Freeform (5 page)

“And just because there is doesn't mean you should undervalue their choice in action.”

Her rebuttal turns my body around, our bodies briefly knocking against one another. Her breath hitches and the instinct to breathe more than air into her beautiful body thrums through me. My voice drops down to a whisper, “How many people undervalue you?”

The change in how rapidly her chest is rising pulls a low growl from me.

Just looking at her like this makes me feel as though Fate wants me to free her from whatever false sense of sexual self she's suffocating in. To put it in less poetic terms. To free the freak within the art geek....

I lean in a little closer, voice still quiet, “How would you like someone to finally appreciate you?”

June's tongue wets her lips as if anticipating my next move.

Oh....I want it to be my next move...

A movement over her shoulder distracts me and she immediately takes the time to step back. “Meant um...Aunt. Yup.” Seeing her back to her fumbling self gets me to grin. “I meant...your aunt probably cares a lot about you and doesn't want you to forget that.”

Now if only her sister who gave birth to me could do that.

“Have you always been that close to her?”

I turn back around and grab a couple sketch pads. “For as long as I can remember.” A set of pencils and pastels also find their way into the cart.  “She's always been real big into art. My grandparents say they had to surrender one of the bedrooms to her early in life. She would paint her designs on the walls, windows, floors. As she grew older they began to flood the room with anything and everything they could to channel that love while simultaneously introducing her to the business world of the hotel. Unlike my mother who had a natural knack for hospitality, Aunt Brandi seemed to enjoy what went into the rooms more than taking care of the people in them. When I started to walk, it was in those footsteps. Drove my parents crazy until my grandparents suggested they do for me, what they had done for my aunt. She used to come over without my cousins sometimes and paint the room with me. Throw buckets around and tell me stories about make believe dragons who tried to eat the prince for loving art too much.” I chuckle at the memory. “I've actually got a small dragon on my foot for that reason. It was the second tattoo I got.”

“That's pretty amazing.”

The realization of what just happened tenses my body.

No. It is a big deal. I don't share my story. I
listen
to others. Okay. One little family memory slip won't kill me, but we need to make sure it's only the one...no matter how good it felt to share.

I glance behind us once more, the feeling of being watched, shifting my body protectively closer to June's. “Sounds like you two have always been really close.”

Her question darts my eyes to hers. “Yeah.”

“How does your mom feel about it?”

“I stopped caring about her opinion after my father died.”

“Well what about before that? Did you have something to bond with her over or did she kinda flock to Brandi's sons since Brandi kinda flocked to you? Like a mix and match scenario.”

Didn't I tell you, we weren't talking about this anymore.

Rather than answer her question, I add my own, “Why so interested in my family history, June Bug? Are you writing a piece for one of the many tabloids who are desperate to get an inside scoop?”

“No! No! Of course not,” fluster fills her voice and I smile again.

It's a fun sound.

“I just...I was merely trying to make conversation. Trying to get to know you better since we will be spending so much time together.”

Probably not as much as she's thinking. Maybe we can pass most of that time underneath my sheets. Wouldn't mind constantly running my hands across her body like fresh clay in need of loosening.

“I-I-I honestly, didn't mean to upset you or bother you or offend you or-”

“Got it, June Bug. You were just being curious.”

“Right.”

“What about you? Are you close to your family? Immediate or extended?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she freely replies, hand grazing random items on the shelves as we enter the paint department.

Turning the corner, I spot the same figure I did a moment ago trying to hide his face behind a large extended sketch paid.

Don't worry...I see him. Not sure what he wants, but I won't let June get hurt because of it.

“I've got three younger sisters. I'd say we're pretty close considering I basically raised them. In fact-” My hand reaches out to tug her closer to me by the waist. The unexpected action causes her to stutter in a whisper, “Wh-wh-what are you doing?”

I lower my voice again and use my free hand to examine the hue of blue paint that caught my eye. “There's a man following us. Not sure if I'm being paranoid or if he's been eyeing your purse, so I'm simply making an effort to protect you.”

When I lower my attention down to hers, I notice a mix of desire and determination in her eyes. She whispers again, “I've got pepper spray.”

The comment causes me to smile wide. “Is that your definition of packin', June Bug?”

“Hey! It's better than nothing.”

Suddenly there's a firm hand on my shoulder and instinct takes over. In one swift action, I remove the hand, twist it, and slam the body against the shelving area beside us. June squeaks but the man in my grasp simply grumbles his discomfort.

“Is this any way to greet an old friend?”

I move my face to get a better view, but am tempted to twist it tighter once I have.

Old friend my ass.

Letting him go, I take a step back, and sigh, “Couldn't just say hey like a normal person Norm?”

Norman turns around while rubbing his wrists. “Couldn't you?”

“You know him?” June questions from next to me.

I drop an arm around her shoulder and tug her closer.

Last place she needs is to be any closer to a creep like him.

“You could say that,” I mutter. “What do you want Norm? Why are you following us?”

“Can't I say hello to an old pal and his...” Norm's gray eyes roam down June's curves in a way that causes much more than blatant irritation to arise. “Friend?”

“Girlfriend,” I declare the lie so freely there's no way it could be second guessed as the truth.

Just, give me this one. It'll make him disappear faster and that's definitely what we want. The fact I liked the way it rolled off my tongue is a mere bonus.

“Shame,” Norm tisks and gives her a devious smirk. “Beauty like you should be on the arm of a real artist. Not a starving one.”

I open my mouth to retort, but June beats me to it. “Oh there's nothing starving about him other than his appetite for me.”

Okay. Wasn't expecting that. However, let's um...let's come back to how hot it sounded a little later. And by later I mean the second we're back alone in the condo where there's a way for me to prove the truth in what she thinks was a clever lie.

She leans into me to play along, which is when I state, “Norm and I went to the same college-”

“For the two years you could hack it.”

“I didn't leave 'cause I couldn't hack it, Norm.”

“Right...” He gives the hair on his cream colored chin a stroke. “You left because the art you wanted to create could never be found in a classroom.”

A truth I stand by.

“Or so you said.” He folds his arms and looks at June. “He's always been full of shit. Type to say anything to make a pretty woman's legs weak...” The implication stiffens me further. “Or...keep them wide. Whichever is necessary.”

A slightly, somber look melts onto her face and an uncontrollable response to undo it appears. “Funny coming from someone who was known to pick through my leftovers.”

“You always did have exquisite taste when it came to women.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lip causing me to irrationally snap, “If you give my girlfriend one more disgusting look, you'll regret whatever made you decide to stop me more than you probably already are.”

He delivers his attention to me once more. “I thought I saw you come in. Wanted to make sure it was you before barging over, not that my plan stopped you from viciously attacking me.”

“It was a simple self-defense tactic,” the correction forces him to sneer.

“I'm sure your ex-Marine father taught you that when he was still alive.”

“That's not all he taught me, Norm.”

The art weasel winces in fear.

As he damn well should. I may prefer to be a lover rather than a fighter, but it doesn't mean I don't know how. Being threatened with a knife more than once in your life will show you much more about yourself than you could ever predict.

“I've got an exhibit next week.” He attempts to regain his footing. “You should swing by. I can introduce you to a few agents. Possibly find you representation.”

Don't be confused by how his backhanded efforts to help sound. He just wants an excuse to rub his so called success further in my face.

“Who knows, maybe you can finally make more than lunch money off your work.”

“Not interested.”

Norm grunts and shakes his head. “Pathetic how talent like yours is continuously wasted.”

“Not everyone requires compensation to consider themselves appreciated as an artist.”

He shrugs. “It helps.”

“It does if you're passion is in a pay check rather than the art itself.”

Norm gives me another hard glare. “It was nice seeing you, Tucker. Perhaps we'll run into each other again when they're hanging my work in a New York gallery while you're there to visit. Like the tourist you are.”

Arrogant asshole.

He backs away slowly with a victorious grin on his face. The moment he turns around to disappear around the corner, June huffs, “I wanna poke him in the eye with a paint brush. Can I do that?”

The comment causes me to laugh and look down at her. “Yeah. I'd bail you out.”

She gives me a small playful elbow, but doesn't make any real attempt to break away. “That guy was an asshole. You actually friends once upon a time?”

“More like rivals.” I slowly slide my hand over her shoulder and down her arm. “But that was a different time and a different life. Only person I compete with now is myself. Life's better that way.” Without allowing her to pry for more information, especially since I am not willing to give it, I begin to move us forward. “Come on. Let's keep moving.”

Which is what I do. I always keep moving. Exploring. Discovering. Or....running depending on how you look at it. The only things I desire from that time have been dead for six years and my belief in a constricting reality along with it. Unlike Norm who limits himself to painting for prizes, I abandoned the notion to make someone proud when they lowered the closed casket. I realized that day art could be more than just a passion. It could be an escape. One I took and don't ever plan to stop taking.

June

Lugging the grocery sacks into the kitchen of Tucker's condo, I yell out, “Your food is here!”

Last thing on today's checklist! Believe it or not this task was the most relaxing one of the day. Sorting through bags of gummy bears because Brandi's in the mood to only feel red inside is even more daunting than it sounds. I'll admit. I did enjoy eating the first bag of candy.

To my surprise, Tucker's shirtless in the middle of the living room, behind an easel. Unable to resist the urge to trace the tattoos on his arm and back with my eyes, I admire the colorful designs covering his muscles.

Think he'd mind if I traced the outlines with my tongue? Ugh! I don't know what it is about him! Haven't you ever just wanted to lick someone? I mean that in a sexual way not a melting Popsicle psycho kinda way.

“Shirt not necessary.”

“Glad you agree.”

I grunt through my word jumble trying to desperately to get to the other side. “I meant...Do you ever wear a shirt? Feels like every time I come over here you're half naked.”

“I don't like to get paint on my clothes.” Tucker slightly turns revealing those abs I know I could break diamonds on.

Or those. Those I wouldn't mind tracing them with my tongue either.

“Would've been painting naked if I thought you wouldn't have objected.”

Naked and covered in paint. It's an art girl's wet dream...

The idea tumbles through my head causing me to trip just as I enter the kitchen. To no surprise I accidentally drop a couple bags with a heavy thud.

Since birth. I make the walk Bambi did look like Swan Lake.

Tucker quickly hops to his feet and rushes my direction. “You okay, June Bug?”

I blow the hair out of my face. “Yeah. Believe it or not this is the reason I don't wear heels.”

He leans down beside me to gather the lost bags. “Heels are overrated. As hot as they are in the air, I've learned to appreciate the natural elegance of a woman's foot without an object so constricting.”

Did he just poetically tell me bare feet are sexy?

“And you could've called me from the car,” Tucker adds as we stand. “I would've gladly brought these in.”

“It's not a problem.” I put the ones still in my grip onto the counter. “It's what I'm getting paid to do. Assist you.”

“I don't need assistance. I could've just as easily gone to the grocery store-”

“And took the exit ramp towards Texas or something.”

Tucker lightly laughs.
“There's this amazing street artist I checked out while I was there. Never could get anyone to tell me who it was. It
would
be worth going back for.”

“I'm sure it would, which is exactly
why
I have to keep my eyes glued on you. Shit. I meant to you.” Not loving the way it's coming out, I try a final time, “I meant...make sure you stick around.” I wave my hand around, elbow hitting the counter in the process. “Do you want me to put these away?”

He shakes his head. “No. I don't have servants and butlers in my life for a reason. I am a capable human being. I can do much more than hold a paint brush or chalk.”

The annoyance in his voice is not as hidden as he hopes. Leaning against the counter space beside the stove, I ask, “Who said you couldn't?”

“No one I just....” He pauses, but pushes past his frustration. “My parents came from two completely different walks of life. My mother a very privileged one and Dad a very unprivileged one. While he enjoyed some of the luxuries of being wealthy there were certain things he believed a person should be able to do for themselves. Like carrying their own bags and cooking their own meals.”

“You didn't have a chef?”

Tucker shakes his head again. “Dad refused. He cooked or mom cooked or we went out to dinner. Not always fancy dinner either. Some of the best cheeseburgers I ever had growing up were at these little shacks out by the coast.” A surprised glint appears in his eyes and he instantly busies himself with removing items from the bag beside him. “Anyway, one thing he always did, was bring in the groceries, regardless of who went to get them.”

I unconsciously mumble, “I didn't realize it was that big of a deal.”

“To me it is.” His eyes flicker back to mine. “Just call me from the car next time and let me help, okay?”

I give him a sweet nod, heart aching for some bizarre reason. “Okay.”

Brandi, over my time working for her, has given me the basic facts of their family history. A little about the company history as much as her parents’ marriage. Then she's told me countless stories about Brett and the boys, a few about her sister, but until
this
Tucker visit, she kept information about him close to the chest. She casually mentioned the morning I went to take him to the art store how his father passed away six years ago from heart failure. It's what honestly spurred the questions to know more about his family. About him. He carries himself like a work of art and I feel myself constantly wanting to know all about the artist who created him.  

“You wanna help me put the stuff away?”

“Sure.” Moving over to the counter, I begin to pull out bags of produce. “I made sure to get all the locally grown or raised products possible. Stuck to as many all natural items as I could. Everything from cleaners to your carrots. For anything I couldn't find, I got it as close as possible with the least amount of extra whatevers as possible. At least according to the app I downloaded.”

That's right. I'm one of those people. There's an app for everything in your life. Being anal retentively organized has never been so easy on the go.

He teases, “Aw. You downloaded an app for me?”

For some reason I find it easy to tease back, “You would download one for me.”

“A June Bug app? Yeah probably.” The nickname reference increases my smile. He opens the fridge and says, “I really appreciate your efforts.”

Handing him a container of strawberries, I reply, “Of course.”

No need to add that it's my job. Between me and you? Felt more like girlfriend duty rather than actual work. I even pretended when I was buying him bubble bath it was for
us
instead of just him. Wow....hearing me confess that out loud is giving me very strange stalker like feelings I don't enjoy.

We work as a team to empty the bags I brought in before Tucker retrieves the few stragglers from my car. As he brings them in, I quickly empty them into the fridge having caught a good sense of how he prefers his food organized.

Thankfully, it's not exactly rocket science. His aunt's fridge? Complete opposite. You need a password to get into it and a map to understand it. I will say having it synced to my phone to tell me when she's out of milk is handy. No, grocery shopping isn't high on the list of things she requests I do, but there are days when she sees an actual milk bath in her future and they're all out of it.

The minute I'm done and shut the door, he asks, “Dinner?”

Caught off guard, I bump into the fridge, hitting my elbow harder than I thought.

“You're like a bull in a China shop.”

“Actually, that was proven to be wrong. Bulls are more graceful around fragile objects than people think. It was a good episode of Myth Busters. Totally recommend.”

Tucker laughs and leans against the space opposite of me. “You like that show?”

“My youngest sister loves science of all kinds, so I've watched more Discovery Channel than any normal human should be proud of.”

“Well how about you stay for dinner and we can compare weird facts?”

I stop rubbing my elbow. “Is this a
request
or a requirement?”

Tucker takes two steps towards me and declares in a dropped voice. “I'll never
require
you to do anything, June Bug. Life is about living the choices you
choose.
Not the ones others expect you to.”

I quietly counter. “Can't cook I. Er. I mean...I...I...I can't cook.”

His lips curve into a smile that has my body begging to be what's on the menu instead.

Doesn't matter for which course. I'll gladly be how we start, how we end, or how we fill ourselves to the brim. Oh....I didn't just say that out loud. What is wrong with me? Wonder if there's a myth about how horny the human body can get before it combusts from lack of sexual fulfillment. Pretty sure with the way I keep feeling, I would be an ideal candidate to test that theory. 

“I can.” His eyes dip down my top, only to lift with a more heated flare to them. “Why don't you pour us a couple glasses of wine and relax?”

Relaxing around Vincent Van Go Fuck Him please, doesn't seem likely.

“Consider yourself off the clock.”

Definitely off something.

At a loss for an appropriate response, I simply nod and slide to the side for access to the fully stocked wine fridge. “Preference?”

“As long as it's dark, I know it'll be delicious.”

Why does everything he say have to sound like a pick up line? He's gotta do that on purpose. No one just naturally sounds like they're one line away from starting a porn scene.

I reach for a bottle, open it, and pour us each a glass. After a polite clink, I make my way around to the bar top part of the island to stay out of the way while he does in the kitchen what I am incapable of.

Hey, I can make a mean grilled cheese, microwave anything, and open a can like I'm a goddamn award winning chef. Cooking real meals though? Not so much. There was a lot of frozen dinners during my stint as the 'mom' with my sisters.

Tucker begins pulling vegetables out of the fridge. “You okay with sushi?”

“You can
make
sushi?”

“You do know it doesn't grow on trees, right?”

I give him a sarcastic glare. “I meant, like make make it. Like the whole thing with the chopping and pressing and the....you can actually
make
sushi?”

He cocks a grin. “I can make many things, June Bug.”

“But sushi? I mean, come on! That's way beyond basic steak and veggies.”

“Spent about eight months in Tokyo a couple years back. It's one of the places I learned that cooking is an art within itself.” His hands curl around the edge of the sink as he leans slightly forward. “Really everything is a form of art.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Cooking. Drinking. Sex...”

The word parts my thighs unconsciously.

Apparently the word sex is the new abracadabra.

“I feel the word art is just the term we use to express the passion we pour into something we love doing.”

Finding truth in his words, I lift my glass in cheers to him, and have a drink. Afterward Tucker washes his hands and proceeds with the process. He takes his time, explaining to me each task he's completing as if trying to teach me from a far, while peppering in fun stories about the people he met during his time across the water. The conversation flows as easily as the wine.

It's interesting to me all the people he's told me about, but during the entire thing, he hasn't referenced himself or his experiences past the basics of how he met the people or what techniques they taught him. Is that weird?

Before I know it he's entering the final stages and I'm sipping on what I think is my third glass.