Page 14

14

JAMIE

The guys are grunting and growling with effort as if I had taken them to a CrossFit gym instead of a purse painting class.

I’m one more snarl from Noah away from starting to colour his tattoos in with paint to distract him. The last thing we need tonight is to get arrested because he’s tossed his hideous purse through a window.

I don’t know how I would explain that to my brother’s soon-to-be wife when she came to pick us up in the morning.

“Do you know who you’re giving these to?”

The old woman standing at the front of the room has stopped drifting between us and offering her help and suggestions. After she told Easton that his purse would look better with other colours besides black and he stared at her blankly for three minutes straight, she’s kept her distance.

Her question now is awkward and forced, like she just can’t stand the silence anymore.

“My daughter,” Oliver says, smiling loosely from the alcohol in his system. The paintbrush in his hand is crusted halfway down the handle with blue paint.

Cooper, the literal art professor, has made this project his bitch. He’s shown all of us up and then some. There are patterns and blended colours on both sides of the bag that look like they should belong on a canvas instead.

“My wife. But I have a feeling she’ll insist we keep it for our baby girl.”

“How much did Cooper pay you to take us here instead of the paintball place, Jamie? Look how much better he’s done than all of us,” Maddox complains, furiously dabbing the tip of his brush against the side of his purse.

“I didn’t pay him anything.”

“Can confirm that he didn’t pay,” I note, turning back to my project.

Maybe I went a little overboard with the designs on my purse. I was fully in the zone for at least half an hour. The material of the bag is a soft beige leather, and now it’s covered in little black robber masks and game controllers.

I swirl my paintbrush in the cloudy cup of water and tilt my head at the purse, squinting to see if you can tell that the controllers are controllers and not fat lumps of coal.

“What’s with the black masks and smudges?” Maddox asks while leaning over my shoulder, the vodka from the Jell-O shots we brought in with us strong on his breath.

I whip my head to glare at him and hover the wet tip of the brush an inch from his deep green button-up. “They’re not smudges, asshole.”

“Look like smudges to me,” Noah mutters.

“Your purse is literally smeared with red. Is it supposed to be blood? Are you a full-blown psychopath now or something?” I retort.

He bares his teeth and chomps the air. “Make sure to keep your doors locked at night. You never know what could crawl inside when you’re sleeping.”

“I like the red,” Cooper says, inspecting Noah’s purse.

I roll my eyes at him and take another shot. “Your opinion doesn’t count because you’re still trying to earn forgiveness.”

Noah drops his brush into his cup of water and leans back in his chair, the hint of a smirk appearing. “My forgiveness can’t be bought. It would be pointless for Cooper to try.”

“Exactly,” his brother-in-law states while using a knuckle to push his glasses up his nose.

Maddox goes back to his seat and starts blowing on his purse. “Mine can be bought. Just FYI.”

“What could you possibly need, Money Bags?” Oliver grunts, lips stained blue from the shots he’s taken.

“I love when you call me that. It makes me feel superior.”

“He’s just jealous that you don’t have to run through burning buildings every day for a living,” I say, wiping my hands on the piece of paper towel we were each given.

My fingers are overly sensitive, but then again, I think that’s just all of me. The vodka has gone right to my head the way it has the rest of the guys, minus Noah. He’s as sober as a judge.

Maddox shrugs. “Should have chosen something less life-threatening, then. Like a bus driver or teacher.”

“Teacher was already taken,” Oliver mutters.

I couldn’t imagine my brother as a teacher, regardless. He’d wind up quitting midday at the first hint of a teenage spat in his classroom.

Maddox replies with a quick tease, and I tune them out, attention drifting to my phone. There are no new texts from Blakely. It’s not shocking. It seems to take me reaching out first for us to talk, and I don’t mind putting the effort in. We’re closer than we were a couple of weeks ago, but there’s still a lot to learn about one another. I don’t see that stopping anytime soon.

Me: Do you like purses?

I send the text and leave my phone on the table while drying my paintbrush. Our craft instructor is lingering near the front of the room, so I lift my hand like a student to grab her attention.

She looks to me with suspicion in her gaze. “You don’t have to lift your hand to ask a question. ”

I grin wide. “I figured it was more polite than screaming across the room.”

“Then I suppose a thank you is only fitting.”

“Nah, I don’t need one of those. I do, however, need to know how long these purses will take to dry. We have dinner plans in half an hour.”

“Usually, they dry quite quickly with the paint we use. I do suggest leaving them here overnight and having them shipped out in the morning, or if you wanted to stop back in tomorrow, we could have them ready for you.”

“Are they okay to take tonight if we can’t wait? I’ve got plans of surprising someone with it after dinner.”

I can feel my brother’s attention shift from his conversation with the other guys to me.

The instructor rolls her thin lips for a moment. “Yes. Just beware of the risk of smudging or chipping. You’re planning on carrying these around with you all night?”

I wink at her. “Yeah, why not? Men can use purses too.”

“I’ll leave mine here,” Cooper says.

Oliver agrees with him while everyone else decides to take their purses home with them.

Blakely probably has her fair share of purses, so it’s not like she’ll actually use this one or anything. It’ll sit on a shelf or hide in the back of her closet. The only thing I hope is that she sees it and feels appreciated in some way.

My phone buzzes on the tabletop, and I leap on it before anyone else can.

Bandit: I guess. Why? Do you?

Me: I have a man purse.

Me: The kind that you wear across your chest.

Where else am I supposed to keep my wallet and phone? In the back pocket of my jeans, where they constantly dig into my ass every time I sit down?

Bandit: I should have known you wore a murse.

Me: Be nice to your fiancé.

Bandit: I don’t see a ring on my finger.

My laugh is so loud I’m sure the entire street can hear it. I look up from my phone to find everyone waiting for me, standing by the door with their purses in their hands.

Oliver’s brow is lifted in a silent question that I ignore while facing the woman and asking, “So, where do I pay?”

“Are you sure this is where you want to be dropped off?” the Uber driver asks once he’s pulled off the main road.

Even with my stomach full of the best tacos and salsa money can buy, the tequila from the four margaritas I had hasn’t settled well. Mixed with the amount of vodka I drank during painting, and it’s created quite a volatile mix that has the world spinning around me.

“Yep! Thanks, man.”

My hand slips off the handle when I try to open the door. I attempt it again and manage to hang on tight this time. The SUV is stuffy despite the large size, and I eagerly stumble out onto the sidewalk with my purse in tow.

Oliver insisted I let the party bus drive me home the way it is everyone else, but if I’d agreed, they would have found out about Blakely. It isn’t time for that yet. I can’t risk anyone knowing about this before her brother does.

And that’s something she hasn’t taken care of as of now.

I suck in a deep breath and crinkle my nose at the polluted smell. Garbage and exhaust don’t help a sensitive stomach much more than another few shots would.

Stumbling slightly, I look around the neighbourhood, trying to make note of the way it looks in the dark. I’m an idiot sometimes, including right now. My wallet’s in the purse I’m planning on handing off to Blakely, stocked with cash, all of my bank cards, and ID. I don’t have anything on me that I could use to defend myself other than my sluggish limbs, so really, I’m a prime victim for a robbing once again.

Despite all of that, a cab isn’t my next call.

I put my phone on speaker and let the dialling noise fill the empty street as I sit on the curb and bend over my knees. The purse hangs between them, safeguarded as best I can manage.

“Jamie?”

I’m positive that I’m grinning. I just can’t feel it. “Hey, Bandit.”

“Do you know what time it is?” she asks, voice raspy.

“Yeah. It’s past my bedtime, but I don’t have practice tomorrow, so it’s okay.”

“Should I be worried about you right now?”

“I’m perfectly fine. But if you insist on worrying, I won’t complain,” I tease, the slur in my voice more prominent than I thought.

“Are you drunk right now?”

Seems she caught that.

“It was Ollie’s bachelor party tonight.”

“Right.”

“I got you something.”

A pause on the line. “At a bachelor party? It better not be a stripper’s thong.”

“It’s not a thong.”

“Alright, good?—”

“It’s a pair of briefs, actually.”

“I’m hanging up now. ”

My heart rate speeds up. “I’m kidding! We didn’t even go to a strip club. I’m not really into that kind of thing.”

“You’re not into staring at naked women?”

“Of course I am. Just not like that,” I argue.

“What did you do tonight, then?”

“How about you come to our curb so we can talk properly?” I ask, shutting my eyes for a quick minute.

There’s a slam nearby, and I open my eyes immediately to stare into the dark street. When nothing pops out from behind the dumpster, I slowly drop my shoulders.

“Or better yet, tell me where to go, and I’ll come to you,” I offer.

“Are you actually on our curb right now?” she asks, sounding airy. Like she’s tired.

Is it really that late?

Wait. She said our curb.

I’m pretty sure I’m smiling again. “I wanted to see you and give you this present.”

“Why did you get me a present, Jamieson?”

“Oooooh, Jamieson . So fancy, Blakely,” I tease, my tongue rolling funny.

“Fine. You won.”

Hushed voices sound, and then a door closes near where she is. I turn my body to face the direction she always goes when we part ways and keep my phone cradled in my palm.

Minutes pass as I wait, the line staying silent but the call still there. Like a reminder that while she isn’t saying anything, we’re still connected.

“You’re ridiculous, Pretty Boy,” she shouts from the road, her figure shadowed but obvious.

I stumble to my feet, swaying as I wave and put my phone in my pocket. “You came.”

“You asked me to.”

“I’m happy to see you.”

“Don’t get romantic. We’re not married yet,” she grumbles .

Her sweatshirt and sweatpants are a few sizes too big and hang off her shoulders and bunch at her ankles. She’s hidden her hair beneath a beanie again, and her skin is bare, shiny, almost like she used some kind of cream on it before coming downstairs.

“Is this permission to be romantic once we are married?” I counter.

“You’re like a puppy who hasn’t been walked in a week.”

I lean forward on the balls of my feet, fighting for my balance. “Can I lick your face?”

Her cheeks turn red, so much so that I notice in the dark and with no hair free to hide them. “Oh, my God. No, you can’t. I’ll call you a cab.”

“Not yet. I haven’t given you your present yet.”

A hiccup punches up my throat as I fall back on my heels and wipe the sweat from my forehead. It’s a million degrees outside right now, and I have too many clothes on.

With a huff, I reach behind my head to pull my shirt off, swapping the purse between my hands so I can free my sleeve. When I uncurl my fingers, the shirt falls to the dirty street. The lack of fabric on my torso feels fucking great.

“Why did you do that?” Blakely asks, eyes flying to the sky.

“Was hot.” I lift the painted purse between us. “This is for you.”

Slowly, she lowers her gaze. I flex my abs, but she skips them entirely, only focusing on the bag.

Suddenly, I’m nervous, even with the alcohol in my veins.

“Is that a purse?”

“Yes. We painted them tonight. Look, I put little masks on it for my bandit wife. And these look like splotches, but they’re supposed to be controllers. You know, for the Xbox you tried to steal from me,” I explain, rambling without any hope of slowing my words.

“This is why you asked about the purse thing. ”

“Mmhmm. I wanted you to have it. It’s an engagement present.”

It wasn’t cheap, at least. I don’t know how much you’re supposed to spend on a pre-wedding gift—or if those are even a thing since I didn’t ask any of the married guys tonight—but I must be at least halfway there. If not, I can always get something else . . .

“I didn’t need any gifts,” she mutters, fisting her hands against her stomach.

I swallow. “I know. It’s still for you. I know you might not want to use it, but there’s nobody else I wanted to give it to. Plus, I’ve painted it especially for only you. Too late to change my mind now.”

She studies the purse. Her mouth is twisted as she nips at the inside of her cheek and continues to hesitate to grab the purse. I’m buzzing. Every moment it takes her to move is another I start to grow more antsy.

Finally, when I’m on the verge of taking her hand and forcing it around the handle, she lifts her eyes. They lock on mine, unmoving and warm.

“If you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, you can crash at my place for the night.”

The offer is there and gone so fast I stand frozen in shock, unsure if I heard her correctly.

“What?”

She flattens her mouth and blinks twice. “You can crash on my couch. If that’s something pretty boys do.”

“It’s something this one does.”

I know I seem overeager, and to be honest, I couldn’t care less. I’m not wasting this chance.