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Yes!I nodded, trying to keep cool, hiding my excitement that I'd gotten her to cave a little more, to bring down those thick walls, and she was going to show me something I suspected she hadn't shown many people.
At exactly nine, she untied her apron and tossed it underneath the cash register.
"See you tomorrow," Addy said, waving to a blonde co-worker. Her eyes locked with mine. "Ready?"
"I'll drive."
"No need," she said. "It's just around the corner." There was nothing around the corner, only the old railroad yard where train cars went to retire.
I followed her for the short walk and slipped through the fence into the restricted train yard area. If we were caught here, we'd be arrested for trespassing.
She pulled out her phone to use the flashlight to light our path. It was pitch black, with only the occasional glow from the streetlights.
"You come out here at night by yourself?" I asked. "Seems a little dangerous." It didn't seem dangerous, it was dangerous. This area was a known gang hangout, and I didn't know much about Addy, but I highly doubted she was in a gang.
"Safer than my house," she muttered, but she must have immediately regretted it. Her head snapped up to me, and her mouth dropped open. "I mean, uh, I..." I didn't know what she meant by that, but she didn't want to talk about it.
"So, what are we doing here?" I changed the subject. I would ask her about it later once she was more comfortable with me.
"Over here," she said, stepping up to an old train car. One side of the car was lit up from the streetlight. It was covered in colorful, artistic street art. "This is my thing." She held her hands out toward the art.
"You did this?" I asked in pure astonishment. "Street art is your thing?" She nodded. "Who are you?" She laughed, shrugging. "Do you do other art?"
"I take a few art classes." She shrugged, her eyes locked on her art. "But this is my outlet." I couldn't help but wonder what demons she had hidden in her closet. She leaned over, tugging on a blue tarp and uncovering spray paint. "Here." She tossed me a can.
"Oh no," I said, looking at the can of white paint. "I'm no artist."
"You don't have to be." She smiled. "You just paint what you feel."
"I think I'll just watch," I said, setting the can down. "If that's okay with you."
She nodded, putting her can on wooden pallets stacked to the side of the train car. She placed her glasses next to her can of paint and pulled out her hair tie; she flipped her hair over, pulled it up into a messy bun, then grabbed the bottom of her oversized sweatshirt and pulled it over her head.
My mouth dropped; I wasn't prepared for what was underneath that sweatshirt. She wore a tight black tank that perfectly hugged every curve of her torso. She was small, smaller than anyone could have guessed from the enormous sweatshirt. Her full, round perky tits were a little more than a handful for even my large hands. Her tight jeans sat low on her hips, hugging the perfect curves of her ass. Why was she hiding all this under that hideous sweatshirt?
I could not wait to see every inch of her naked.
I would tell the guys tomorrow, but there was no way anyone would believe that was what was hiding under that sweatshirt. I considered snapping a picture, but she'd see the flash in this darkness.
She stretched her body up, slashing a yellow strip across an empty spot on the train car. Her shirt hiked up with her movement, revealing smooth skin, and I was pretty sure I saw evidence of a tattoo.
Tattoos, street art, trespassing, who was this girl?
Definitely not who I thought she was.
I spent the next hour watching her do her thing, and by her thing, I meant she worked on her street art while I secretly checked her out.
"We should probably get out of here," she said, organizing her spray paints and tossing the tarp over them.
"I'll give you a ride," I said, watching her grab her sweatshirt and situate it to pull over her head. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to burn that fucking sweatshirt, but for some reason, it was a security blanket of some kind for her, and I couldn't take that away from her. Not yet, anyway.
"No thanks," she said once the sweatshirt was over her head. "I'll walk."
"It's not a big deal," I said, following her out of the train yard. "Plus, it's dark and late."
"I walk home all the time," she reassured me.
"Addy," I snapped, gripping her wrist and pulling her to face me. "You're not walking home by yourself tonight. I can either walk with you or give you a ride home. Your choice."
