaders and tried to reconcile those two very different people. College hadn’t been a lot different. Similar people, similar setting, but on a larger scale.
Now, I was living and working at a bar in Williamsburg, a young, artsy, vibrant neighborhood, and nobody had any preconceptions about who I was. I could be myself, in all my flawed glory, and it was liberating. Taking charge of my own life. Figuring out what truly made me happy and surrounding myself with people I liked hanging out with.
I set a draft beer in front of a guy with a blond buzzcut and colorful tattoo sleeves and took his money. When I returned with his change, he and Killian were talking.
“You ever need a tattoo, come and see me at Forever Ink. Name’s Jared.” Jared reached across the bar and shook my hand. “You can see my masterpiece right there on Killian’s arm.”
“That’s good advertising,” I said. “His arm is a work of art.”
Killian gave me a sidelong glance. “You think so?”
“It’s beautiful.”
Jared winked at me. “I like a girl who appreciates good ink.”
“Eden’s an artist,” Killian told Jared.
I raised my brows.An artist?
Killian raised his brows.Yeah. Because I said so.
He said it as if I had paintings displayed in galleries. Meanwhile, the only thing Killian knew about my art was what I had told him.
“When’s Connor coming back?” Jared asked Killian. “The shop’s busy. I could use him.”
Killian cleared his throat. “Soon.”
“Who’s Connor?” I asked. Killian tensed, and even though no part of his body was touching mine, I could still feel it. That’s the way it was for me, though. I could feel him even when he was clear across the room. I’d never experienced that with anyone before, and I didn’t understand why I was so attuned to his moods.
“Killian’s younger brother,” Jared said. “He’s an artist too. A free spirit. Can’t always pin him down.”
Killian rubbed the back of his neck. The conversation was making him uncomfortable. Time for a subject change.
“I’m thinking about getting a tattoo,” I said.
“Do it. Ink is encouraged,” Jared said.
“You want a tattoo?” Killian asked, sounding intrigued by the idea.
I’d considered it before, but never that seriously. “Yes, I want a tattoo.” Jared handed me his card, and I pocketed it.
A little while later, Killian asked where I’d get the tattoo. I placed my hand on my right hip, just below the waistband of my shorts. His eyes darkened, and I needed to turn away from him before I self-combusted.
Working this closely with Killian was proving to be difficult. His arm brushed against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. His chest pressed against my back when he needed to move past me. We did this dance all night long, every night I worked with him.
