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“You could circulate the barbecue, you know, tell some stories. I’m sure you could make everybody laugh too.”
He keeps looking at me with those serious eyes. If I was letting my mind dance away from my reason, which I’m not, and I can’t, I’d think he was hiding steamy, romantic thoughts behind the shield of his gruff demeanor.
“Forget I said anything. Your hot dog’s ready.”
I offer the plate, and he drops the hot dog onto it.
“Do you still want me to audition for the job?” I murmur.
It’s difficult to figure out exactly why, but it’s like he’s suddenly even more disinterested in me, like he hates me, almost, all because one of Dad’s friends made me laugh.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he grunts, looking down at the grill again.
“I don’t know…”
This is the part where I walk away. It would be the intelligent thing to do. He’s radiating rage, his body hard, his forearms twitching. It’s as if he’s getting ready for a serious argument.
“I guess you don’t seem too enthusiastic about it,” I go on.
He laughs darkly. “I’m not enthusiastic about much.”
“That’s not true. You always used to laugh and joke and… and seem happy.”
“Yeah, back when I was Uncle Brian. Enjoy your hot dog.”
Okay, so clearly, that’s the end of the conversation. I walk across the yard, trying to figure out what just happened.
“You were wrong,” I tell Kelly, handing her the plate.
“What do you mean?”
“He hates me. I don’t know why, don’t know what I did, but he really hates me. He could hardly look at me. He asked why I laughed at Dad’s friend’s joke, almost like it was bad.”
“Or like he was jealous?” Kelly says, raising her eyebrow.
I groan, shaking my head. “Please, don’t say things like that anymore. I have to go back to how things have been since he left. Bury it and ignore it. It’s the only way.”
“Do you think you can do that if you work together?”
“Maybe I should tell him I’m not interested in the job.”
“But you are interested in it.”
“Yeah, but it’d be like torture, being that close to him. You know what? I’m doing it right now. I’m telling him.”
I rush back to the grill before I can chicken out.
Brian looks up, a strange expression capturing his features. It’s almost like he’s in pain, but there’s that same implication in his eyes, the one I’m probably imagining.
“Uh, hey,” I say.
“Hello again,” he replies, and there it is—the smirk that makes me feel so special, like the only woman who matters. “Surprised you still want to talk to me.”
Can I live like this, analyzing his expressions? Hoping for a smile, falling into an abyss each time he frowns at me?
“I just wanted to say about the job, the audition… I’m not sure I’m the right fit.”
He lays the tongs down, turns to me, shoulders squared, looking somehow more muscular, readier…
For what? For us?
“Why?” he snarls.
“I just think you should find somebody more suited to th—”
He steps forward, bringing his musky scent with him. He seems like he’s going to step up to me but then stops at the last moment, glancing around as though he is only just remembering we’re at a party.
“You’re suited to the goddamn job,” he snaps. “You’re tattooing me, so get practicing. You haven’t got long… six days.”
“I’m ready right now,” I say, my tone as snappish as his.
He wants me—for the job, I remind myself—but still, he wants me. I almost want to run upstairs and write in my notebook crazy declarations about how well-suited we are to each other.
“Oh, really?” His smirk widens, eyes gleaming. “How about tomorrow morning, then?”
Sudden insecurity touches me, but I can’t back down.
“That sounds perfect,” I tell him. “Where should we do it?”
“My studio’s not ready yet,” he replies. “It’ll have to be at my apartment.”
My body tingles. Steamy images fill my mind with fantasies I’ve nurtured for far too long.
“Unless you’ve got a problem with that,” he says huskily.
“Nope, not even a bit. See you later.”
When I return to Kelly, I feel spaced out.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I’m seeing him tomorrow… at his place.”
We’re going to be alone. He’s going to be shirtless. I can hardly breathe.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Brian
“She said she was ready,” I say over the phone, sitting on my balcony garden, breathing in the scent of the flowers as the city comes to life.
“She’s confident,” Roger replies, “but she’s only practiced for a few hours. She was probably trying to impress you.”
I hate that we’re having this conversation, that I’ve got to lie to this man or at least withhold very important details.
“She says she can do it,” I tell him, “but if you don’t think she can, I’ll cancel.”
Roger pauses, giving me time to think about our friendship.
We met at eleven in school. I was the dirty kid with holes in his shoes and a bruise on his ribs from where my old man got carried away… with the bottle and his rage. Back then, Roger was bigger than me, and he helped me up from the dirt when some bullies tried to finish the job my dad started. Since then, we’ve been like brothers, only children who chose their siblings.
