Page 33 of Against All Odds

“Oh, I’m not using rollers. The guys at the store said they leave streaks.”

His eyes widen. “Please tell me you didn’t go to Sanders.”

“That’s the only store around here that had paint,” I say, feeling a little worried.

I asked Miles where to go before I left work yesterday, and he recommended there. He did say something about asking for help, and that I should ignore it or maybe not ignore it. I wasn’t paying close attention as I was writing down the name and how to get there.

He chuckles. “Let me guess, you met Ray and Lou?”

“Yes, they were really sweet.”

“Oh, they’re sweet and love to give out shitty advice so you have to return twenty times.”

My jaw drops. “What? Those cute little old guys?”

Everett sighs and sits beside me, which causes Brutus to make a huffing noise and roll slightly away from him. “Man’s best friend my ass.”

I fight back a laugh and fail. “Okay, so back to the paint. Ishoulduse a roller?”

“Help me get Brutus back home, since he’s now sworn his allegiance to you, and I’ll bring some supplies to help.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say quickly.

“I know, but I worry what might happen if I don’t supervise this experiment.”

I roll my eyes, but honestly I could use the help. Plus, maybe Everett and I can talk again, and I can put this attraction to him to rest.

Or find the courage to kiss him, which would be a terrible idea—so we will not be doing that.

Nope.

This will be easy, and I’ll get through it without any hiccups.

What a lie that was.

We’re four hours into this painting experiment, and I want to slap myself for agreeing to it. Not only has it been one mishap after another, but I’m realizing that the feelings I thought were gone are still very much there.

“Oh no!” I say, looking at my ponytail, which now has streaks of beige in it.

“You painted yourself?”

“Apparently.” I sigh, waiting for the biting remark about how stupid I am and that this is why we hire people.

Everett chuckles and grabs the paintbrush, slapping it on his chest. “There, now we both have paint on us.”

I rest my hand on my throat, so confused by his reaction. He didn’t berate me, which is exactly what Dylan would have done. I wait a little longer, preparing myself for what is sure to come, but he doesn’t.

“You painted yourself?” I ask.

“So did you.”

I laugh once. “By accident.”

“Really? I thought you said you wanted streaks in your hair. Oh, well. Although we should probably not waste any more since I don’t have much left in my tray, and the paint can is empty.”

This man is the complete opposite of what my ex is.

I forced myself to forget just how great Everett is. I convinced myself that we were just kids, and I had created this fictitious version of who he was.

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