Page 61 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

Is that all this would be?

Now is hardly the time for relationship talk and I shouldn’t try to analyze but I can’t help to think if he wants a relationship with me or not. He said he had more plans than just taking me to the bathroom, and Gramma knew what he meant. I’m curious.

I pull myself out of my bubble and shake the ever-loving shit out of the can then pop the top off. When I’ve made sure it’s pointed away from me, I test it by spraying off in a random direction. I’ve never used spray paint before and it must show because Riggs grabs my hand and places his finger over mine, pressing down. He guides my hand in a line on the wall as red paint shoots from the can.

“Keep moving or else it will drip.” I heard him, I did, but I’m not sure his words register because his body heat pressed up against mine makes me want to press into him, wrap myself in his arms and snuggle into him. His innocent touch to my hand is making my brain short circuit.

“Thanks,” I murmur. He steps away to grab his pack and bring it closer to my spot on the wall. I have no clue what the hell I’m going to paint. Since my heart is making such a fuss in my chest, I judge the size of free-ish space and spray.

Riggs kicks a little dust up when he stops next to me, his converse squeaking. “A heart, how creative.” He deadpans.

“I think it’s the best heart I’ve ever drawn.” A snort sounds next to me and Riggs starts a slow back-and-forth twist with his head.

“Do you mind if I add a little to it?”

“Be my guest, just remember, I’ll throw you under the bus if we get caught.”

“I’m not scared,” he assures me with that confidence I admire so much.

When I realize we are going to be here for a while, I squat down a few feet away and watch Riggs work. He is a true artist with a can of spray paint. Not once does he mess up, and he stays silent while he is in the zone. I can’t peel my eyes from him and I don’t want to, even if I could. He’s fucking delicious.

After about an hour, he steps back. The image has grown from my small heart in the middle, acting as a window to Jensen’s image. Surrounding them is a massive three-dimensional rendition of a heart. The shadows behind it make it pop off the wall. It bleeds into Riggs’ original piece, the colors clashing, but somehow they still work. On top, he’s painted a depiction of a Queen’s crown, detailed jewels gleaming in imaginary light.

“Hazel gemstones to match your eyes,” he says when he notices me looking. I gaze at him, unsure how to respond. The image is stunning. Beautiful.

I pull my phone out and snap a picture just as soon as he finishes signing the tag. Before “The Jester” he signs, “The Outlaw”.

“That was the work of The Jester, not The Outlaw.”

“Whatever you say,” he responds, tossing the now empty cans in his bag and zipping it up. I’m struggling to look away from the image. What an interesting choice. Hazel colored gemstones to match my eyes. What does that mean?

Pictures don’t do it justice, but I take them anyway. As if I could ever forget something so perfectly personal. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I want to stay to enjoy it, but I can sense the mood has fallen. I want to read into it, and I’m about to ask him if he is okay when I remind myself he has a lot going on. He’s clarified that we are on better terms. He misjudged me and I won’t continue to seek something that isn’t there.

“We should get back,” I say, letting him off the hook for being the one to end the evening.

“Yeah, probably.”

When we get back, Riggs drops me off at my Jeep and gives me a gloomy goodbye. Not long after, I’m sitting on my bed when my phone chimes.

Riggs: Thank you for listening and thanks for following me into what could have been your demise.

Me: It was worth the risk.

Riggs: ‘Night, Outlaw.

Me: Goodnight, Jester.

CHAPTER28

Professor Jones isn’t gettingher way with making everyone get to know their partner and work together. She gave us the rest of the class to work on our poems together, but everyone has gone off in separate directions with someone who is not their partner.

Riggs stays, but he isn’t talking either. He doesn’t appear to be in a terrible mood, just still not approachable, so I’m leaving the ball in his court. I’m not working on my poem because I have a ton of other work to do. Plus, I don’t know enough about Riggs yet to complete it.

“How are you today, Outlaw?” God, his voice is like velvet draping over my skin, so rich and silky. Before responding, I let the heat of my reaction die down and school my features.

“I’m exhausted, but good. You?”

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