This had me legitimately confused. The fuck did eyelashes have to do with anything? “Again, I don’t––”
“So unfair!” Her arms flailed as she paced in circles.
This was too much fun. Even more than I’d hoped for and vowed to redouble my efforts to make her lose her cool more often. I was trying to sort out why she took issue with my eyelashes when she started ranting again.
“I’ve worked my ass off my entire life for this and I won’t allow you to spoil it for me!” She was really steaming now. The new Mrs. Blackstone went savage when she was angry. “I’m not one of your groupies, Scott. I’m not a clown! I’m a first-rate negotiator and a damn good lawyer!”
A clown? The last thing I would ever consider Sydney was a clown. Reminding me she was a bloodsucking lawyer, however, did put a dent in my amusement.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Apparently, I have to!” She stopped pacing, stared. “You know what, I’m done being patient with you.”
As I watched her take off down the road at a hard run, her blonde ponytail swinging back and forth, a feeling of helplessness wiped away my amusement. She might very well be the next CEO of Blackstone, but out here I was the expert. It was my job to keep her safe and I’d be damned if she was going to get herself hurt on my watch. It needed to be made crystal clear to her that I was in charge, and I was just the guy to do it. Jumping back in the truck, I tore down the street and cut her off.
“Go away, Scott.” A moment later she was in my arms. “Have you lost your––ahhhh!! Put me down!” Hauling her over my shoulder like a sack of feed, I walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and gingerly placed her on the bench seat.
“I wasn’t kidding.” I wedged my body between the passenger door and the open road to block her escape while she glared at me. “If something happens to you out here, no one is coming to the rescue.” And I meant it. Mother Nature was fierce and had to be respected. A cavalier attitude out here could get you killed.
She straightened in her seat and stared out the windshield, face smooth, the subtle tightness of her jaw the only indication of her temper tantrum. “Take me back to the cabin please.”
She was back to doing her favorite impersonation of an ice sculpture. So be it. I slammed her door shut and climbed behind the wheel of the pickup. I was in the right. I knew I was, and yet I couldn’t shake this feeling that once again I was being framed as the bad guy. Still, amends needed to be made for my behavior lately.
“Don’t run at dusk. Bears are more active then, and with the warm spell we’re having, more are hibernating late. Late morning is safer. Don’t run without your phone, keep the music on low volume, and have bear spray with you at all times.”
I reached over her legs, popped open the glove compartment, and my arm inadvertently brushed the top of Sydney’s thigh. She exhaled sharply and moved her legs aside. Not fast enough for me to miss the reaction though. Briefly, I entertained the possibility that she wasn’t as immune to me as she’d led me to believe.
“You’re crowding me.”
Maybe not. Wishful thinking. The ice princess was about as likely to be sexually attracted to me as I was to Bigfoot Jojo––one of the ranch hands. Jojo was called Bigfoot not for his size but rather his abundance of body hair. So yeah, zero chance.
“Misty’s just a friend,” I began. It was the best I could do considering I’d never had a wife before…or a girlfriend in nearly two decades. She started humming a vaguely familiar song. “What song is that?”
“Send In The Clowns and don’t insult my intelligence.”
“It’s the truth.”
“You sure were enjoying yourself.”
“Sometimes I enjoy the company of the women I’ve slept with––past tense.”
Fuck. I shouldn’t have said it. Not like that, anyway. Like I was trying to stick it to her. I knew it was wrong the moment the words left my lips, and yet I was incapable of controlling myself around her. The colder and more controlled she became the more I lost it.
Grabbing the spray can, I handed it to her. “Don’t get eaten.”
Why did that sound lewd?
This woman had a knack for throwing me off my game. I hardly recognized myself these days. When I left New York, I vowed to make changes, to be a better person. A better man. And yet lately I was routinely acting like a dick. I glanced sideways at my wife. With any luck, she hadn’t noticed, probably didn’t care either. She was in it for a job.
Slamming the glove box shut, I made a U-turn onto the deserted road.
“What made you like this, Scott? You were never bitter before.”
I kept my eyes on the road ahead. There went that theory.
Sydney
“What the hell is this?”
I glanced up from the Greek yogurt I was eating on the couch, my furry compadres seated next to me, and innocently tilted my head as I inspected the framed painting Scott was holding up. Tugging my rainbow-colored knitted trapper hat lower, I sighed. If it wasn’t for the hat and fingerless gloves Miller had sent me as a wedding gift (cheeky bastard) my teeth would’ve been chattering.
“I asked you a question. What happened to my bedroom?”
Revenge decorating. It’s a thing. Look it up.
Basically, I was fed up and not going to take it anymore. He’d humiliated me not once (with the scene at the Handle Bar) but twice (by picking me up like I was one of his chattels and throwing me in the truck). Enough was enough. His nightly escapades. The cold. The solitude. I was close to cracking. Something had to be done. And so I did it. He wanted to get under my skin? I could get under his skin too. His skin would become my favorite thing to wear and I didn’t mean it in a dirty way.
“I thought I’d spruce up the place a little.” I licked the spoon. A lot of eyelash batting.
To call his expression bewildered would be doing the look on his face a disservice. For a moment there, I thought his head was going to explode. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from out-and-out guffawing.
Thank you, Amazon Prime.
“You thought hanging these hideous paintings of clowns in my bedroom would qualify as ‘sprucing up the place’? Are you trying to give me nightmares?”
My eyes fell on his bare chest, his jeans hanging low. Sigh. His body was playing tricks on my body. Despite the cold, I gushed like broken pipes. I needed to feel the touch of another human body, stat. Before I really lost it.
“Well?”
He’d waltzed in a little after 1 a.m. and did a double-take when he saw me sitting on the couch––wide awake. I’d made it a point to wait up because I had to see his reaction for myself.
“You don’t like them? They’re originals…painted by orphaned children in Chile.”
Lie. They were embellished prints from China. They were butt ugly and spooky as shit. I think one of the clowns may have had fangs.
“Have you seen the movie It, Sydney? Because I have. No, I don’t like them. I don’t like clowns.”
“Couldafooledme.”
“What?”
“I said, I’m sorry. I thought the room looked a little…drab and needed a little, you know, joy.”