Just What I Needed(16)
“For?” he said behind me, closer than he’d been a few minutes ago.
“For not correcting your assumption my name was Amelia.”
During his silence, I fought the urge to fill the conversational void.
Finally he sighed. “I’ve spent the last four days pissed off, directing my anger outward because I knew exactly where the blame belonged.”
On you.
“Evidently my ego couldn’t handle the fact I might’ve screwed up, so it conveniently blocked that part out.”
I snickered.
“What’s funny?”
“That typical male response. You admit you have an ego but act like it’s a separate appendage you have no control over. Kind of like when guys claim the little head is always at war with the big head for who’s in control.”
He laughed.
God. He had such an awesome laugh.
“Can you stop painting happy little trees for a moment and look at me?”
I whirled around. “Did you seriously just make a Bob Ross reference?”
“Why? Do you hate him or something?”
“No! I love him. In fact, he’s a large part of why I became an artist. He was so positive and encouraging, which was so not the norm in my childhood. And it’s not the norm in the art world either. He took such joy in creating. I loved how he made it look so effortless, even when I kind of resented him for that too, because it’s not easy. Some of the happiest times in my childhood were spent in front of an easel, just me and Bob Ross on the TV in the background, painting happy little trees.”
Walker was studying me.
“What? Do I have paint on my face or something?”
He shook his head. I swear his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to laugh.
Then I realized I’d gone off on a tangent again. Annoyed with myself, I said, “Stop staring at me.”
“But I really like your face. And I thought I wouldn’t see it again, sweetheart, so I’m gonna look my fill.”
I had no idea how to respond to that.
“Can I ask you something?” He paused in speaking but kept inching forward. “Did you consider getting in touch with me?”
“I considered it.”
“And?”
“And I concluded chances were slim you’d lay a big wet kiss on me if you saw me again after you discovered you had the wrong name and number for me from me, so I let it go.”
“You didn’t think about me at all?”
I hedged, pointing the paintbrush at him to stop his advancement. “I have to finish this. So if you want to continue talking, you’ll be talking to my back.”
As soon as I turned around, I heard, “Then you can’t complain if I’m staring at your ass.”
Shivers danced down my spine from the sexy, growly way he’d said that.
I switched brushes and colors.
“You were wrong to assume that I wouldn’t want contact with you,” he continued. “My brother offered to track you down with the little information I had. But I told him I just wanted to forget the whole thing.” He laughed softly. “Of course, you’re here—the last place I expected to run into you.”
Using the wooden end of the paintbrush, I dragged lines through the paint, adding another facet to the branches. “So what now?”
“You tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“That Tuesday night was a fluke.”
His denial surprised me. Or was he baiting me? “I should admit I’d had too many drinks and that was the only reason I kissed you?”
“Was it?”
“No. But I think you know that.”
He exhaled loudly. “I do. I mean I did and then I didn’t, and now I’m really freakin’ glad I didn’t imagine this.”
My hand stopped midair. “But you said you wanted to forget the whole thing.”
“That was then.” Walker had moved in close enough that his breath drifted across the nape of my neck. “This is now. As far as I’m concerned, we haven’t even started.”
“You are confusing me.”
“Welcome to the club, sweetheart.”
“Do I get to choose a welcome gift for becoming a new member of this club?”
He laughed. “You have a bizarre sense of humor.”
“So I’ve heard. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like it.”
“Really? Most people don’t get it. Most people don’t get me.”
“Their loss. Because I get you.”
I almost demanded he prove it because I didn’t want to get my hopes up about this guy.
The soft bristles of his beard grazed my cheek. “Trinity.”
Gooseflesh rippled down my arm from his mouth being so close to my skin. “What?”