Page 10 of Beautiful Monster

"For a girl named Sunny, you move more like a little black rain cloud."

I jump, letting out a howling scream. He steps out of the pool house on the other side of the porch, and I spin toward him, nearly tossing the painting in the pool.

He laughs. "I scared you again, but you are on my back porch, so you can't blame me this time."

"You told me to bring this to you."

“Through my backyard?”

My lips stay silent as I stare across the yard at him. He’s teasing me, and I’m somewhere between offended and pleased by his casualness.

Taking pity on me, he smiles and gestures toward the pool house, beckoning me to follow. "Bring it in; let's see it."

As he steps inside, I slowly follow. The expansive room is mostly windows, large shades keeping the sun from roasting the inside. He seems to be renovating it. There are boards across the floor, and a table saw in the corner. Is he working on it by himself?

He catches me looking at the scattered mess.

"My little project," he says, and when I look up, I realize for the first time that he's shirtless. In only his shorts, sweat beads across his tan body, down his sculpted pecs and over his abs.

I've seen men shirtless before. Hell, I've seen them naked, but I've never felt like a speechless idiot in front of them before.

"What are you doing?" I ask on an exhale.

He looks confused as he stares back, catching my eyes on his chest.

"I mean with the wood. On the floor. What are you building?"

"Oh." He laughs. "I'm redoing the moldings and building a bench seat across that window. I don't know if it'll be enough. This room is so boring."

Looking around, I can see what he means. It has plain windowed walls, a small kitchenette, bathroom, cabinets. But it is just a pool house, and our house doesn't have one, so I'm impressed anyway.

"Okay, show me," he says, motioning to the painting again. The soft way he commands tickles its way up my spine. Like it’s a comfort instead of a violation.

Taking the canvas to the large worktable, I pull off the paper and bite my lip. If he says it's nice, then he hates it. Anything less than speechless means he hates it.

His eyes don't change as he looks at the portrait, and I can't stop scrutinizing the curve of her lips.

Meanwhile he lets his gaze drift over every inch, absorbing each brushstroke like I bled into each one. I wait.

Finally, they settle on her eyes, and his lips turn up into a smile.

"Fuck, Sunny. This is good."

"Really?"

He looks at me like I just called him ugly. "Really? Come on. You have to see how good this is."

I shrug. "I don't know. I can't see what you see. Everyone sees something different, right?"

"If anyone sees anything less than fan-fucking-tastic, they're out of their minds."

A breathy laugh escapes my lips.

He looks at me again, clearly surprised to hear my laughter. Then, his gaze drifts to something behind me, and I turn to see it's nothing more than a blank wall along the back of the room.

"I want it there," he says decisively.

"You want to hang it there?"