Girl By Any Other Name Read online

  I was a man of my word, but I wasn’t a fool. She looked too damn delicious for me to let her walk in there without some armor.

  I got us some wine, and we walked through the exhibit. It was very modern art, most of the pieces abstract. There were several artists on display, and the theme of this event was the female form. It appeared as if the artists were taking something that was beautiful on its own and trying to make it look conceptual, boarding on the erotic…to the point where it was just a cloaked cliché.

  Rome stopped to chat with us when we reached Sylvie’s painting. “You look amazing, Sophie. That’s a very nice dress.” Nice? It was damn sexy as hell, and I didn’t appreciate his eyes lingering on the swell of her breasts. At least she kept my jacket on. “Do you like the finished product?” he asked only her. He was wearing a form-fitting paisley shirt and jeans so tight I winced in sympathy pain.

  “It turned out well,” she said.

  I hesitated before looking at Rome’s painting. I needed to compose myself. I knew it would piss me off to no end to see her naked body on display.

  “What do you think, Cal?” she asked.

  I blinked in confusion, perplexed by the large canvas. Abstract was right. It looked more like a landscape scene than the gorgeous girl beside me. Yeah, a woman’s body was all peaks, valleys and curves, and that was literally what Rome had painted without any clear perspective. I recognized her knee, her left cheek, her spine and maybe the side of a breast, all of them out of order. The artwork resembled a mountain range more than the beautiful girl beside me. Well, at least I didn’t have to worry about anyone else seeing this.

  “How many hours did she pose for you, Rome?” I asked him.

  “About six in total,” he replied, not taking his eyes off Sylvie.

  “It’s very…interpretational, isn’t it?”

  He waved his hand, his expression annoyed. “It’s modern abstract, so yes. I wanted to expose the beauty of every feature.”

  “Interesting.”

  He turned his attention back to Sylvie. “I have to walk around, but have a drink with me later, okay?”

  “’Kay. Congratulations, Rome.” She smiled at him, and somehow this jackass took that as a sign to hug her. My hands twitched, but I let it pass. She was a beautiful girl, and if I went around punching every guy who developed a crush on her, I’d be a busy man.

  I stared back at the painting, putting my arm around her.

  “So, what do you really think?” she asked.

  “Six hours, eh?”

  “Yeah, it would have been less, but he kept getting the lines wrong and had to start over a few times.”

  I tried and failed to tame the grin, tugging at the corners of my mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” she demanded. I choked on a laugh. She narrowed her eyes at me. “What?”

  I couldn’t control it anymore. I full-out laughed so hard people turned to look.

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing.” She narrowed her eyes, her lower lip jutting out in defiance.

  I bent to whisper in her ear so we wouldn’t be overheard. “Baby, isn’t it obvious to you? That guy just wanted an excuse to see you naked.”

  She released my hold. “That’s not true. This is his interpretation of me. Jesus, Tex, that’s petty of you to say.” She hissed the words in my direction, managing to keep her voice to a very low level, although she was shaking mad.

  I pulled her back against my chest and put my arms around her so she could clearly see the painting while I explained myself. “You’re the artist, and you know much more about this than me, but I am a hot-blooded species of the male variety. I know the male head—both of them—much better than you. Right now, I’m struggling whether to kick Florence’s ass or pat him on the back.”

  “His name is Rome,” she replied, trying to keep her composure.

  “Whatever. I’m not trying to be a jerk here. In fact, I think the idea was fucking genius as hell and very creative, but then again, he is a creative type. I’m just being honest with you when I tell you that this”—I gestured to the painting—“has no resemblance to this.” I ran my hand down her neck, over the swell of her breasts, and down her waist. We were in a corner and the way I covered her body, we wouldn’t be seen. Not that I cared. Her breath hitched with my touch. “I realize I’m way too possessive of you, but it’s not something I’ll apologize for because I love you so damn much. And the fact is you are too free-spirited and look at the good in all people. It’s the thing I’ve always loved most about you and the very thing that scares the hell out of me, too. Do you understand?”

  Her body melted into mine. I knew from the way she shivered it wasn’t from the cold. “Rome wouldn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. He wouldn’t try anything.”

  “Did you ever date him?”

  “Is this your way of asking if he was my first?” She knew me so well.

  “Maybe.”

  “No. I told you we’re just colleagues and friends.”

  I was hoping for more information, like maybe who the first guy was. The fact that it bothered me made me a douche bag on some level, so I kept it to myself. But my curiosity was generated from the way her eyes softened when she talked about the other man, as if he was very special to her.

  “I’ll let it go, especially since you agreed not to pose again. You can’t blame me for asking though, since you’ve always liked artistic types. Isn’t that why you went out with Tommy Castings in high school?”

  She cocked her head, grinning at me. “I can understand why you might be upset about Rome, but you never had a reason to be pissed about Tommy Castings.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s gay.”

  I released her and spun her around. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew I was crazy jealous.”

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell. It was his, and he trusted me with it, but I can tell you now since he’s out of the closet.”

  I pressed my mouth in a grim line, trying to make sense of what she’d said. How did she know that?

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “I haven’t talked to him. I stalked him, too, just like I stalked you and Mandy.”

  I chided myself for thinking Sylvie would have revealed herself to someone else. I relaxed and broke into a smile, remembering my interactions with Tommy. “I wish I would have known. I wasn’t very nice to him.”

  She turned toward me with a sweet smile. “He said I could tell you if it helped, but I didn’t want to reveal his secret.”

  The conversation on the bench made so much more sense now. I’d always thought Tommy had a special bond with the girl I loved. In the beginning, it had made me jealous, but in the end, I’d actually felt a kinship with him because of it. She’d tied us together.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes to brush her fingers through my hair.

  “Why would he agree to that? Prairie isn’t exactly the most open community. It’s better now, but back then…” I shook my head, imagining how the boys in my class would have made his life miserable if they knew.

  “He said you wouldn’t tell. You were different from the other boys, Cal. An old soul. Undeniably devoted and generous like Mr. Darcy.”

  I quirked my eyebrow. “Mr. Darcy?”

  She fiddled with my tie. “Yes, you know, from— “

  “Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.”

  “You’ve read it?” she asked in surprise.

  “Do you forget what I do for a living?”

  She laughed, leading me by my tie to a vacant wall. “I guess I did.”

  “Some would argue he was selfish.”

  “I would debate that.”

  “If you’re going to compare me to a character in a book, I’d prefer someone a little more badass.”

  “Like who?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know…Jack Reacher or Jack Ryan maybe. Any Jack.”


  “Maybe you’re a bit of both. A roguish gentleman who, as it turns out, cannot appreciate fine art.”

  I bowed slightly, taking her hand and kissing it. “So, this is your opinion of me. Thank you for explaining so fully. Perhaps these offences might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honesty.”

  She cupped her hand over her mouth. “Did you just quote Mr. Darcy?”

  “I did. You see, I can appreciate art, but I prefer the written word to the visual experience. So please allow me to paint a picture for you.” I cleared my throat. “My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever." I finished the Darcy monologue with another bow.

  “Holly hell, that was hot.”

  I grinned at her, backing her against the wall, a hand on either side of her head, in our own little world. “That turned you on, my love? Let me assure you it’s just the tip of my knowledge base. Would you prefer poetry? Maybe Keats, Wordsworth, or Blake? How about the female perspective? Dickinson perhaps? You pick. I will sonnet you all night. And yes, I use the term as a verb because the way I do it, it is an action.”

  She waved her hand in front of her face, fanning herself. “All night?” She arched her brow, a sexy smile curling her lips.

  “I have plenty of material. I hold a master’s in literature, and words are my medium of choice.”

  “I think you may have just mastered me, sir.”

  I jerked my head toward the exit. “Shall we take our leave?”

  “Yes,” she whispered with a few more syllables than the single word required.

  We walked toward the exit. I took one more look around at all the various forms of femininity around me. “Have you posed for any other paintings here?”

  “This was my first and last foray as a model.”

  “Good.”

  “Relax, it could have been so much worse.”

  “Worse than having a guy staring at your goddess-like body for six hours?”

  She looked away shyly, a rose blush creeping up her cheek. “I’ll show you.” She took my hand and led me to the far side of the room where we hadn’t been before.

  A voluptuous blond woman stood there next to what looked like a dressmaker’s frame, but more detailed. It had a myriad of gold and silver wires forming the female upper body. “Caleb Tanner, meet Jenna Stewart, the model for this sculpture.”

  I shook her hand.

  “And this is Devon Bradley, the sculptor.”

  He was a short man with tuffs of silver hair. He leaned on a cane and wore dark sunglasses. It took me a second to realize he was blind.

  “Nice to meet you both.” I stared at the woven wire form, wondering how he was able to create all the bends and curves from such an unyielding medium.

  “I have to feel the model, and then I mold the wire to her shape,” Devon explained. I was glad I hadn’t asked since I had no idea how to appropriately phrase the question. And I sure as shit was relieved Sylvie hadn’t posed for this one. I couldn’t deal with another guy looking at her naked, let alone needing to touch her while he was.

  “Would you like to feel me up?” Jenna asked.

  I almost choked on my wine. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s an interactive display. You can touch the art. If you close your eyes and see it with your hands, you’ll understand what a truly remarkable artist Devon is.”

  I stood dumbfounded, turning back to Sylvie. She smiled reassuringly. “Go ahead, Tex. This is the only time I’ll give you permission to put your hands on another woman.”

  “Yes, please. I’d love to get your take, Cal,” Devon said, hitting the pedestal with his cane.

  I moved hesitantly, following Jenna’s directions. I closed my eyes and let my hands roam over the structure. I had no idea how this man did it, but he made the wire feel smooth and pliable. I moved up the torso but paused, knowing what was next.

  “The breasts are the best part,” Jenna interjected.

  “I may be a layman, but this appears to be a very dangerous form of art. What do you call this, Devon? The ex-boyfriend maker?” I asked, trying not to grin. They all laughed. “Are you trying to test me, sweetheart?”

  “I just wanted you to gain an appreciation for this kind of art since it seemed to confuse you before.”

  I moved my hands up, lingering over the hefty hills. Although I didn’t see them clearly with all the wire, I definitely felt the nipples protrude. Shit. Devon Bradley was a damn fine artist.

  I opened my eyes and dropped my hands. “Very impressive.”

  “Thank you,” both Devon and Jenna answered at once.

  We bid our good-byes, stopping only to find Rome so Sylvie could tell him we were leaving.

  As we made our way out, I noticed several men feeling the statue of Jenna.

  “You are so right,” I said.

  “About what?”

  “Rome’s painting wasn’t bad. There would have been some serious fights in this joint if I had to watch other men grope you.”

  “Good thing I only like you groping me.”

  “Well, let’s get home so we can get on with that. I would like to paint you too, you know.”

  “You want to paint?” she asked in surprise.

  “Yes, very much so, but you won’t be my model. You’ll be my canvas. And I’ll be using my tongue and fingers in place of a brush.”

  “I think that would be some art we can both appreciate.”

  Chapter 25

  Present day

  “You seriously do this every Saturday?” she asked, struggling to maintain a clear voice.

  “Every day usually, but I run an extra mile on Saturday. I’ve been skipping them though because a certain someone’s been preoccupying me.”

  She had agreed to run with me, but she wasn’t too keen after the first three miles. I was doing my best to take it easy, but we ended up speed-walking more than running most of the way.

  “Can we go home now?”

  I laughed. “The WC is only another mile. If you can make it, I’ll buy you a coffee and we can hang out there for a while.” I handed her the bottle of water, and she chugged it. I watched as a droplet fell from her lips and rolled down her sweat-soaked glistening skin, descending slowly right into the center of the V in her snug T-shirt. Damn…so hot.

  “Can we at least walk?”

  “I told you we could walk a mile if we ran the next. This is our running mile so let’s make it count. I’ll race you.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope, I’ll even give you a head start.” I smacked her on the ass and stopped walking. “Go on.” When she narrowed her eyes at me, I chuckled. “Sorry, are you too delicate for this? Should we stop?” That would get her going. She never could turn down a challenge.

  “Eat dust, Caleb Tanner.” She sped off.

  I stared for a while, watching her graceful legs building momentum. I started to jog, careful not to pass her.

  “Are you letting me win?” she asked as we neared our destination.

  “I’m just enjoying the view,” I said with a grin.

  She laughed, turning her head back to give me a smug look. “It doesn’t matter if you let me, I’m still taking the win, Tex.”

  That did it. I caught up real fast because, the truth was, it wasn’t in my DNA to let anyone win, not even her. We slowed once we reached the WC.

  “I won,” I said, taking the water bottle from her. I poured it over my head. It was a rare sunny day in Portland.

  “I think it was a tie.”

  I nodded, deciding to pick my battles. “Our usual table?” I asked, gesturing to the overstuffed chairs we sat in a few weeks before. We hadn’t been back here since that day.

  She frowned. “What a different conversation that was. It seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “It wasn’t so long. Go save our seats, and I’ll get our drinks.” I got a few bottled waters so we
wouldn’t get dehydrated along with the coffee.

  Sylvie was hardcore and drank her coffee black. I added sugar to mine. I took the seat opposite her. She sipped her coffee, staring at me. Actually, she was ogling my legs.

  “Like what you see?” I leaned forward, dropping my voice. “Which one do you like the best? The right? The left?” I winked at her. “Or is it the middle?”

  She smiled at my joke, but it didn’t match the sullen look in her eyes. “May I see your leg, please?”

  I thought it was an odd request, but I lifted my leg. She shook her head. “The other one.”

  My smile disappeared. I lifted the other leg with less ease. She took my foot and placed it in her lap, staring at the broken skin that had never healed.

  “It’s really not that bad, sweetheart. The fact I just ran six miles should convince you of that.”

  She massaged the area.

  I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. “As good as that feels, I think you should probably quit groping me in public.”

  “How often does it hurt?”

  “Like I said, not that often. Besides, it’s a pretty badass scar, isn’t it? It makes me look tough, and no one messes with me. You don’t see an English Lit teacher with a bullet wound every day.” I removed my foot from her lap.

  “Don’t joke.”

  “I’m not.” I pointed to my leg. “This sucks. It hurts sometimes, but I’ve learned how to push through the pain. Of all the things that happened that night, this was the least of my worries. I’m a survivor and so are you.”

  She offered up a somber smile. “You’re right.”

  Someone passed by the window and waved to Sylvie. She mouthed a hello to them.

  “How do you know so many people here?” I wanted to desperately change the subject. She was getting that sad, faraway look in her eyes.

  “I used to draw caricatures on the weekends for extra money until they got stricter on the street artists.”

  “Damn, Sylvie, how many jobs did you have?”

  She laughed. “Actually, that money went to buy art supplies. My boss let me have the class for free, but he said I’d have to pay for the supplies.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. She amazed me at every turn. “Life has fucked you over every chance it got. How are you so kind, despite everything?”