The Weight of Rain (32 page)

We talked twice on Monday, both times the conversation flowing with a level of intimacy that proved we had been watching and caring about each other far longer than a mere week. What King and I have built between us is a mutual respect and friendship that was somehow kindled when we both were working so hard at finding every excuse to not like the other, and continually came up short.

“I can’t wear them while I paint. Everything would be off.” King grins, expecting my answer. “Today was kind of rough. I think those kids have been teasing Mercedes again.”

“Those kids need their asses chewed.”

“That won’t stop them. Hatred doesn’t stop hatred.”

“Don’t tell me you want to deliver each of them a plate of cookies.” King’s tone is a bite in itself as he rests his fork on his plate, waiting for my answer.

“Of course not.” I stand straighter with indignation. “What happened to not acting like a jackass?”

He extends his arm to set his plate on a table in the corner and stands up. “Their words hurt her way more than falling off a bike.”

“I know.” My words are clipped with my annoyance for his previous comments, and now for insinuating I don’t know how hurt Mercedes is from these kids.

He sighs loudly, his finger and thumb going to the bridge of his nose. “I know you know. Maybe we should transfer her schools or something. I’ll talk to Kash about looking into it.”

I shrug, hating the idea.

Recognize the war of patience that I often find with Mercedes visible with his raised eyebrows and wide eyes, I’m prompted me to explain my reaction.

“I think people often have to experience something in order to understand it.” King’s eyebrows disappear under his ball cap with a silent
I know! That’s what I’m saying!
“But then you’re no better than they are. You don’t want to teach her to stoop to their level, and you certainly don’t want to teach her that there are appropriate times to do so, because that line will become fuzzier and fuzzier every time she feels threatened or insecure from someone else.”

“Then how in the hell are those kids ever going to experience it?”

“That’s not our lesson to teach. Our lesson is for Mercedes to feel comfortable and confident with who she is as a person.” King drops his gaze from mine and shakes his head, releasing a heavy sigh that is tangled with words of objection. “You aren’t going to be able to fight off every bully she encounters, King. She would never allow you to and you know that! Mercedes is as proud and independent as you are. She barely shares these situations now. We have to make sure that the bullies she faces are simply external and are never her own haunting thoughts.”

He shakes his head a few more times with one of his hands clasped to the back of his neck. “How do you propose we teach her how perfect she is?”

“Assurances like that, and one other idea I’m going to see if I can work out.”

Slowly, he lifts his eyes, narrowed with curiosity. Then slides his lips together, processing thoughts and stealing my attention. “This isn’t how I pictured tonight,” he admits, regret heavy on his words. “I’m sorry I distracted you. You were obviously feeling it.”

I shrug dismissively and shift to my right foot. My left ankle still isn’t fully recovered, even if I refrain from admitting it aloud. “She’s more important.”

“You’re important too. Your thoughts, your work, they all matter.”

I swipe my brush through a shade of turquoise I’ve created because the intense stare paired with his words prevents me from being able to hold his gaze.

“Lo.” King’s voice is a commanding plea to look back at him, one that seems far harder to oblige than it should. “You matter. You’re important, and not just to me.”

I swallow because I don’t have a reply. Have I ever felt like I’ve really mattered to someone, let alone be told in such a confirming way that I do? My eyes slide over his shoulder, my unease growing.

No, I haven’t.

I force my attention back on King and feign being comfortable with a smile. “Mercedes threatened me today that I have to start riding again or she’s going to start hiding my sketch pads at the house. I think her exact advice was: I need to grow some balls.”

The intensity marring his face slips away, replaced by a genuine smile that makes my own lips turn up higher, which only causes his to follow suit. King takes slow, deliberate steps toward me and then runs his hand from my shoulder down to my elbow. “Are you ready to get back in the saddle?”

I know he means the bike, yet the way his hand is lingering on my arm and the energy that’s apparent in his eyes make my heart jump nearly as high as my eyebrows.

King tilts his head back and releases a loud and throaty laugh, making my blush increase. He drops his chin forward, and a quiet rumble confirms he’s trying to hide his amusement. “I like where your mind goes, Crosby.” The shimmer of humor and lust makes King’s eyes resemble waxed and polished ebony wood, with strains of lighter and nearly black hues winding together into a beautiful maze. “Speaking of Saturday…” My favorite smile spreads across his face before I can even give him the sarcastic reaction he’s expecting, and he continues, “You told me the only thing you don’t care for is seafood. Is that really all?”

“That’s it.” I shrug. “I’m pretty easy.” My casual expression falls and my eyes squint with embarrassment. The heat that had just started to dissipate returns with a vengeance as King’s tongue wets his bottom lip, working to fight a smile he loses to.

“I’m going to stop talking and get back to work now.”

He nods a couple of times, still battling with his laughter, then presses a kiss to my mouth that makes me lean into him.

I
CRANE
my neck to the side, feeling a tightness that usually comes only after several hours of focus. It feels as though I’ve only been here moments, but looking over the amount of paint I’ve spread tonight, I know it’s been longer. My head snaps to the overhead clock on the wall nearby, and my eyes widen with disbelief. I intended to paint only until the paint on my palette was gone, but I felt inspired by an energy that was absent for so much of the year. I still feel nearly drunk off it when it returns in these strong doses. It’s past 10:00 p.m. The restaurant is going to close any minute. I’ve wasted our entire evening!

“I’m so sorry, King! I didn’t realize … I get in these … zones, and I just lose track of … well, everything sometimes…”

“Why are you apologizing? I get it. You need to get this done.” King’s shoulders lift and he stands from his seat. I don’t think he moved at all while he waited. We didn’t exchange words, only a few glances when my energy started to wane and I needed a new hit.

“I know, but we talked about spending tonight together.”

“We are together.”

“Yeah, but not in a way that we’re getting to know each other any better,” I argue.

“We’re communicating on a level we both understand best.”

“Silence?”

“I think I could lose myself watching you discover yourself.”

I think I’ve already lost myself, at least the part of me that knows how to be an artist, and that’s always been the side of myself I’m most familiar with, and the easiest for me to identify myself by.

“H
EY
. H
AVE
you seen Mercedes? I can’t find her anywhere.” Last night, King drove me home, where he hopped into the backseat, his hand encircling the feather bangle and pulling me back with him. The bench seat in the back made it much easier than the bucket seats up front to test the theory of making out in a car and whether it really fogs up the windows.

It did.

After leaving a dragged handprint on the back window as an ode to Jack and Rose, King walked me to the door of my apartment, my nerves growing. I questioned if I had remembered to shave that morning, what sheets were on my bed, how I would introduce King if Kenzie was home; if Kenzie wasn’t home, the first two questions became far more important.

I appreciated that he walked me to my front door. It reminded me a little bit of home because there, if you didn’t escort your date safely inside, you weren’t looked at as being hip and cool but as a lazy jackhole. Small-town life does have a few perks.

King didn’t give me the option of inviting him inside; instead, he pulled me against his chest, his back against the doorjamb, and kissed me until I forgot what I had been worrying about. My mind was made up when we parted; he was coming inside, even if my bed was made with old Minion printed sheets. But as soon as I unlocked the door and turned to face him, King smiled and told me to have a good night and asked to text him my schedule so he could come get me from class tomorrow.

A dozen oppositions were lining up in an orchestrated procession, beginning with those I hoped would be the most convincing to stay. I was ready to voice them, inhibitions aside, but he waved and picked up his speed.

King’s desk chair swivels toward my impartial greeting, a hesitant smile on his face where his eyes are shadowed by the bill of his hat. I think he knows how disoriented I still feel about our relationship and my employment. Seeing him, I want to kiss him just as badly as I did last night, yet there’s a trace of doubt with him having left that mixes with my unease of where we’re at.

“Allie might be my favorite person,” he says, looking at my shoes and distracting my nerves.

“She’s lucky to have one person still in her corner.” I jut my hip out slightly, and without thought, I’m striking a pose that I’ve been practicing each Friday in model practice. For the first time I feel sexy, in control of my body, confident even.

King’s eyes don’t miss my posture. He scoots his chair back and stands. “When we’re done, we’re going to meet Mercedes and Summer.”

“Where?” My question should be
when we’re done with what?

His eyes follow his hand as it rests on my protruding hip, and then slowly climb to my face. The longing in his eyes makes me want to pump my fist into the air. I’ve never seen King so distracted and at such a loss. “You have a little drool. Right here,” I tease, pointing to the corner of his mouth.

Unexpectedly, he turns and gently bites my accusing finger. It’s shocking, sexual, erotic even—all things that are King. His dark eyes hold mine, making the act far more sensual than it would be if I tried to describe it to Charleigh or Allie later.

“King! You in here, man?”

I pull my hand back reflexively and move back several steps away as the office door is pushed open farther.

“You coming to ride?” Parker asks, oblivious to what was happening.

“No, I was just going to finish up some stuff and then take Lo to meet up with Mercedes.” King’s tone is so casual it’s as though he’s completely unaffected, while I’m still seeing the prospect of my clothes flying across the room every time I blink.

“Oh cool. Are you going through the video edits again?” Parker asks, taking a few more steps into the office.

King’s eyes move to me and stay there while Parker pulls up a chair. “Sorry, man, I didn’t realize how late it is already. We’re supposed to meet them now. I’ll show you the trailer later.”

“Oh, no problem. I have to get those jerseys back. Do you want me to take Lo?”

He shakes his head. “Nope,” King pops the last syllable and turns his neck from side to side, his ears nearly touching each shoulder.

The three of us stand in place, a curiosity spreading from each of us, creating more confusion to grow. Then King digs for his keys and nods to the hall, and we awkwardly traipse out of the room.

“Alright, well you guys have a good time,” Parker says, veering toward the shop.

“This is going to be really weird, isn’t it?”

“What?” King asks, opening the passenger door of his truck for me.

“Us.”

“What? You think it’s going to be weird to tell Parker that we’re dating?”

“More like telling anyone.” King closes my door and makes his way into the driver’s seat before he looks at me with an expression that makes me a little nervous, because unlike so many that I can read with a simple glance, I don’t know what it means.

“Lo, I already know what they all think.”

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to tell anyone. We can keep work and our private time separately,” I continue.