Page 69 of Will to Run

“What?” She sits up, pulling her legs away. “I’m serious. I thought you might like it.”

Hurt flashes on her face, and although I wasn’t going to tell her about the whole thing, that’s no longer an option.

“Okay, so… I lied to you,” I say when I catch my breath.

Her face morphs into confusion.

“I um… so I never named the elk,” I start.

“So there is no Sir Magnum Biggs?” she asks.

“Well,” I move my head from side to side, “he exists. And if you painted him… it would have to be for the over-eighteen crowd. But I would be a hell of a nude model,” I laugh so hard I start wheezing.

“Wait…” I can see her gears turning as she realizes. “Did you name your dick that or something?”

“I most certainly did. It just happened as a joke, and it stuck.”

“You named your junk Sir Magnum Biggs?!” She now joins in the kind of laughter that makes us both unable to breathe.

“There have been no complaints about SMB from you. And you can’t deny he lives up to the name,” I smile.

“Oh my God,” she swats me with the back of her hand.

The moment is benign and silly, but at the heart of it is a happy contentment that settles deep, and I don’t know if I’m ready to be without that again.

After we have breakfast and coffee, she leaves, and I get to my office to put in a few hours of work. Tonight, my parents are hosting a fancy dinner party to commemorate the season, and there are several things I have to get done before I can enjoy it. It’s just our family, and Molly, but tonight, I’m bringing Della. The fact that I asked them if I could bring her on Friday before we left for the bar speaks volumes, because this dinner isn’t for anyone casual.

33

DELLA

Cloud nine. That’s where I am. Tripp was my first time having sex, but it’s not like I hadn’t done anything before him. Granted, that was all with inexperienced high school and college boys, but I wasn’t coming in completely blind. But the way Jaxon kisses me is different. I refuse to believe in something as ridiculous as love at first sight or soul-mates, but this is some serious lust. He’s hot, I’m horny. Mix in his willingness and my desperation, I think you’d be bound to get some fire… right?

But at the same time, part of me knows I’m just telling myself that. I leave in a few weeks, and hot and horny will be easier to leave than something bigger. Neither of us is signing on to something more. But when he says things like sex doesn’t feel that way, it leaves me with other thoughts that are dangerously easy to entertain.

Making my way into town, I need some more art supplies. I have been painting every chance I get, and this kind of rediscovery is extraordinary. Almost as extraordinary as Magnum Biggs inside me, and that thought has me walking around town with a perma-grin.

“Morning, Rose,” I say, pushing through the doors of the store.

“Della!” she exclaims. “Back again so soon? I take that as a great thing.”

I returned for more canvases and conversation last week, but she’s not the only one who can’t believe I’m back again. After skipping a few heartbeats and studying my face, she continues. “You have a different aura about you.”

The way she says it makes me think she’s reading my mind.

“Rose, it’s been a wonderful thing,” I return her warm smile. “I forgot how every piece of me lights up when I paint.”

“Love to hear that! I didn’t ask last week, but what are some things you’ve painted?”

“Well, I did a sunrise painting, and it’s everything. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll do another one I love as much as that one. But I’ve also painted how the light kisses the paddock in the morning. And the lake. And a cowboy hat over boots. It just feels like there’s so much to capture. I’m so enamored with everything here. Next up is a wildflower landscape.”

“I can hear the love in your voice. I can’t wait to see the works. We should talk about you having a gallery show upstairs.” She floats out the idea like it’s nothing.

“Oh, it’s not like I’m good, Rose. I mean, I’m not bad, but I’m not gallery-worthy. It’s loose impressionism. And it’s acrylic paint. Granted, it’s the professional grade, but you and I both know it should be done in oil.”

“Don’t sell yourself short; anyone who talks as passionately as you do about painting is no amateur. Plus, anyone who would judge the type of paint you’re using isn’t worth your time, anyway.”

“You’re making me blush!” I say, feeling the color rise in my cheeks.