Proving Paul’s Promise(41)

“I can’t,” he says. “We’re at an event for Cody’s work.”

“Oh.” I let out a breath.

“Why don’t you ask the stud muffin to do it? He’s a fucking artist, Friday.”

“He’s also…like…boyfriend material.” I feel heat creep up my cheeks.

“You mean he’s, like, totally fuckable.”

I laugh. “That, too.” I walk out into the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the fridge. Paul is sitting on the couch so I whisper into the phone. “It’s just too intimate for us right now.”

“He’s still withholding the goodies, huh?” Garrett laughs.

I grumble softly and glance at Paul, who gives me a what-the-fuck look. I can tell he’s trying to hear what I’m talking about, but he’s trying not to let me notice. And I desperately don’t want him to hear me talk about him.

“Ask him,” Garrett says. “Just do it.”

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask a girlfriend?”

“I don’t have any!” I cry. Well, I have a couple. But Reagan is busy and Emily just had a baby two weeks ago, so I can’t ask her. My old college roommate, Lacy, is busy, too. I already tried her.

“Go ask him. Then call me later and tell me how it goes.” He laughs, and then the line goes dead.

“Well, fuck you very much,” I mumble at the phone. I’m incubating your fucking baby.

“What’s wrong with you?” Paul asks. He turns the TV off and gets up. His long body gets even taller when he stretches his arms up over his head. I can see that little strip of skin below his T-shirt, and for the first time ever, I see that he has Kelly’s name there.

“You have Kelly’s name on your belly,” I say, pointing like an idiot at his stomach. He tugs his shirt down and scowls at me.

“So what?” he asks.

“So, you have Kelly’s name on your belly,” I say again. I force myself to shrug. “That’s all.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Mmm hmm,” he hums. “Who was that on the phone?”

“Just Garrett,” I say. Just fucking Garrett who can’t help me out when I’m desperate. I take a sip of my water.

I don’t know why it upsets me to know that Paul has Kelly’s name inked on his skin. But it kind of does. I’ve seen him without his shirt on before, but I’ve never noticed it until now. She was and always will be a big part of his life because they have a daughter, but it still gets under my skin. I hate that it does, actually.

Paul jerks me from my thoughts when he asks, “And what did you ask Garrett to do for you? And why did he refuse? And why did he call me a stud muffin?” He grins and hitches a hip against counter.

“How did you hear all that?”

He shrugs. “Your volume was really loud.” He stares at me for a minute. I’m pretending that I didn’t hear him. He heaves a sigh and sings, “Fridaaaayy!” He waves his hands in the air wildly. “Earth to Friday.”

“He calls you a stud muffin because you are one.”

A dimple appears in his cheek. “Okay,” he says. “And the rest?” he prompts when I don’t say more. “What did you ask him to do?”

I look around the room. There’s nothing I can use to distract him. “Is Hayley calling you?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes. “She’s with her mom this week. But nice try.”

He’s not going to stop asking. “I asked him to help me with an art project,” I say. I may as well have just spilled my guts out.

“What kind of art project?”

I shrug. “There’s a contest going on at Bounce.” Bounce is a local club, and all the Reed brothers have worked there at one point or another as bouncers, so I know he’s familiar with the place.

“What kind of contest?” he asks.

“A paint contest?” I say. It comes out like a question, even though I didn’t mean for it to.

“The fucking body paint contest?” Paul asks, and he slams his hand down on the counter. “Are you entering that?”

“I already entered. And I had a model for it, but then she backed out at the last minute. Her grandmother died or something. I don’t know why her grandmother couldn’t have waited until after the contest, but I guess I don’t get any say-so.”

He chuckles. “God, you make me laugh,” he says.

I glare at him.

“So your model backed out and you were going to do what? Paint Garrett?”

“Umm, not exactly.” I raise a finger to my lips and start to nibble the nail.

“Then what?” He throws up his hands.