Page 60 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

“Understandable.” I can tell there is more he wants to ask, but like me, he doesn’t want to pry. What a pitiful pair we are.

“They had heavy hands,” I add.

His gaze pans up and down my body like many do when I tell them my birth parents abused me. It’s the scan that says they’re searching for scars. His is different though, as his throat constricts, nostrils flaring. Is he angry at them for me? That’s new. People always apologize profusely, then prop me up in a glass box like I’m fragile.

“Is that why Kai is training all the time?” he concludes.

“Yeah, he never wants to be in that position again.”

“I can’t blame him,” he says, staring through me rather than looking at me. Was that an admission of some sort? He said Gramma was all he had left. Did that mean his parents were in jail as well?

My stomach churns at the thought of him experiencing the things we had. “Okay, I challenge you to become an outlaw. Paint anything you want on these walls.”

“It won’t be pretty,” I argue. “Definitely not like anything else here.”

He shrugs. “Art isn’t about looking good.”

“Yeah, but I’d hate to ruin the beauty of this place.”

He points his finger in the air, wagging the appendage at me. The gleam in his eye makes me want to make him happy, so I’ll see it more. “I think you’re just trying to get out of meeting my challenge.”

“What do I get for doing this?” Palm up, I bend my fingers in a give-me-more motion. He high fives me.

“The adrenaline rush of doing something illegal.”

“You said it isn’t illegal unless I get caught.” With both fists perched on my hips, I turn my narrowed eyes on him. He gets me well enough already to recognize that I’m joking, though.

“Then don’t get caught.” His shoulders lift as he walks to the wall opposite of his original tag. He pops the cap from the can and shakes vigorously. The echo of the little bearing sifting through the paint bounces around the tunnel, drifting outside.

Since we’ve been here, the sun has disappeared beyond the horizon. The chill of the night air bites into my skin and I welcome it. I need it to cool me after almost melting from being so close to Riggs. “If you don’t get caught, then I’ll let you take the greens on the joint we are going to smoke when we go to the park after this.”

Thankfully, through my research on marijuana lingo, I know taking greens means hitting first. Hardly any reward for doing something that is illegal, but in a smoker’s world, that’s a big deal, especially when someone buys a new piece.

“Okay.” I snatch the can from his hand. “But you have to turn whatever I paint into something beautiful. And be quick cause I might just go outside and start yelling for attention.”

“Okay.” He shrugs again, licking his lips. “Let’s get to it.”

I square my shoulders, lifting my chin and find a spot on the wall that has a piece that someone struck out. It is unfinished, perhaps a mess up?

I’d rather not paint over one of the gorgeous pieces that are here and there isn’t much space unless I paint the concrete at our feet. “That’s a suitable spot. We can make something nice out of the travesty that Jensen created.”

“Jensen painted this… this… masterpiece?” Riggs stands next to me after finishing the few lines he added in gold on the other wall.

“It’s supposed to be a pussy,” Riggs explains.

“Right, what pussy is he chasing if that’s what they look like?” Unlike the prudes in my community, Riggs doesn’t flinch against my use of the profane and unfavorable description of female genitalia.

I trace the outline of the odd shape. I can’t see the vision. It doesn’t even look like the shape of a cat and that would make sense. Riggs holds in what I’m sure is a blast of laughter as air shoots from his nostrils. He places one hand on his stomach, the back of the other covering his mouth.

“I’m so telling him you said that.”

“Please do. He’s about to hook up with my best friend and I’m afraid he might need some help in that area according to this debacle on the wall.”

Riggs fails to hold in his laugh this time. The sound booms through the tunnel. I soak it in, practically choking on it. I try to play off what he does to me by huffing my breath on my nails and brushing them on my shirt like I’ve just told the next best joke. Too bad he catches me, hitting me with a stare so heated I have to be dreaming it.

Clearing my throat, I lift my can of paint. I can’t go there. I’ve already proven I can’t keep my hands off himanddeclared I’m not ready for a relationship. One-night stands aren’t my thing. If it happens, I’m not sure I could face him at school afterward.

Riggs doesn’t come off as the one-night stand kind of guy, though confident, and I’ve only ever known him to sleep with Layla. He introduced me to his grandma and took me to his house.

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