Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4) (4 page)

She folds her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow at me. “I’m trying to think of what Harper would say in this very moment, but I can’t seem to put my swear words in any sort of logical order. I guess I’ll just have to let you off the hook this time.”

We share a laugh, each of us both very familiar with my sister’s foul mouth. Sometimes, it still impresses me how she can be so freaking pretty while spewing words that might cause a sailor to furrow his brow. “I promise the next time I see you, I won’t look so—” I pause, looking down at myself before offering her a shrug. “Homeless.”

She rolls her eyes, making her way back around the counter. “You’re the cutest looking homeless person
I’ve
ever seen, that’s for sure. Anyway, I’m guessing, since you’re here, you’re after your usual?”

“Yes, please!”

Nodding, she reaches for a pastry bag and fills it with my muffin of choice. “Have you heard from Harper, lately?”

“Uh-uh,” I mutter, pulling my debit card out of my pocket. “We’ve been playing phone-tag all week.”

“Well, when you speak to her, tell that hussy she needs to get up here for a visit.”

“I will,” I chuckle. “I promise. Thank you for the muffin.”

She hands me my card, pushing my treat across the counter. “Any time, Teddy. See you.”

With a wave, I make my exit, anxious to get home so I can shower and enjoy my muffin with another cup of coffee. As soon as I make it back to my place, I lock myself in and get cleaned up. After I slip into a pair of little cotton shorts and a tank top, I pad my way to the kitchen to pour a mug of reheated coffee and plate my muffin. I take both back to my living room, setting them on the coffee table before I grab my laptop.

Last weekend, Andy and Carrie let me photograph their son, Steven. I spent all day with them, capturing as many moments as I could. Hopefully, I managed to get a few shots that I can edit and frame for them as a gift. Geoffrey tells me all the time that I’ve got enough talent to earn a living photographing people, but that’s not why I do it. It’s just a hobby. I love working at the art gallery, and I wouldn’t trade my time there for anything. There’s just something so fascinating about people, though—I like to stare at them through my lens, in a snapshot of time that they will never get back.

I’m so lost in my images of Steven that I barely notice as the day passes. I break only to refill my coffee and discard my crumb-filled plate in the sink. It isn’t until I hear a knock at my door that I look at the time.

Seven-thirty.

Damn. Where did the day go?

Another knock has me on my feet, setting aside my laptop as I go to answer. I look through the peephole and smile before opening the door.

“Hey, you. What are you doing here?”

“Last night, he was a fuck face,” Geoffrey mumbles, his sad eyes meeting mine. “Today—well, he’s still a prick—but he’s
my
prick. And he’s gone. Except—I still smell him in the bed and I just…I just…”

I nod my understanding, reaching for the paper sack in his hand. I then wrap my fingers around his and pull him inside. “What’d you bring me?”

“A pint of coffee ice cream for you. I pint of vanilla for me.
The Notebook
,
Crazy, Stupid Love
, and
Blue Valentine
.”

I fight a smile and lose as I look over my shoulder at him. “Babe, you know you don’t like these movies, right? Are we just ogling Ryan Gosling tonight?” He shrugs, letting go of my hand as he makes his way to my couch, slouching down on the cushions. I set the bag down on the table and lean over to kiss his forehead before heading to the kitchen for a couple spoons. “We should probably order in. We’ll get sick if all we eat tonight is ice cream.”

“Pizza’s on its way already. Double pepperoni.”

I press my hand over my heart, grateful that he can’t see me as I stand in front of my silverware drawer. My chest aches for him, knowing how much he’s hurting. And yet, in all his pain, he still managed to bring
me
my favorite ice cream and order
my
favorite pizza. Geoff is right—Reeve is
such
a fuck face. He doesn’t know who he threw away.

I make my way back into the living room, emptying the sack and putting in the first movie. I take a seat next to Geoff, handing him his ice cream and a spoon, and we both dig in. The film has barely begun before he’s distracted, his finger tracing the ink on my right thigh—my dream catcher. It starts just above my hip. The top circle, currently covered by my shorts, spans the width of the outside of my leg. Attached are three smaller circles that dangle a little ways below—all of the intricate crisscross detail done in black. Then, hanging from the smaller circles are the feathers, shaded dark teal, royal blue, and deep purple. The piece stops a few inches above my knee. My first of many tattoos, hidden away from the eyes of the world, only ever on display for those who claim to love me.

“Think if I sleep with you tonight, this thing’ll catch my dreams? I swear, every time I close my eyes, he’s there.”

“Oh, babe,” I murmur, setting aside my treat and wrapping my arms around him. He rests his head on my chest and I try and think of something to say. “Geoff—”

“Don’t, okay? Just…just let me stay.”

I nod before kissing the top of his head.

“Of course. Stay as long as you’d like.”

I
remember the first time I laid eyes on Geoffrey Fink. Andrew had just opened Mountain Time Art Gallery, on the corner of Mountain and Mason, and I was anxious to find the time to sneak a peek at what they had to offer. I had just started my junior year at CSU, where I studied art history, and I knew I needed to be thinking about trying to line up an internship; but when I walked through that front door, I wasn’t thinking about school. I was thinking about art and the lovely collection that I was so pleased to find inside.

A tall, blonde fellow, who looked
very
handsome in his navy blue suit, came up to me and asked me if he could help me with anything. I told him no, of course. I couldn’t afford a
single
piece in the entire gallery, but he didn’t turn his nose up at me. He wasn’t perturbed by my presence, knowing that I wouldn’t bring him a sale. Geoffrey was kind, introducing himself before pointing at the piece that had captured my attention. He spoke about the artist who had painted it, and we ended up talking for quite a few minutes. When another customer arrived, he excused himself to help them.

Geoff was half the reason I came back. Every few weeks, for the duration of that fall semester, I would drop by to see what new pieces they had. It wasn’t until I met Reeve that I realized Geoffrey was gay. Reeve was in the gallery, trying to convince Geoff to go out for drinks after work. When I walked in, unintentionally interrupting their conversation, Reeve’s eyes lit up at the sight of me.

“Is
that
Freckles?”
he asked, pointing at me.

My face flushed, wondering why he thought he knew me, and why he had called me
freckles.
Granted, my face is covered in them. They’re all pretty tiny, aside from a couple here and there, and they’re dusted across my cheeks, over my nose, and on my forehead.

Geoffrey had glared at him, clearly annoyed by his blunt question, but Reeve made up for it.

“I’m Reeve,”
he said, making his way toward me with an extended hand.
“My man adores you. Every time you come in here, he tells me about you. Apparently, your love of art makes you kindred spirits. Honestly, you’re a
godsend!
I don’t appreciate all this as much as he does,”
he went on to say, waving his hand around the gallery.
“He could use a friend like you. In fact—you should come out with us tonight. Baby, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Geoffrey came up to us, resting a hand on the small of Reeve’s back as he looked at me with apologetic eyes.
“You don’t have to. I’m sure you’d rather spend your Thursday night out with friends your age.”

I smiled at the two of them—noting that while Geoff insisted I didn’t have to come, he, too, had hope in his eyes.
“I don’t really have friends my age. I would love to come out with you.”

“You hear that, baby? Freckles would
love
to come out with us,”
Reeve gushed before pressing a quick kiss to Geoff’s cheek.

“Her name is Teddy,”
Geoff corrected.

Reeve lifted an eyebrow at me.
“Teddy?”

“It’s short for Theodora,”
I explained.

“I love that,”
he stated matter-of-factly.
“Theodora, I’ll see you tonight. Baby, my work here is done. Have to run. Sext me.”

God, they were so in love back then.

I look at Geoffrey now, his large, sculpted form taking up half of my bed. He looks more like himself like this, his heartache forgotten in his dream state. I say a little prayer for him, hoping that his broken heart would be mended soon—that the pain he feels will not rip away the parts of him that make him wonderful; that the memory of Reeve will not darken his spirit; and that he would come alive again, so that he may share his love with someone who truly deserves it.

When I reach over to brush a strand of hair off of his forehead, his eyes open, looking straight into mine.

“Are you watching me sleep?” he asks, his voice gruff from slumber.

“Maybe,” I admit with a small smile.

“Creep.”

I giggle, pushing myself upright. My messy hair falls over my shoulder and down my chest, and I sweep it behind my ears. “I was actually thinking. We need to get you out today. No beer, no ice cream, just some fresh air and sunshine. Let’s go on a hike up Horsetooth.”

“You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

I flash him my cheesiest grin as I shake my head and scurry out of bed. Standing in front of my dresser, I grab a hair tie and use my vanity mirror to ensure my ponytail is straight.

“Maybe I should get a tattoo,” he says, halting all of my movement.

I stare at his reflection with a frown. His gaze is trained on my back. I know with the tank top I’m wearing, most of my back piece is covered. I turn to face him, glancing over my shoulder to see my own reflection. The little black birds in flight are scattered from the middle of my back to my right shoulder blade.

“You don’t want a tattoo,” I tell him. “You’ve told me,
repeatedly
, that you’d never ink your
pure canvas
,” I say, propping my fists on my hips.

“Maybe it would help dull the pain. It did for you, didn’t it?”

I shake my head at him, combating my frustration. He doesn’t mean any harm. His words don’t come from a clearheaded perspective.

“My ink is not about Justin, and you know it. I get it that your heart is broken, that you’re looking for any distraction that’ll help you get through just another day, but doing something you swore you never would isn’t the answer.

“Look,” I begin with a sigh, crawling back into bed. “Every piece of art on my body is about
me.
Justin broke more than my heart, Geoff. He took my body. He stole my peace of mind.” I shake my head, trying to find my words. “My tattoos are my battle scares, my victory marks. I needed to take ownership of what was always supposed to be mine.

“You’re different.
This
is different. Reeve broke your heart, and I get that. I really do. But you’re still you, babe.” I reach out and cup my hands around his cheeks. “Today, we’re going for a hike. When you’re over Reeve, when you’ve moved on, if you still want a tattoo, you know I’ll be right there—holding your hand. But I risk loosing my best friend if I let you do something that crazy and spontaneous. One day, you’d wake up and hate me for not making you see reason.” He chuckles, knowing I’m right. I smile at him before kissing his lips. “Besides, Generation Ink is closed on Sundays. There is no way I’d let anyone but Trevor touch you. So enough of that. Get your ass up,” I demand, smacking his backside. “I’ll go make us some coffee.”