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I reached for Fiona’s hips and she jumped.
She looked back at me as I climbed onto the stool behind her.
There wasn’t much room for the two of us.
Which meant we were tight together.
I kept my left hand around her body, somewhere near her stomach and ribs.
Holding her in place.
The painting she was working on really wasn’t a painting at all.
Just a barrage of colors.
“How important is this to you?” I asked into her ear. “This painting.”
“I’m just messing around,” she said.
“Good.”
I took the paintbrush from her hand.
My heart actually picked up its pace a little.
Not because I had Fiona between my legs. Not because to anyone else this probably looked slightly romantic.
It had to do with the stupid paintbrush.
And all that crazy bad stuff that happened all those years ago.
The night I almost lost Fiona.
Then the night I almost lost Remi…even though I did end up losing him anyway.
I dipped the paintbrush into some dark purple paint.
Then I touched the paintbrush to the canvas.
Fiona didn’t say a word.
That horrible pop music still blared throughout the condo.
I wasn’t in any position or mindset to actually paint a picture for her.
But I did have something for her to see.
The paintbrush went to work…
SORRY FOR BEING AN ASSHOLE
I finished the bottom leg of theEinASSHOLEand tossed the paintbrush down.
That’s all I had to say at the moment.
Fiona looked at the canvas, then at me.
Then she reached for her phone.
