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“Well, at work, he chewed me out in front of the whole office. Keith has a bit of a drinking problem, and sometimes, he’d come into the office late at night with a few of his friends, showing off his new business.”
“What is the business?” I ask.
“A digital art service. People pay artists to draw specific pictures for commercial or personal use. Honestly, I don’t think it will last much longer. It’s more of a vanity project funded by his wealthy dad, but I didn’t care. I was just glad to work in art.”
I nod, waiting for her to go on.
“So that was why I left. He screamed at me in front of everybody, saying I’d moved one of his folders, but I hadn’t. He knew I hadn’t. He just resented me for working so much, weirdly.”
“What’s the business called?” I ask, keeping my voice steady and not erupting into a howl.
“Never Say Never Art,” Evie says, then offers the most endearing laugh. “It’s a terrible name. I think so, at least.”
“It’s not the best,” I say with a smirk, tattooing the business’s name into my mind. I may have to pay Keith a visit.
“And just now?” I ask. “What did he do?”
“This city… I swear, it’s the biggest and smallest place in the world. Walking down the street, I heard this laugh, real mean, real bullying. I turn, and there he is.”
“And?”
“Seriously, Brian, I don’t want to discuss this.”
“And?”
“So it doesn’t matter what I want?” she says sassily, her cheeks blushing an even deeper shade of red.
“Not if it involves protecting an asshole who made you cry, no.”
“He was with a friend, and he said…”
I lean forward, looking into her eyes, hoping she can tell I’m here for her. I hope she can read my protective instincts without me saying it because if I do that, it will lead to me saying so much else. Betrayal will crash into betrayal, and I won’t be able to stop.
“He called me fat,” she says.
I’ve heard the phrase before. I see red, but now, I know what it means.
CHAPTER
SIX
Evie
I don’t get this response at all. Brian’s on his feet, walking over to the window with his back to me. He’s wearing a tank that shows his big rocky shoulder muscles, his tattooed arms, and every inch of him bulging like he’s going to trash the place.
When he turns to me, he looks like an animal who’s just escaped from his cage, his eyes wild. He walks over to the sofa, stares, and bites down as if he’s trying to trap whatever words he’s about to say.
“He’s wrong,” Brian snarls. “You’re not fat. That isn’t the word I’d use to describe you at all.”
A warm balm washes over me at his words despite the stress still clinging.
“No?” I ask innocently.
“Curvy,” he snaps. “Voluptuous. Fucking juicy in all the right places. That’s how I’d describe you, Evie. Not fat, never that, and to use it as an insult… to hurt you… Fuck!”
He spins and starts pacing. His fists clench so hard his knuckles turn bone white. I’m stunned, locked to the couch, as I replay his words, wondering if I heard him right. All positive descriptions of my size, but are they sexual? Is it weird for Uncle Brian to talk about my body like that? Is he just being nice? I wish I had more experience in times like these, some way of knowing what’s normal and what’s not.
“It’s fine,” I say.
He returns to me again, full of frantic energy. Then he kneels so that we’re at eye level. I gasp when he lays his hand on my leg, just above my knee, and squeezes. Not hard, but not soft either. He sinks his powerful touch into my thigh, sensations spawning instantly, tingles dancing up and down, teasing at my sex.
“This leg isn’t fat,” he says. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Never doubt that.”
Still, I’m wondering if this could be somehow nonsexual, but when he moves his hand higher, I know something magical and impossible is happening.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
In time with the motion of his hand, he leans over, guiding his lips toward mine. I try to imagine Dad’s face if he knew this was happening, but instead, a vignette from my notebook comes to mind, row upon row, declaring that one day I’ll kiss my crush. I’ll do more than kiss him.
“Don’t talk,” he says. “Don’t question it.”
In the brief moments before it happens, before my wildest dreams come true, I try to read the tone in his voice. It’s almost like desperation, as though he needs me not to question this. Otherwise, it will highlight how wrong it is.
Our lips finally make contact. He kisses me hard, groaning as his hand slides higher up my leg, getting so close to my core that everything gets warm and fuzzy, and my belly gets tingly in anticipation. Our mouths open.
