46. Paint And Sip…Well Kind Of

Chapter 46

Paint And Sip…Well Kind Of

Megan

I step out of a long and luxurious shower to my cell phone, vibrating along the marble countertop. When the face of the caller flashes on the screen, my lips curve into a smile.

“Hey, baby daddy.”

“Why are you naked at seven in the evening?” he practically growls.

“I was just grabbing a towel. One second.”

“You’re not answering me, Megan.”

“I don’t understand the question,” I tease.

“It’s not bedtime.”

I can see him walking through the main room of the club and almost chuckle at the reactions of the servers preparing for opening. Their backs stiffen, and the looks on their faces grow very serious as if Hunter is some sort of military commander. It’s hysterical. Little do they know how sweet he is…or rather, he can be.

“Your age is showing,” I giggle.

He glares hard at me.

“It’s girls night–remember? That’s why Lena isn’t coming in tonight or me.”

“Right,” his face softens. “I forgot.”

“Totally understandable; you’ve got a lot going on.”

He rakes a hand down his face clearly affected that he actually forgot about my plans. Hunter strives to have control over all of the moving parts in his life and part of control is remembering the important things. In his world, forgetting important pieces of information can lead to disaster, although forgetting that I’m hanging with the same women I always do to paint is not a life-or-death error.

“This is the whole paint and sip night, right?”

The girls and I have planned a relaxing night of painting, complete with wine and dinner. I will be having apple juice with my dinner, but it’s still going to be a great time.

“Yep, I’m going to teach Naomi and Lena how to paint a high heel.”

“A shoe?”

“Yep.”

“Have you been working on your commission piece?”

“Of course I have, Paw-Paw,” I tease, knowing he hates it whenever I give him a name that reminds him of his age.

“Megan–”

“Calm yourself. This is just a night for me not to have to worry about work, about you, or about my piece for the gallery. I just want to hang out with my girls and kick back.”

“Right, of course, and I want you to do that as often as you want to. If it were up to me–”

“I wouldn’t work at the Blue Whiskey anymore. I know, Hunter, you’re like a broken record. But I think you and I both know that there’s no completely safe place. I’ll be just as safe at work as I am here tonight. The security dudes Vaughn hired are scared shitless of you.”

That elicits a small smile from him, the one I find so sexy.

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, well, have a good time tonight. I’ll be home at the usual time.”

“Kiss me when you get home.”

“Right between your legs.”

I chuckle as my nipples pebble at the mere thought of Hunter’s mouth in between my legs. These pregnancy hormones are wild.

“I can’t wait.”

I set up the large television to mirror what’s displayed on my laptop. That way, Naomi and Lena can see exactly what they should be painting.

“Is that a Louboutin?” Lena asks about the image we’re painting tonight.

“Yes, Naomi’s favorite shoe brand.” I grin.

“Aren’t they expensive?”

“Yes, ma’am, they’re high as hell but worth every penny,” Naomi replies, taking a sip of her pinot noir in a long-stemmed, Olivia Pope kind of wine glass.

“How can you afford them?” Lena asks.

It’s a reasonable question.

A few months ago, neither one of us could barely afford dinner, and now we live in one of the most expensive high-rise apartment buildings in downtown Los Angeles. But now that I have new information about Naomi’s family, some of her expensive tastes make more sense.

“I, um– I can’t.”

“Then how do you know they’re worth every penny?”

“I own one pair.”

“Oh, really? Can I try them on? I think we may be the same size,” Lena says animatedly.

“They’re not here in LA. I had to leave them at my old house. I had to pack light when I moved out here.”

“Oh, okay,” Lena sounds disappointed, and I think of the conversation Hunter and I had last week.

“If you really want to try them or even buy a pair, you can, Lena. That’s why Hunter gave you the credit card,” I tell her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t waste his money on frivolous things like expensive shoes. It’s enough that I live in this building. My foster brother would shit his pants.”

Lena now lives with Naomi in my old apartment downstairs now that I’ve moved in with Hunter.

“You don’t feel guilty about your new life, do you, Lena?” Naomi probes. “It’s not like you stole it from someone else. This is supposed to be your life. You were always Hunter’s little sister.”

“Maybe if I grew up as his sister, I’d be a different person and enjoy all of this wealth, but I didn’t. It’s very new for me.”

“You’ll make the adjustment,” I tell her matter of factly because she’s going to have to. Hunter won’t rest until Lena accepts her place in his life. He just won’t. “It’ll just take some time.”

“And who’s this foster brother you’re talking about? You never mentioned him before.”

Lena offers up a small grin as she pops a small piece of bread spread with brie cheese in her mouth.

“He was in my last group home.”

“What’s the story with him?”

“No story–he was just the only kid in the house who ever looked out for me. I think I reminded him of someone from his old life.”

Naomi and I give each other a knowing glance. With everything that’s been going on around here, neither one of us has taken the time to talk to Lena about her past. We have no idea what she’s been through or any clue as to what scars she may be carrying around.

“Do you still keep in contact with him?” I ask, knowing that she’s been completely on her own for at least a year. “Does he know that you’ve found your biological brother?”

Her eyes flash open.

“Don’t tell Hunter,” she rushes to say.

“I won’t,” I quickly reassure her. “But why not?”

“Leo has his own life.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” I say.

“I get it,” Naomi interjects. “You don’t want Mr. Dark and Stormy all in your brother’s business.”

“Hunter is her brother,” I say firmly, reminding everybody.

“I haven’t talked to Leo in a while,” she continues. “And I probably won’t. There’s no need for them to ever know about each other. They probably will never meet.”

“So you’re never going to talk to your foster brother again?” I ask incredulously. “Why? What did he do, Lena?”

“He didn’t do anything. We just had a misunderstanding and I’m embarrassed about it.”

“Enough to cut off someone who cares about you?”

A strange look crosses her face. One that tells me that there are layers to Lena that none of us have yet to peel back.

“Yes,” she says resolutely. “Cutting off people comes easy to me.”

“Yep.” Naomi nods her head as if she completely understands Lena’s line of thinking. “Survival mode.”

I take a gulp of my apple juice, pretending it’s a nice glass of Pinot Grigio. “Let’s paint.”

An hour later, I’ve painted a damn good black Louboutin stiletto, Lena is tipsy and has made a good attempt at her pump, and Naomi is definitely drunk and gave up on painting fifteen minutes ago. Right now, she’s singing along with the 90s radio station I selected on Hunter’s fancy music sound system. She started with the Back Street Boys’ I Want It That Way , then to Loser by Beck, and now she’s (badly) serenading us with No Scrubs by TLC.

“How do you know all these songs?” Lena laughs as she eggs Naomi on.

“My mom can never stop talking about the 90s. It was her favorite decade.”

“You never talk about your mom,” Lena says, and it’s obvious she’s feeling a lot more comfortable talking now that she has a few glasses of wine in her. “Do you look like her?”

“People say I’m a perfect blend of my parents, but that’s because I think they don’t want to hurt my dad’s feelings. Honestly, I think I’m the spitting image of my mama.”

A moment of clarity strikes me like a thunderbolt.

The three of us are almost like three wounded baby birds. I didn’t know it about Naomi until recently but it makes perfect sense why the three of us get along so well. We all have a great deal of pain in our pasts that none of us wants to deal with.

While Hunter provided me with some sort of closure by dealing with my horrible family, I still haven’t done the real work of dealing with the trauma of it. I have nightmares about them, about what they made me do, and mostly about what kind of mother I’m going to be because of it.

Naomi suddenly hits a note that almost makes me spit out my mouth full of juice. The girl can’t sing to save her life, but I can’t lie— she definitely tries to, like no one is listening.

“You better sing the song, Naomi!” I applaud and Lena joins me as we stand to join in the chorus. There were three members in the group, after all.

When we finish, all three of us collapse on the cloud-like sofa in the living room and laugh with whole-hearted joy…until Naomi’s phone rings.

The moment she sees the name on her screen, her face drops, and any euphoria she may have been feeling while singing is quickly extinguished.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her on pins and needles, already fearing the answer.

And in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard my extroverted roommate and friend ever use, she tells us, “My fiancé.”