This Is Me (Cover Girlfriend, Book Three)

Episode Fourteen

Carlos

I’m so fucking tired of waiting.

Terri was the one that fucking called me up.  Told me to see her in a few days.  Told me the painting was drying.

But when I show up is she there?

NO!

She’s fucking hiding out with Ali.  And where’s Jonathon?  Who the fuck knows.

Two headstrong women left to their own devices.

I.  Do.  Not.  Like.  It.

However.  There’s nothing I can do about it, so I wait.  (Such an ugly fucking word.)  Sing, because when Disney’s playing, I can’t not.  Not only is it how I trained myself to keep my voice in tune, it soothes me.  Yet.  It does nothing to kill that simmering anger.

So when the movie’s credits begin to roll?  I turn to both women; don’t say a fucking word.  They know why I’m here; what I came for.

Ali sits in a pair of short, cut-off jeans that barely cover her ass, and a long, over-large, grey sweater that hangs past them on one side.  Terri wears a loose, dark green sweater and black sweats.  Hair done up in a 'messy bun’ that matches Ali’s.  Neither wear make-up.

Both still incredibly beautiful women.

Terri fiddles with her fingers in her lap, refusing to meet my gaze.

“I don’t know if I want to use this piece.  I think I may have to start over.”

Ali shakes her head; curls her arm around Terri’s shoulder, “None of that.  It’s perfect.  I told you that.”  She raises her eyes to meet mine, “It really is, C.R..  I think you’re going to want to keep it for yourself.”

I don’t trust that wicked twist of her smile; twinkle in her eyes.

Try to keep my voice calm, “I came here to see it.”  But it sounds cold and hard even to my own ears.  I’m out of patience.

A sigh from Terri even as she pushes herself to her feet, “I guess there’s no time like the present.”  Hips sway as she walks to the door, down the hallway, and into that first apartment.

I follow like a dog at her heels; move around her.

And I’m paralyzed when I see his face; breath caught in my lungs.  Perfectly done.  Those angry eyes, full of betrayal and hatred so intense I can feel that aura of his leaching through the canvas and oils.  Hair pulled back in that perfect bun.  Full, rich beard and tanned skin.  Blood red suit and tie against a black shirt; arms crossed, causing hidden muscles to bulge against the fabric containing them.  Seated behind my office desk, in a setting I can only assume is his home office.  A place she would know better than me.  Every vibe?

Mob Boss.

But this?  Isn’t what kills me.

In the background, just behind his shoulder, is a painting on that log cabin wall.  Of a gallery; a woman and a man.  We aren’t kissing, or even mashing faces.  She’s very clearly smacking my face; forcing my gaze to the man behind my desk.  But it’s not shock that’s witnessed there.  It’s the longing that eats at me.

I exhale on a gasp; don’t realize I’m crying.

“Told you it’s perfect,” Ali whispers; giggles.

She’s right.

I don’t want to let my father near this.  Want, instead, to keep it all to myself.  To be able to gaze at it daily; a reminder of what I’ve done.