The Gamble
Page 28
“I’m sorry,” I said softly but loud enough for him to hear. “I’ve been to my fair share of exhibitions, only yours made my heart hurt because my system couldn’t process the beauty that met my eyes.”
Max went still at my side and Cotton pulled in such a deep breath, his chest puffed out.
“So,” I kept talking softly, “you’re not just a man with a camera. Not to me. You’re Jimmy Cotton, your photographs gave me that, I loved it, I’m grateful and because of that, I’m honored to meet you.”
He watched me for several moments, the old man cantankerous look he’d perfected slipping, his face getting soft. He tipped his chin up at me, gave a short wave, turned, climbing, and he rounded the bluff.
I watched him go and I suspected Max did too.
I watched longer because I felt Max’s arm give me a squeeze to get my attention.
“Ready to go back?” he asked when I looked up at him.
“No,” I blurted, his eyebrows came up in question and then I blew out a sigh before suggesting, “Can we ride around on the snowmobile for awhile?”
He grinned then offered, “You want me to teach you how to drive?”
I shook my head fast and his grin turned to a smile.
“Baby steps,” I said to him.
“You got it, Duchess,” he replied, walked me to the snowmobile, we got on and Max drove me around for a good, long while and, I had to admit, I enjoyed every, single moment.
* * * * *
I rinsed the lunch plates in Max’s kitchen sink and told myself it was high time that I got back to being a smart, sane, rational person again.
We’d driven around in the mountains on his snowmobile for awhile, Max showing me more views, a few more of his favorite places, all of them beautiful, none of them quite as spectacular as the bluff. I took some photos, even one of Max I told myself I shouldn’t take and hoped he didn’t notice I was taking it. He was gazing over a valley, his handsome profile relaxed and, well… handsome. Too handsome not to capture on film with that valley spread out behind him, so I did and I did it quickly, prepared to pretend I was only taking a photo of the valley.
Then we rode back and I put together a late lunch while Max put away the snowmobile then came in and built a fire in the grate in the living room.
We ate the shrimp, avocado and mayo sandwiches on white I made, me at my stool, Max standing at the counter in front of me, both of us silent. Max, seemingly comfortably so, me, not at all.
When he finished eating, I offered, “If you’ll fire up the computer while I clean up the kitchen, I’ll change your password.”
“Sounds good,” he muttered, sucking back a swig of cola and rounding the bar. I felt him get close to me as he went and was in the act of turning to him when I felt his hand curl around my neck, palm at my throat then his lips were at my hair at the top of my head. His fingers gave my neck a squeeze, he let go and without a word he walked away.
I sat there immobilized, uncertain what to make of Max’s casual ability to be affectionate in pretty much every way, verbally, physically, with his face, his eyes. I knew how it made me feel, which was a dangerous feeling and I knew it would be dangerously easy to get used to it, I just didn’t know what to make of it.
Yes, it was time to be smart, sane and rational and get out of there before I let my mind wander to what I wanted to make of it.
I put the dishes in the dishwasher, wiped down the counters and grabbed my diet cola.
By the time I hit the alcove, Max was sitting at the roll top, the screen on the computer was lit.
“What do you want me to change it to?” I asked as he rose from the chair and held its back for me to sit in it so I did and he stood at my side.
“I’m thinkin’ shebitchfromhell666 might continue to be a reminder of Shauna,” Max muttered drily.
I pressed my lips together in order not to laugh and slid my eyes up to look at him.
Then I unpressed my lips and asked, “So what do you want?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It has to be something you can remember.”
“Nina, honestly, it doesn’t matter. It could be one, two, three, four.”
I shook my head in horror and advised, “It can’t be one, two, three, four. That’s way too easy to hack.”
“Considerin’ I check my e-mail about once every three months, dump most of it, check the weather every once in awhile and got nothin’ else on there, ain’t nothin’ to hack.”
I sighed and explained, “Yes but you rent this place and other people could use it, look up p**n , maybe even icky stuff.”
He grinned. “Icky stuff?”
I ignored his grin and the way it communicated he thought I was adorable (and the way that made me feel) and continued, “Icky stuff, icky stuff that could get you into trouble. Don’t you watch television?”
“Not much.”
“Well, your every day pedophile probably wouldn’t hesitate renting a beautiful, A-Frame in the mountains and enjoying himself by accessing your one, two, three, four computer.”
“Jesus, darlin’.”
“Sick people are everywhere. Just watch Criminal Minds.”
“If that’s their subject matter, I’m thinkin’ I’ll avoid it.”
“It’s really good,” I told him, warming to my topic because I liked that show and therefore I idiotically lost myself and did not keep my mouth shut. “They have this really smart, genius guy who’s fascinating. And this really sharp, tough lady. And this hilarious computer mastermind who wears funky clothes and always has perfect lipstick. And they almost always get the bad guy.”
He was grinning down at me again when he muttered, “Sounds like I’m missin’ out.”
“It’s worth it just for Penelope Garcia’s lipstick and the stuff she wears in her hair, trust me,” I shared.
I stopped talking when I saw his eyes start glittering and his body start shaking and his face definitely said he thought I was adorable.
Instead, I looked at the computer and got down to business, clicking through the screens to take me to the window that changed the password and I asked, “What’s your favorite number?”
“Lucky number’s three.”
I pulled in breath through my nostrils. That was my favorite number.
And it was Charlie’s.
“Okay, then, something three…” I prompted.
“Make it up, Nina.”
Max went still at my side and Cotton pulled in such a deep breath, his chest puffed out.
“So,” I kept talking softly, “you’re not just a man with a camera. Not to me. You’re Jimmy Cotton, your photographs gave me that, I loved it, I’m grateful and because of that, I’m honored to meet you.”
He watched me for several moments, the old man cantankerous look he’d perfected slipping, his face getting soft. He tipped his chin up at me, gave a short wave, turned, climbing, and he rounded the bluff.
I watched him go and I suspected Max did too.
I watched longer because I felt Max’s arm give me a squeeze to get my attention.
“Ready to go back?” he asked when I looked up at him.
“No,” I blurted, his eyebrows came up in question and then I blew out a sigh before suggesting, “Can we ride around on the snowmobile for awhile?”
He grinned then offered, “You want me to teach you how to drive?”
I shook my head fast and his grin turned to a smile.
“Baby steps,” I said to him.
“You got it, Duchess,” he replied, walked me to the snowmobile, we got on and Max drove me around for a good, long while and, I had to admit, I enjoyed every, single moment.
* * * * *
I rinsed the lunch plates in Max’s kitchen sink and told myself it was high time that I got back to being a smart, sane, rational person again.
We’d driven around in the mountains on his snowmobile for awhile, Max showing me more views, a few more of his favorite places, all of them beautiful, none of them quite as spectacular as the bluff. I took some photos, even one of Max I told myself I shouldn’t take and hoped he didn’t notice I was taking it. He was gazing over a valley, his handsome profile relaxed and, well… handsome. Too handsome not to capture on film with that valley spread out behind him, so I did and I did it quickly, prepared to pretend I was only taking a photo of the valley.
Then we rode back and I put together a late lunch while Max put away the snowmobile then came in and built a fire in the grate in the living room.
We ate the shrimp, avocado and mayo sandwiches on white I made, me at my stool, Max standing at the counter in front of me, both of us silent. Max, seemingly comfortably so, me, not at all.
When he finished eating, I offered, “If you’ll fire up the computer while I clean up the kitchen, I’ll change your password.”
“Sounds good,” he muttered, sucking back a swig of cola and rounding the bar. I felt him get close to me as he went and was in the act of turning to him when I felt his hand curl around my neck, palm at my throat then his lips were at my hair at the top of my head. His fingers gave my neck a squeeze, he let go and without a word he walked away.
I sat there immobilized, uncertain what to make of Max’s casual ability to be affectionate in pretty much every way, verbally, physically, with his face, his eyes. I knew how it made me feel, which was a dangerous feeling and I knew it would be dangerously easy to get used to it, I just didn’t know what to make of it.
Yes, it was time to be smart, sane and rational and get out of there before I let my mind wander to what I wanted to make of it.
I put the dishes in the dishwasher, wiped down the counters and grabbed my diet cola.
By the time I hit the alcove, Max was sitting at the roll top, the screen on the computer was lit.
“What do you want me to change it to?” I asked as he rose from the chair and held its back for me to sit in it so I did and he stood at my side.
“I’m thinkin’ shebitchfromhell666 might continue to be a reminder of Shauna,” Max muttered drily.
I pressed my lips together in order not to laugh and slid my eyes up to look at him.
Then I unpressed my lips and asked, “So what do you want?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It has to be something you can remember.”
“Nina, honestly, it doesn’t matter. It could be one, two, three, four.”
I shook my head in horror and advised, “It can’t be one, two, three, four. That’s way too easy to hack.”
“Considerin’ I check my e-mail about once every three months, dump most of it, check the weather every once in awhile and got nothin’ else on there, ain’t nothin’ to hack.”
I sighed and explained, “Yes but you rent this place and other people could use it, look up p**n , maybe even icky stuff.”
He grinned. “Icky stuff?”
I ignored his grin and the way it communicated he thought I was adorable (and the way that made me feel) and continued, “Icky stuff, icky stuff that could get you into trouble. Don’t you watch television?”
“Not much.”
“Well, your every day pedophile probably wouldn’t hesitate renting a beautiful, A-Frame in the mountains and enjoying himself by accessing your one, two, three, four computer.”
“Jesus, darlin’.”
“Sick people are everywhere. Just watch Criminal Minds.”
“If that’s their subject matter, I’m thinkin’ I’ll avoid it.”
“It’s really good,” I told him, warming to my topic because I liked that show and therefore I idiotically lost myself and did not keep my mouth shut. “They have this really smart, genius guy who’s fascinating. And this really sharp, tough lady. And this hilarious computer mastermind who wears funky clothes and always has perfect lipstick. And they almost always get the bad guy.”
He was grinning down at me again when he muttered, “Sounds like I’m missin’ out.”
“It’s worth it just for Penelope Garcia’s lipstick and the stuff she wears in her hair, trust me,” I shared.
I stopped talking when I saw his eyes start glittering and his body start shaking and his face definitely said he thought I was adorable.
Instead, I looked at the computer and got down to business, clicking through the screens to take me to the window that changed the password and I asked, “What’s your favorite number?”
“Lucky number’s three.”
I pulled in breath through my nostrils. That was my favorite number.
And it was Charlie’s.
“Okay, then, something three…” I prompted.
“Make it up, Nina.”
