Not Looking for Love: Episode 7 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Lena Bourne
upset at you criticizing her paintings."
"No, she just thought I was childish," I say, though maybe he's right. I'm pretty incapable of remembering the bad things when it comes to Mom.
Dad has one of those paintings in his bedroom, I suddenly remember, but I don't say it. Talking about one long gone parent is probably already more than Mike and me can take. I do get the strongest urge to go see Dad as soon as we're parked in front of the apartment, but I ignore it. I'm still too mad at him to be forgiving.
The bulb pops and hisses out as I turn the light on in the attic.
Mike shines the flashlight on his phone at the mass of boxes, dust floating in the beam. "Why are half of these open?"
"I was looking for something the last time I was up here," I mutter, the memory of that day so clear in my mind it might as well have happened this morning.
"For what?" Mike asks.
"One of those message in a bottle magnets," I say instead of just claiming to have forgotten, which would have been better, adding, "To give to Gail," since I might as well go all the way now.
He turns to look at me, his face mostly in shadow, though illuminated from below by the flashlight. Things are going through his mind, but I have no idea what they are. Likely I've just proven to him once again how good a hold he has on me by threatening Gail. So much for her plan. But I couldn't have just discounted it without at least trying.
"Then you know where the paintings are?" he asks looking at the boxes again.
I point to the larger ones in the corner. "I think that's them."
I let him search on his own, holding the flashlight so he can get the boxes open and sift through them. He doesn't say anything, and neither do I. All I want to do is go back to the apartment, sit there alone and plan this shit. Hell, Gail and me can just pack up and leave the country tonight. Go stay with her dad in Syria, or wherever the fuck he is, live in some mud hut with no running water or electricity. Wait for all this to blow over. Eventually it has to. Maybe this last job will get them all arrested, and then we can come back.
Mike has three of the sailboat paintings lined up against the wall. He's rubbing his chin as he studies them.
"Which one do you think?" he asks.
I hold the flashlight higher, but I hardly see any difference. I point to the rightmost painting, since in that one the sailboat’s the largest so the scene doesn't look as empty. On top of everything else, I now feel guilty for criticizing Mom's work, and she's not even here to defend it. She'd deserve better from me. From life in general. But she got what she got, and it makes no fucking sense. This trip down memory lane with Mike makes no fucking sense either. I should be packing right now.
"Yeah, I think you're right," Mike says and stuffs the other two back in the box. "We can carry your stuff up here now."
I see no way to refuse, so that's what we do for the next hour or so, until all my stuff is with Mom's, which is kinda fitting, since I'm most likely going away for a long time. Soon. One way or another.
"Shit's really tense with Vlado at the moment," Mike says as we get back to the car. "Wanna get some dinner?"
I'm trying to figure out how those two statements are in any way connected, but fail.
"Sure. What's this about Valdo?"
"He thinks someone is deliberately sabotaging him," Mike explains, and drives off too fast, the painting slamming into the back seat. I'm hoping he won't destroy it before he even manages to get it back to his apartment.
"Well, he has a lot of competition," I offer. "I assume he's right to worry."
"No. This is from the inside. Someone close to him."
My airway snaps shut, and my heart starts racing so fast I might actually faint. Vlado's mentioned none of this to me. Does he suspect me?
Mike looks at me and cringes. "Relax, he loves you. But he's still a little insecure about whether you feel the same way. Probably why he hasn't told you. He
"No, she just thought I was childish," I say, though maybe he's right. I'm pretty incapable of remembering the bad things when it comes to Mom.
Dad has one of those paintings in his bedroom, I suddenly remember, but I don't say it. Talking about one long gone parent is probably already more than Mike and me can take. I do get the strongest urge to go see Dad as soon as we're parked in front of the apartment, but I ignore it. I'm still too mad at him to be forgiving.
The bulb pops and hisses out as I turn the light on in the attic.
Mike shines the flashlight on his phone at the mass of boxes, dust floating in the beam. "Why are half of these open?"
"I was looking for something the last time I was up here," I mutter, the memory of that day so clear in my mind it might as well have happened this morning.
"For what?" Mike asks.
"One of those message in a bottle magnets," I say instead of just claiming to have forgotten, which would have been better, adding, "To give to Gail," since I might as well go all the way now.
He turns to look at me, his face mostly in shadow, though illuminated from below by the flashlight. Things are going through his mind, but I have no idea what they are. Likely I've just proven to him once again how good a hold he has on me by threatening Gail. So much for her plan. But I couldn't have just discounted it without at least trying.
"Then you know where the paintings are?" he asks looking at the boxes again.
I point to the larger ones in the corner. "I think that's them."
I let him search on his own, holding the flashlight so he can get the boxes open and sift through them. He doesn't say anything, and neither do I. All I want to do is go back to the apartment, sit there alone and plan this shit. Hell, Gail and me can just pack up and leave the country tonight. Go stay with her dad in Syria, or wherever the fuck he is, live in some mud hut with no running water or electricity. Wait for all this to blow over. Eventually it has to. Maybe this last job will get them all arrested, and then we can come back.
Mike has three of the sailboat paintings lined up against the wall. He's rubbing his chin as he studies them.
"Which one do you think?" he asks.
I hold the flashlight higher, but I hardly see any difference. I point to the rightmost painting, since in that one the sailboat’s the largest so the scene doesn't look as empty. On top of everything else, I now feel guilty for criticizing Mom's work, and she's not even here to defend it. She'd deserve better from me. From life in general. But she got what she got, and it makes no fucking sense. This trip down memory lane with Mike makes no fucking sense either. I should be packing right now.
"Yeah, I think you're right," Mike says and stuffs the other two back in the box. "We can carry your stuff up here now."
I see no way to refuse, so that's what we do for the next hour or so, until all my stuff is with Mom's, which is kinda fitting, since I'm most likely going away for a long time. Soon. One way or another.
"Shit's really tense with Vlado at the moment," Mike says as we get back to the car. "Wanna get some dinner?"
I'm trying to figure out how those two statements are in any way connected, but fail.
"Sure. What's this about Valdo?"
"He thinks someone is deliberately sabotaging him," Mike explains, and drives off too fast, the painting slamming into the back seat. I'm hoping he won't destroy it before he even manages to get it back to his apartment.
"Well, he has a lot of competition," I offer. "I assume he's right to worry."
"No. This is from the inside. Someone close to him."
My airway snaps shut, and my heart starts racing so fast I might actually faint. Vlado's mentioned none of this to me. Does he suspect me?
Mike looks at me and cringes. "Relax, he loves you. But he's still a little insecure about whether you feel the same way. Probably why he hasn't told you. He
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