For You(8)
Author: Mimi Strong

I turned and gave Bruce a dirty look. “Root canal. It was awesome. So much fun. I highly recommend it.”

Bruce made a surprised expression. “Sarcasm? It’s the lowest form of humor, but it’s still humor. Aubrey, don’t tell me you’re developing a sense of humor.”

I shook my head and followed Sawyer to his table, where I gave the top a good scrub, and the edges as well. The table probably didn’t need another cleaning, but I wanted to do something. Sawyer had been good to me, first caring about my safety and then giving me the frog drawing I’d admired. I felt the desire to make some gesture in return.

His boots and jeans drew my attention. They looked expensive, like the kind of designer clothes that come with some holes rubbed into the jeans and scuffing on the boots so they look broken-in, but they’re brand new. Something told me Sawyer wasn’t the starving artist he appeared to be.

“How’ve you been?” I asked.

“Not so great. I think I bit off more than I can chew.” He reached for his phone and turned the display to me. The image was a tangle of dark lines, nothing recognizable.

“Your giant art project?”

He seemed pleased I remembered, his gorgeous, full lips twisting up in a smile that made his green eyes even more captivating. “As I mentioned, though, I’m stuck for inspiration. They say smaller pieces of art are just as hard as large ones, but they’re wrong. The big ones are way, way more difficult.”

“Do you actually earn a living doing this?” I handed his fancy phone back. “I’m sorry. That was so rude. I don’t know why I said that.”

“You asked because you’re curious. I’m flattered that you’re curious.”

I bit my lower lip, only realizing what I was doing when his eyes went to my mouth. I released the lip immediately. What was next? Twirling my hair? Giggling? Kill me now.

His voice sexy and husky, he said, “What’s on your mind?”

“I put your frog up on my fridge at home.”

“Yeah? Does it bring the room together? I could color it in to match the sofa.” He grinned. “That’s a joke, by the way.”

“As you heard my uncle say, I don’t have a sense of humor.”

He clapped his hand to his forehead. “That’s why you look so familiar. You’re Bruce’s niece. I couldn’t figure out why you looked so much like someone I had …” He held two hands over his heart. “Such warm feelings about. Your uncle’s a cool guy. Decent.”

“He is. So much decency in one person is refreshing.”

Sawyer frowned and turned in his chair so his body was squarely facing mine. My eyes traveled down his shirt and below his belt, to where his jeans wrinkled and creased over a good-sized package. I jerked my gaze away, a flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck.

“The way you say his decency is refreshing, you make me wonder,” he said, his voice still low and gritty, pushing up under my skin. “Do you usually assume people are rotten until they prove otherwise?”

“Some people trust their first impressions. I’m not one of those people.”

“Tell me your first impression of me.”

My first impression had been… dangerously cute. And his beautiful moss-green eyes had made me want to confess and confide in him. That was the truth, but I sure as hell wasn’t spilling my guts.

“Messy tattoos,” I said. “Because of the coloring job your nephew had done. That’s all I remember. Just a guy with brown hair and messed-up tattoos. You weren’t drunk or complaining, so I thought you were okay.”

“How about now?”

“Kinda pushy.”

“You could walk away any time this gets too intense.”

I scratched my neck. “I dunno. Talking to people helps pass the time.”

“You were a gutted, wallowing candle.”

“What?”

“That was my first impression of you, Aubrey. A wick drowning in melted wax, your flame in danger. Just one more gust of wind and you’d be lost. You’d become that lost girl, sad through and through.”

The way he spoke of me sent a chill through my body. Also, the way he was looking at me. Head tilting to one side, his gaze traveled slowly from my feet, up to my knees. I wore black stretch jeans, but felt naked.

He continued, “You might not trust your first impression of people, but I do. You look like someone who would make a good friend, but isn’t able to recognize one. You treat everyone equally, but you shouldn’t. You want to believe people can change, because it means you might be able to change. And if someone asked you what one thing you would do differently in your life if you had it to live all over again, you’d say everything.”

“Sounds like you have me all figured out.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Sorry. That’s all bullshit. Horoscope-quality bullshit. I think I have this thing, where I like the sound of my voice, and I just keep going. Long story, but I thought I had a career in that, but then I didn’t.” The light danced in his eyes as he grinned up at me. “Try me again after a beer. I’ll give you the full horoscope and your lucky lottery numbers as well.”

“Of course.”

I turned around and walked back to the bar, the heavy sensation of being watched all over me.

When I returned to his table and set down the pint, he was studying the image on his phone again.

“You need one big thing,” I said, pointing to a spot to the right and below the center of the image. “Everything’s really busy, and that’s good, but my eyes keep traveling to here, expecting something.”

“This is the focal point, though.” He tapped and zoomed in on the upper left. “See, this blossom is the focus. The dominant motif.”

“No. You start there, but your start isn’t where you end up.”

He chuckled. “Your start isn’t where you end up. See, you’re helping me already, and all I had to do was hit on you repeatedly.”

“Hit on me? I thought you were just being friendly to the married girl.”

“What’s it like? Being married?”

I winced. “Stable.”

“Is he good to you? He doesn’t pick you up from work. If you were my girl I’d be down here all the time, beating guys like me away with a stick.”

“He’s not the violent type.”

“Oh, and I am? Just because I can move and stop some dirtbag from hurting a girl, that doesn’t mean I’m violent. It means I know right from wrong and I’m not afraid to act on my instincts.”

“But you didn’t have to punch him in the face.”

Sawyer raised his eyebrows, his sparkling green eyes showing amusement. “You’re the one who had murder on your face. You would have buried the eight-ball in that guy’s eye socket.”