Beyond Me(27)
Author: Jennifer Probst

Then she smiled. A beautiful, giving, joyous smile that splintered my reality and left it broken behind me. “I understand.”

My heart hurt, so I turned back to the eggs for something to do. I grabbed a plate, slid the omelet on, and served her at the counter. “Eat up. You’ll need your energy.”

She was still smiling when she took the first bite.

The blare of my phone cut through the air halfway through our breakfast. I got up and checked the screen. Adam. I’d already texted him back to cancel the party, and his continuous texts were getting more and more crazed. Better take it or the guy may show up at my door. “Be right back, I gotta take this,” I said.

“Okay.”

I walked into the living room and hit the button. “What’s up?”

My friend’s voice was high-pitched. “What the hell are you doing, man? Are you f**king crazy? We had these parties planned for months—hell, it’s a tradition in Key West. You can’t cancel on me. I got a ton of people freaking out.”

My temper reared, but I kept calm. “Adam, if you want to have a party, you host it. I’m done. I got shit I need to do this week, and I’m not up for hosting more of Girls Gone Wild at my house.”

A long groan. “I can’t have it at my house! I don’t have the space, and it’s too damn late to rent a hotel. Hey, I got a great idea. I’ll host the party over there. I’ll take care of everything, make sure we clean up. What do you say?”

Why did I suddenly feel like I was eighteen again? Rich and Adam were always pushing me to take the lead because my parents didn’t give a shit. They were both stuck in their fathers’ firms, living the dutiful life I’d always hated, so they looked to me to be the wild one. The one who bucked the system, took no prisoners, and broke all the rules.

I was f**king sick of it.

“No. Just tell everyone it was canceled. There are plenty of bars and booze cruises to do instead. And Friday’s party is also canceled.”

“Fuck!” Adam’s screech echoed, but I didn’t care. Time to make myself happy. “Why? Is it that girl you’re trying to score with to win our bet?”

I stiffened. I didn’t want Adam or Rich to know anything about her. “No. I haven’t slept with her yet.”

“And you won’t. But if you get her drunk at the party, you may have a better shot at getting in her pants. How about that scenario for you?”

I pictured putting a fist through my friend’s mouth instead. “The bet’s off. I don’t care about meeting Whit Bennigan.”

“Sorry, bro, you can’t call off a bet midweek just because you’re losing. It’s still on, and if you don’t get us proof, say goodbye to your bike.”

I rubbed my forehead. I couldn’t think about this shit now, I’d worry about it later. I needed to get Adam off my ass. “The parties are canceled Adam. Tell Rich I’m not changing my mind, and if the bet’s still on, leave me the hell alone until Friday.”

Silence settled over the line. “Fine. This is f**ked up, James. But whatever.”

He hung up.

I hit the button. What a mess. I had a bet about Quinn I couldn’t stop and a bunch of pissed off friends. Still, I felt good about my decision. I’d figure the rest out, even if I had to lie and give up my bike. Nothing really mattered now except spending as much time with the woman half naked in my kitchen.

I threw my phone on the table and went to her.

Chapter Sixteen

I WIGGLED my toes and relaxed back on the lounge chair. A warm breeze brushed my body, and the sun burned hot on my skin, melting my already limp muscles to wet noodles. The pool glistened in a gorgeous blue that reminded me of James’ eyes, and I smiled, shutting out the world, remembering our last heated lovemaking session that blew my mind. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. After breakfast, we spent a few hours in bed, then hit my hotel so I could pack another bag to stay over again tonight. I changed into my red bikini and we relaxed by the pool, until he decided to order some food from the local clam bar and bring it back to the house. I sipped my Sex on the Beach he’d concocted, and enjoyed the absolute decadence of the day. Sex, alcohol, fried food, and rest. I’d reached nirvana.

After about fifteen minutes, I noticed my skin was beginning to burn again, so I grabbed my drink and went back inside. Maybe I’d explore. I was sure James wouldn’t mind, and the house was so gorgeous, I was dying to see the rest of the furnishings and setup. I started on the ground level, peeking into an array of guest rooms, and a sunroom with comfy chairs and bookcases stocked with goodies. I browsed through the shelves, making note of the eclectic collection of art, classic literature, and philosophy, then strolled upstairs. Another bathroom with a spa shower, and what looked to be a media room, filled with high-tech gadgets, a big screen TV, and various speakers. Hmm, maybe we could do a movie night and snuggle up. The idea intrigued me. I kept poking around until I reached the last door at the end of the hall. The knob easily turned under my fingers. I stepped in and caught my breath.

It was more than a room. It was a studio filled with blank canvases, paints, brushes, and different-sized tables. The light poured in from the ceiling-to-floor windows, and the floors were some type of wood, covered with drops of paint in various colors. Fascinated, I walked to the row of paintings and studied the bold lines and colors attacking the white background. It was as if something shimmered beneath, dying to get out, and I narrowed my gaze, trying to look deeper. I wasn’t an art major or anything, but had taken a class in college where we went over the basics and famous art. This was unlike any style I’d seen. Who was the artist James collected?

“They’re mine.”

I spun around and almost spilled my drink. He stood behind me, watching me with a curious expression. His words took a while for me to process. “You did these?”

James nodded. They were mostly portraits, sketched out in bold lines with an array of backgrounds in shocking color. The mingling of charcoal with watercolors was new to me. I flipped through a few more, and began to recognize a pattern emerging. As I made my way through his work, I recognized the development from earlier years to later. There was a growing confidence and better technique. The last one took my breath away.

An old man sat by the dock, his withered hand holding a tattered newspaper, looking out over the water as if a memory had broken his concentration. His face held the lines of one who had loved hard and lost much. The gorgeous symmetry of old and young jumped out at me. Usually, portraits bored me—a line of people I’d never met and didn’t know—but James captured an element that made me want to know the subjects. As if I had already met them.