want or need while you're here is on her. Her little treat to you.”
I roll my eyes, start pushing the cart again, and mumble, “I can take care of my fucking self.”
“Well apparently she wants to do that job or shall I say have me do that job with her money.”
The correction cocks a grin.
“Enjoy the fact someone wants to spoil you. Do you know how many people would kill to be treated like that?”
“There's more to life than having someone shower you with material bullshit.”
“And just because there is doesn't mean you should undervalue their choice in action.”
Her rebuttal turns my body around, our bodies briefly knocking against one another. Her breath hitches and the instinct to breathe more than air into her beautiful body thrums through me. My voice drops down to a whisper, “How many people undervalue you?”
The change in how rapidly her chest is rising pulls a low growl from me.
Just looking at her like this makes me feel as though Fate wants me to free her from whatever false sense of sexual self she's suffocating in. To put it in less poetic terms. To free the freak within the art geek....
I lean in a little closer, voice still quiet, “How would you like someone to finally appreciate you?”
June's tongue wets her lips as if anticipating my next move.
Oh....I want it to be my next move...
A movement over her shoulder distracts me and she immediately takes the time to step back. “Meant um...Aunt. Yup.” Seeing her back to her fumbling self gets me to grin. “I meant...your aunt probably cares a lot about you and doesn't want you to forget that.”
Now if only her sister who gave birth to me could do that.
“Have you always been that close to her?”
I turn back around and grab a couple sketch pads. “For as long as I can remember.” A set of pencils and pastels also find their way into the cart. “She's always been real big into art. My grandparents say they had to surrender one of the bedrooms to her early in life. She would paint her designs on the walls, windows, floors. As she grew older they began to flood the room with anything and everything they could to channel that love while simultaneously introducing her to the business world of the hotel. Unlike my mother who had a natural knack for hospitality, Aunt Brandi seemed to enjoy what went into the rooms more than taking care of the people in them. When I started to walk, it was in those footsteps. Drove my parents crazy until my grandparents suggested they do for me, what they had done for my aunt. She used to come over without my cousins sometimes and paint the room with me. Throw buckets around and tell me stories about make believe dragons who tried to eat the prince for loving art too much.” I chuckle at the memory. “I've actually got a small dragon on my foot for that reason. It was the second tattoo I got.”
“That's pretty amazing.”
The realization of what just happened tenses my body.
No. It is a big deal. I don't share my story. I listen to others. Okay. One little family memory slip won't kill me, but we need to make sure it's only the one...no matter how good it felt to share.
I glance behind us once more, the feeling of being watched, shifting my body protectively closer to June's. “Sounds like you two have always been really close.”
Her question darts my eyes to hers. “Yeah.”
“How does your mom feel about it?”
“I stopped caring about her opinion after my father died.”
“Well what about before that? Did you have something to bond with her over or did she kinda flock to Brandi's sons since Brandi kinda flocked to you? Like a mix and match scenario.”
Didn't I tell you, we weren't talking about this anymore.
Rather than answer her question, I add my own, “Why so interested in my family history, June Bug? Are you writing a piece for one of the many tabloids who are
I roll my eyes, start pushing the cart again, and mumble, “I can take care of my fucking self.”
“Well apparently she wants to do that job or shall I say have me do that job with her money.”
The correction cocks a grin.
“Enjoy the fact someone wants to spoil you. Do you know how many people would kill to be treated like that?”
“There's more to life than having someone shower you with material bullshit.”
“And just because there is doesn't mean you should undervalue their choice in action.”
Her rebuttal turns my body around, our bodies briefly knocking against one another. Her breath hitches and the instinct to breathe more than air into her beautiful body thrums through me. My voice drops down to a whisper, “How many people undervalue you?”
The change in how rapidly her chest is rising pulls a low growl from me.
Just looking at her like this makes me feel as though Fate wants me to free her from whatever false sense of sexual self she's suffocating in. To put it in less poetic terms. To free the freak within the art geek....
I lean in a little closer, voice still quiet, “How would you like someone to finally appreciate you?”
June's tongue wets her lips as if anticipating my next move.
Oh....I want it to be my next move...
A movement over her shoulder distracts me and she immediately takes the time to step back. “Meant um...Aunt. Yup.” Seeing her back to her fumbling self gets me to grin. “I meant...your aunt probably cares a lot about you and doesn't want you to forget that.”
Now if only her sister who gave birth to me could do that.
“Have you always been that close to her?”
I turn back around and grab a couple sketch pads. “For as long as I can remember.” A set of pencils and pastels also find their way into the cart. “She's always been real big into art. My grandparents say they had to surrender one of the bedrooms to her early in life. She would paint her designs on the walls, windows, floors. As she grew older they began to flood the room with anything and everything they could to channel that love while simultaneously introducing her to the business world of the hotel. Unlike my mother who had a natural knack for hospitality, Aunt Brandi seemed to enjoy what went into the rooms more than taking care of the people in them. When I started to walk, it was in those footsteps. Drove my parents crazy until my grandparents suggested they do for me, what they had done for my aunt. She used to come over without my cousins sometimes and paint the room with me. Throw buckets around and tell me stories about make believe dragons who tried to eat the prince for loving art too much.” I chuckle at the memory. “I've actually got a small dragon on my foot for that reason. It was the second tattoo I got.”
“That's pretty amazing.”
The realization of what just happened tenses my body.
No. It is a big deal. I don't share my story. I listen to others. Okay. One little family memory slip won't kill me, but we need to make sure it's only the one...no matter how good it felt to share.
I glance behind us once more, the feeling of being watched, shifting my body protectively closer to June's. “Sounds like you two have always been really close.”
Her question darts my eyes to hers. “Yeah.”
“How does your mom feel about it?”
“I stopped caring about her opinion after my father died.”
“Well what about before that? Did you have something to bond with her over or did she kinda flock to Brandi's sons since Brandi kinda flocked to you? Like a mix and match scenario.”
Didn't I tell you, we weren't talking about this anymore.
Rather than answer her question, I add my own, “Why so interested in my family history, June Bug? Are you writing a piece for one of the many tabloids who are
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