The Beau & the Belle
Page 39
“I’ve seen your work,” she flirts, pointing to a little girl she was dancing with moments ago. “Do you do adults, or just kids?”
I can feel Lauren watching us out of the corner of her eye, and I answer diplomatically.
“Only kids and kids at heart. What would you like?”
“You’re the artist—what would you recommend?” She’s laying it on thick, and Lauren intercepts before I can respond.
“Here are the options,” she announces brusquely, snapping her brush against the poster board.
The brunette keeps her gaze on me and tells me I can do whatever I want.
Lauren shouts, “NEXT!” to draw the next person from the line.
I paint a gold star with speed I never knew I had.
“Hey, you messed it up!” whines Lauren’s kid, holding the mirror up to his face. Apparently, she’s rushing too.
“That’s called artistic license. Hold still.”
The brunette asks me what I’m doing after the party, and Lauren mutters a curse word under her breath. When the little kid repeats it loudly, I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m actually seeing someone.”
The brunette’s smile falters. “Oh. Do you have a face wipe?”
When she leaves, I meet Lauren’s eyes and we don’t say a word. I arch a brow. She shakes her head. I smile. She squeezes her lips together, but eventually, she’s the one to break first.
“You can do whatever you want,” she moans dramatically. “Just put it all over my face.”
I chuckle. “I think she wanted me to paint my number on her cheek.”
“Oh good.” Lauren rolls her eyes. “She gets it before I do.”
I reach for a Sharpie on the table in front of us and grab Lauren’s hand. When I let go, my number is printed on the inside of her palm.
“Now you don’t have to leave a million messages at my office,” I tease.
Her cheeks redden. “Oh god, you got those?”
“We got those. Half the office listened to them.”
“You’re kidding! Why?!”
“Michelle was playing them when I walked in.”
“Couldn’t you have turned them off?”
“By the time I got there, they were playing them through for a second time. Don’t worry, everyone loved them—especially the one where you broke out in song.”
“No!”
“‘Jack and Diane’—instant classic.”
Her face is in her hands. “I thought I dreamed that part.”
“Larry in IT is turning you into a ringtone.”
“I hate you.”
She doesn’t sound annoyed.
“I didn’t peg you as a Mellencamp fan.”
“I’ll never be able to show my face there again.”
“We’re thinking of renting a karaoke machine for Christmas this year so you can serenade us all again. I’d like to request ‘Small Town’.”
“Shuddup. NEXT!”
Eventually, the line dies down enough that I’m just sitting, watching Lauren work. Her mom went to get lunch, so it’s just us in the tent now. I could get up and socialize, but I’m fine right here, where Lauren’s knee brushes against mine every time she reaches for more paint.
Our last client of the day is a little girl with big glasses and poofy brown hair. She steps up to the front of the line with her $20 bill in hand, deposits the cash in the donation jar, and then proudly proclaims she wants a unicorn on her left cheek. Her confidence evaporates the moment her bottom hits the chair.
She holds up her hands like Lauren is brandishing a hot poker. “WAIT! Will it hurt?”
Lauren tries hard not to laugh. “No, of course not. It’s just paint.”
The girl squeezes her eyes closed. “I don’t want it to hurt.”
“How about I paint a little bit on your hand and you can tell me if it hurts. Does that sound okay?”
The little girl rips her hand out of Lauren’s grasp before she can do it. “NO!”
I lean forward. “How about this: I’ll get one if you get one?”
Her eyes light up and she nearly falls off her chair in a fit of giggles. “You can’t get your face painted! You’re too big and old!”
Lauren turns to me and winks. “I think what she means to say is that no man as masculine and strong as you could possibly handle getting a unicorn painted on his cheek.”
“Try me.”
A minute later, I’m sitting on the table and Lauren is standing in front of me, positioned between my legs. If we weren’t in the middle of a fundraiser, I’d pull her closer to me and curve my hands around her ass. Her jeans are killer—tight in all the right places.
“Hold still,” she hisses, nudging my hand from where it was resting on her waist.
Oops.
Cold paint hits my cheek and the little girl erupts into another fit of laughter.
“It’s PINK! She’s using PINK!”
I can’t help but smile.
“No!” Lauren groans half-heartedly. “Don’t smile or you’ll mess it up.”
She steps closer and uses her finger to wipe a spot that must have smudged. I catch a whiff of her perfume and have to train my eyes to look anywhere but right in front of me. Her chest is inches from my face. She’s wearing a sweater, not a bikini, and yet it’s enough to make me want to do something indecent.
“Done yet?”
“Not even close. I want it to look perfect.”
“Hey,” the little girls says, “that’s not a—”
“SHH!” Lauren snaps. “Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”
Oh god, I should have known she wasn’t going to play by the rules.
“I agreed to a unicorn. I’m a lawyer, y’know—I can sue you for breach of contract.”
Her hazel eyes meet mine. “I know, but this is better than a unicorn. Believe me.”
I’m not allowed to look until the little girl finishes getting her face painted. Together, at the same time, we lift the mirrors up and inspect our new ink. The little girl screams with glee. I laugh. There’s not a unicorn on my left cheek; there’s a massive pink heart with initials drawn in the very center: BF <3 LL.
Lauren won’t meet my eyes when I drop the mirror.
“BF hearts LL, huh?”
“Could be Lindsay Lohan, or Lucy Liu. Guess we’ll never know.”
She shrugs and starts putting away her paints. We’re wrapping up for the day.
“I’m going to guess Lauren LeBlanc.” I hold up the mirror again. “That’s a pretty big heart.”
It takes up my entire cheek and some of my jaw.
“Is it?”
“Why’d you put my initials first? I heart you? Not the other way around?”
She bites down on her lip to conceal her smile. “Duh. You heart me.”
“Yeah?”
“You face-heart me so much,” she taunts.
I forget for a second that we’re at a busy party and reach out to tug her toward me. Her body is flush with mine when I glance down at her.
“This isn’t about the brunette who came into my line to get her face painted, is it?”
She shrugs innocently, looking away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I cradle her chin and force her to turn back to me. Her eyes meet mine, and it’s like she has me wrapped around her little finger.
“Jealous, Lauren?”
She narrows her eyes. “No!”
“You just painted your initials on my face.”
“Because the little girl asked me to.”
“She wanted you to do a unicorn.”
Her cheeks are flushed. “Like I said, artistic license. I’m your unicorn, and you heart me. I thought everyone should know it.”
“Does that mean I should claim you too? Draw my initials on you?”
Her hips are pressed against mine.
“Are we still talking about face paint?”
I smile and bend down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Her bottom lip puffs out when I pull away.
I can feel Lauren watching us out of the corner of her eye, and I answer diplomatically.
“Only kids and kids at heart. What would you like?”
“You’re the artist—what would you recommend?” She’s laying it on thick, and Lauren intercepts before I can respond.
“Here are the options,” she announces brusquely, snapping her brush against the poster board.
The brunette keeps her gaze on me and tells me I can do whatever I want.
Lauren shouts, “NEXT!” to draw the next person from the line.
I paint a gold star with speed I never knew I had.
“Hey, you messed it up!” whines Lauren’s kid, holding the mirror up to his face. Apparently, she’s rushing too.
“That’s called artistic license. Hold still.”
The brunette asks me what I’m doing after the party, and Lauren mutters a curse word under her breath. When the little kid repeats it loudly, I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m actually seeing someone.”
The brunette’s smile falters. “Oh. Do you have a face wipe?”
When she leaves, I meet Lauren’s eyes and we don’t say a word. I arch a brow. She shakes her head. I smile. She squeezes her lips together, but eventually, she’s the one to break first.
“You can do whatever you want,” she moans dramatically. “Just put it all over my face.”
I chuckle. “I think she wanted me to paint my number on her cheek.”
“Oh good.” Lauren rolls her eyes. “She gets it before I do.”
I reach for a Sharpie on the table in front of us and grab Lauren’s hand. When I let go, my number is printed on the inside of her palm.
“Now you don’t have to leave a million messages at my office,” I tease.
Her cheeks redden. “Oh god, you got those?”
“We got those. Half the office listened to them.”
“You’re kidding! Why?!”
“Michelle was playing them when I walked in.”
“Couldn’t you have turned them off?”
“By the time I got there, they were playing them through for a second time. Don’t worry, everyone loved them—especially the one where you broke out in song.”
“No!”
“‘Jack and Diane’—instant classic.”
Her face is in her hands. “I thought I dreamed that part.”
“Larry in IT is turning you into a ringtone.”
“I hate you.”
She doesn’t sound annoyed.
“I didn’t peg you as a Mellencamp fan.”
“I’ll never be able to show my face there again.”
“We’re thinking of renting a karaoke machine for Christmas this year so you can serenade us all again. I’d like to request ‘Small Town’.”
“Shuddup. NEXT!”
Eventually, the line dies down enough that I’m just sitting, watching Lauren work. Her mom went to get lunch, so it’s just us in the tent now. I could get up and socialize, but I’m fine right here, where Lauren’s knee brushes against mine every time she reaches for more paint.
Our last client of the day is a little girl with big glasses and poofy brown hair. She steps up to the front of the line with her $20 bill in hand, deposits the cash in the donation jar, and then proudly proclaims she wants a unicorn on her left cheek. Her confidence evaporates the moment her bottom hits the chair.
She holds up her hands like Lauren is brandishing a hot poker. “WAIT! Will it hurt?”
Lauren tries hard not to laugh. “No, of course not. It’s just paint.”
The girl squeezes her eyes closed. “I don’t want it to hurt.”
“How about I paint a little bit on your hand and you can tell me if it hurts. Does that sound okay?”
The little girl rips her hand out of Lauren’s grasp before she can do it. “NO!”
I lean forward. “How about this: I’ll get one if you get one?”
Her eyes light up and she nearly falls off her chair in a fit of giggles. “You can’t get your face painted! You’re too big and old!”
Lauren turns to me and winks. “I think what she means to say is that no man as masculine and strong as you could possibly handle getting a unicorn painted on his cheek.”
“Try me.”
A minute later, I’m sitting on the table and Lauren is standing in front of me, positioned between my legs. If we weren’t in the middle of a fundraiser, I’d pull her closer to me and curve my hands around her ass. Her jeans are killer—tight in all the right places.
“Hold still,” she hisses, nudging my hand from where it was resting on her waist.
Oops.
Cold paint hits my cheek and the little girl erupts into another fit of laughter.
“It’s PINK! She’s using PINK!”
I can’t help but smile.
“No!” Lauren groans half-heartedly. “Don’t smile or you’ll mess it up.”
She steps closer and uses her finger to wipe a spot that must have smudged. I catch a whiff of her perfume and have to train my eyes to look anywhere but right in front of me. Her chest is inches from my face. She’s wearing a sweater, not a bikini, and yet it’s enough to make me want to do something indecent.
“Done yet?”
“Not even close. I want it to look perfect.”
“Hey,” the little girls says, “that’s not a—”
“SHH!” Lauren snaps. “Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”
Oh god, I should have known she wasn’t going to play by the rules.
“I agreed to a unicorn. I’m a lawyer, y’know—I can sue you for breach of contract.”
Her hazel eyes meet mine. “I know, but this is better than a unicorn. Believe me.”
I’m not allowed to look until the little girl finishes getting her face painted. Together, at the same time, we lift the mirrors up and inspect our new ink. The little girl screams with glee. I laugh. There’s not a unicorn on my left cheek; there’s a massive pink heart with initials drawn in the very center: BF <3 LL.
Lauren won’t meet my eyes when I drop the mirror.
“BF hearts LL, huh?”
“Could be Lindsay Lohan, or Lucy Liu. Guess we’ll never know.”
She shrugs and starts putting away her paints. We’re wrapping up for the day.
“I’m going to guess Lauren LeBlanc.” I hold up the mirror again. “That’s a pretty big heart.”
It takes up my entire cheek and some of my jaw.
“Is it?”
“Why’d you put my initials first? I heart you? Not the other way around?”
She bites down on her lip to conceal her smile. “Duh. You heart me.”
“Yeah?”
“You face-heart me so much,” she taunts.
I forget for a second that we’re at a busy party and reach out to tug her toward me. Her body is flush with mine when I glance down at her.
“This isn’t about the brunette who came into my line to get her face painted, is it?”
She shrugs innocently, looking away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I cradle her chin and force her to turn back to me. Her eyes meet mine, and it’s like she has me wrapped around her little finger.
“Jealous, Lauren?”
She narrows her eyes. “No!”
“You just painted your initials on my face.”
“Because the little girl asked me to.”
“She wanted you to do a unicorn.”
Her cheeks are flushed. “Like I said, artistic license. I’m your unicorn, and you heart me. I thought everyone should know it.”
“Does that mean I should claim you too? Draw my initials on you?”
Her hips are pressed against mine.
“Are we still talking about face paint?”
I smile and bend down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Her bottom lip puffs out when I pull away.
