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WREN
I had avoided Rachel like the plague all week. Good thing too because I likely would have ripped out her hair extensions and made a voodoo doll out of them. There was still a chance of that happening. I couldn’t believe she destroyed so much of my art. And those pieces in the house were my parents’ favorites. Ones they hand-picked themselves to suit their decor. They might not have meant much to her, but to me, they were priceless. Irreplaceable.
Tate offered to pay me for the pieces, but what good would that do? It would never bring them back, and they were not something I could replicate.
And my week seemed to be going from bad to worse.
The job search was going nowhere. No one wanted to hire me because I didn’t have any experience and I was too old. Everyone want the young ones because the were cheaper. Nico came by on Tuesday with my pizza and a side of bad news. Joe had no work available for me either. I was at the point where I would stand on the sidewalk with a giant pizza strapped to my chest doing a pirouette to gain attention for the shop if it meant cash in my hands. But Joe already had someone doing that.
So, I was throwing myself into my art and my workouts. Every morning I started the day with yoga and spent a few hours searching for jobs before heading into my spare room slash studio to paint. I was still trying to master sling-shooting paint with my bras for one of my ideas. It was a work in progress. And progress had stalled since I couldn’t seem to aim my underwear at the canvas.
I groaned as I lost another bra and decided to go and search the shed for something more appropriate and less expensive, like elastic or something. I opened the doors and stepped out onto the patio, then squeaked in surprise and ran back inside the pool house.
Tate was there.
By the pool.
With his friends.
Shirtless.
Again.
I slammed the door shut and tried to catch my breath. My heart was pounding a million times a minute. I’d been obsessing over the way he wrapped me in his arms last weekend every waking moment of every day this week. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop, honestly.
I couldn’t get the feel of his skin out of my mind, and I wanted to touch it again. Maybe run my hands across his pecs and down his abs. Bite that V that dipped into his low-slung sweatpants and...
I needed to cool down and focus.
I needed elastic.
I needed to fix my hair and make sure I looked okay if I was going to walk past them.
Whoa. Who was I? And where did I go? I never cared about what people thought of my appearance. My hair was a nightmare, and without Eva spending two hours on it, it would never look sleek and shiny. I’d given in to the fact years ago that I was one of those people who pulled off messy chic, but required a team to make me glamorous.
I settled for fixing my messy bun and putting on a bra.
Once I was satisfied that I at least didn’t look like I’d just rolled out of bed, I snuck out of my house and tiptoed through the garden to the pool shed. I didn’t know why I cared so much how I looked. He’d seen me fall flat on my butt in a paint can. He’d seen me hungover. Doing headstands in my underwear. And walked in on me with my top around my head as my arms got tangled inside the sleeves. He had to help me remove my top. If that wasn’t embarrassing, nothing was.
But that was all before he hugged me.
Before he paid for Nelson’s father’s treatment so I didn’t have to.
Before he repaired the damage his psycho girlfriend did to my house.
And there it was. The glaringly obvious reason why I was so stupid. Worrying over my appearance when Tate Montgomery dated only supermodels or socialites. When he had a fiancée.
So stupid.
I made it to the shed without being noticed by Tate or any of his buddies and began rummaging through the numerous containers stacked on the shelves for elastic or something I could make a slingshot out of, but I tugged too hard on a box and it toppled off the shelf and clattered to the ground at my feet.
I jumped back to avoid my toes being crushed by—I tilted my head and looked at the contents of the container spilled on the floor—screwdrivers. That was a close call.
Peering out the window, I checked to make sure Tate and his friends hadn’t heard the crash or my scream. If they did, they didn’t show any signs of it. They were still lounging by the pool with their beers in their hands and sunglasses over their eyes.
I stood there watching them talking and laughing and enjoying themselves. I’d found myself getting more and more distracted by Tate, and thoughts of Tate, as the days passed. The more I got to know him, the more I realized he wasn’t as bad as he came across. He had these moments where he was almost nice.
Tate’s eyes met mine.
Crap.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized I was still staring at him.
I quickly turned away and crouched down to pick up the tools and put them back in the box, pretending as if I hadn’t been caught red-handed.
“Are you spying on us?” His gravelly voice sent shivers down my spine.
“Does it look like it?” I snapped and smoothed my hair down, refusing to look at him because he’d no doubt see the blush to my cheeks.
“Yes.” He chuckled.
“I’m looking for something. Not you.” The heat from his body radiated from him and seemed to fill the small space. Like a heater. Was that possible? The scent of beer mingled with his aftershave was intoxicating and going straight to my head.
“Hmmm.” He sounded thoughtful, and I chanced a glance up at him, only to instantly regret it.
He was close. Too close. His strong legs brushed against my arm as he towered over me. Looking down at me with deep, dark, piercing eyes, he studied me. Heat flooded my body and my stomach flipped. I liked the look he was giving me too much.
His arm moved, stretching his hand towards me. I closed my eyes, ready to lean into his touch when... he flicked my hair.
“Well, you’re not scruffy,” he said, almost in a whisper, and I frowned, shoving his hand away.
“Wow, thanks for the compliment.”
He touched my hair again and laughed. “But, you should probably wash the cheese out of your hair.” He pulled his hand back and, sure enough, there was a piece of mozzarella cheese hanging just behind my ear from last night’s pizza.
Mortified, I pushed myself to my feet and shoved past him ignoring the sound of his laughter.
I took back all my earlier thoughts about him being nice. He wasn’t. He was a jerk. And loved to embarrass me. I could manage that well enough on my own.