Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“Look over my shoulder,” he unexpectedly commands, lips knocking against my earlobe.
Darting my eyelids upward instantly occurs.
“What do you see on the wall?”
In spite of the rain, the image plastered across the back wall, is crystal clear. “A mural.”
“Describe it.”
“It’s…” focusing my attention on it as opposed to the delectable grinding is almost an impossible feat. “Blended.”
“Keep going.”
“It’s a collection of stories. Multiple stories yet all from the same…family.” Studying the piece becomes the only thing I can do. “Their features are too similar to not be related and knowing the artist personally, I know he would never be so lazy as to oversimplify a group of people by giving them all the same look if it wasn’t already there.”
A small hum presents itself.
“From first glance it’s so colorful and lively and seems to be overflowing with love yet if you take a moment to look a little deeper, the conflict is right there.” I narrow in on it. “Reflected in the markings. The brush pattern changes. The literal brick beating as a piece of the work versus just being the canvas of it.” Unable to resist finding his gaze any longer, I don’t. “Tell me the tale.”
“It tells itself.”
“Tell me the tale behind the tale.”
“Ah,” Tucker’s palm lowers itself a bit so that his fingertips can anchor themselves into the top of my ass, “you mean how I came to paint it.”
I thoughtlessly moan and nod in tandem.
“Adolfo – the owner and Maria’s big brother – and I both went to Clover Rose, which is where Fate knocked us into each other. He ended up as my dorm suitemate due to a typo. He should’ve been in one of the cheaper houses and he was charged for the cheaper housing but never once set foot over there. I honestly believed whoever screwed up would rather the world never know.”
Small giggles are given over the idea.
“At the end of our freshman year, he had to drop out to help his mother and grandmother run this place because his father died.”
There’s no ignoring the ache that understanding their connection in that department sparks.
“We kept in touch a lot. Eating here was something I did often. And encouraging others to come here all across campus was something else I did. I even got Uncle Brett and my cousins hooked on their Cuban sandwiches, which put more attention this direction, but they were still struggling. They needed new business to turn profit but also had to keep old business pleased, which is hard shit to do. You can’t grow and stay the same.”
His phrasing hits harder than I’m sure he anticipated.
“Shortly after tragedy struck me again-”
“You mean something else happened after your dad died?!”
He nods but doesn’t offer up details. “I decided to leave. Leave and keep leaving but I needed space to figure that shit out. And Adolfo wanted to let me crash at his place free of charge, but I made a counteroffer. I told him I would invest in his business – give him the money to update the furniture, the art, the equipment – in exchange for a place to sleep and to let me paint something. Didn’t have to be big. Didn’t have to be important. He could fucking paint over it later, but I needed the outlet. I was…drowning…in…so much. Art has always been my lifeline and my therapist also recommended I keep creating, so we struck a deal.” The tempo of the music slows our swaying along with the rain’s steadiness. “I listened to stories from his abuelo and his mother and Maria and painted. Some of my art ended up on canvases but most right there on the wall. I poured my passion, my rage, my sadness into every stroke while doing everything I could to reflect what I had been told.”
Jealousy claws itself rudely into my tone, “Did you and Maria…ever…ya know.”
“We did.”
Wow.
I don’t think it’s humanly possible for a person to answer faster than that.
“However, we both knew it wasn’t forever. That it was…merely convenient.”
The words are out of me faster than I can even think. “Is that what I am?” My eyebrows pull together in worry. “Merely convenient?”
“No.”
Okay.
At least he used the same speed for that answer.
“You, June Bailey,” his wet fingers glide themselves upward until they are sinking into my recently dyed locks, “are the very thing I travel all around the world searching for.” Melting into his hold is a mindless response. “How about we go home, and you let me prove it to you?”
Rather than give him any sort of coherent response, I simply release an airy moan.
Bite my bottom lip and wordlessly beg for whatever’s next.
Goodbyes are brief and paying isn’t done due to an arrangement about eating for free that was part of the “investment” deal they later actually put on paper versus a verbal exchange, yet tipping is. The instinct to be envious of Marie for having Tucker first, for probably still wanting to have him now, isn’t one that’s granted a chance to be entertained. Between his hands and lips finding places to press and seductively whispering compliments into my ear, I’m lucky I can even remember how to speak let alone care about anything other than getting us into bed.