Page 71 of Sinful as They Come
I rolled my eyes at his bullshit. “You can’t count higher than three, huh?”
“You’ve got a record, kid. A long one. And a few other arrests you managed to sneak your way out of, but a few where that smart mouth wasn’t enough.” He sounded so smug as he talked, a confident smile on his face as he stared me down. “You’re bad news. I know what you’ve done, I know where you’re from. Cedar Crest. Some shitty, old trailer park. Coming out here must be like a vacation for you.”
I chuckled darkly, making sure not to avert my gaze. He wanted trouble. He wanted a fight. And I’d take him down easily, no questions about it.
“What else did you find out about me? Huh?” I nodded at him. “What else is it about me that you wanna talk about? And if you wanna do more than talk, I can take care of that big fuckin’ mouth of yours after your friend gives me the money he owes me.”
He breathed in sharply. “I told you to stay away frommy daughter, didn’t I? And you should be doing that. You should be staying away from her like I said."
“She came to me.” I stared at him seriously.
“Oh, please. You and my daughter make no sense. Even if this whole thing is for a school project. You definitely forced your way into her life.”
“Holly’s the last fucking person whose life I wouldforcemy way into.”
“I don’t believe that.” He eyed me up and down again, his disgust with me looking like it was growing by the second. “Her boyfriend can’t be too happy with you. Especially after what you did to him last year.”
“What’s his name again?”
“You don’t remember the name of the boy you sent to the hospital? The quarterback of your school’s own football team?”
“I don’t really watch much football…”
“Yes, you, uh…paint,” Joe carried on with amusement in his eyes. “I’m sure Holly thinks you’reverytalented.”
It was obvious he thought my art didn’t mean shit. He wasn’t being subtle about that. But I was used to people thinking very little of me, anyway.
“I’m not fucking your daughter,” I told him bluntly. “If that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Joe blinked at me. He hadn’t been expecting that. “What did you just say to me?”
“You goin’ deaf over there, Pops?” I asked him lowly. “You worried I’m gonna corrupt your little princess or something? Who knows, maybe she’ll like it?”
“You little—” Joe started, but he quickly stopped thanks to Eric bellowing from the top of the stairs.
“Here you go, Sawyer!” Eric called out, waving a stack of money around in his hand. “Sorry for the wait! I also have that issue of The Chronicle. You should read the article! But thank you for coming over. Will you be selling any more of your pieces?”
“Maybe,” I muttered, wrapping my fingers around the crisp notes as I stuck the newspaper under my arm. Giving it a quick count to make sure he wasn’t ripping me off, I shoved the cash into my jeans pocket. Joe hadcooled off, but I could still feel his eyes on me as I moved.
But I wasn’t afraid of him. My eyes stared right into his, and I took joy in the way he was scrutinizing me. I was everything he would have told Holly to stay away from. I was the criminal. The bad boy. The troublemaker. Sawyer Westbrook was bad news.
“Guess I’ll see Holly tomorrow at school,” I said to Joe with a crooked grin. “Can’t wait.” I gave him a wink before turning around and leaving.
I got my cash. Good.
But most importantly, I made my point.
***
Brodie wasn’t home when I got back. Dad was gone as well – probably out getting drunk somewhere. Either way, I was thankful I could finally get some rest.
I tossed the newspaper on to my bedside table, kicked my shoes off, made sure my cash was hidden away in my box, and quickly slumped into bed with a loud sigh. There was no way I could tell my dad about the money. He’d spent it in an hour – and not on rent and food and bills.
Letting out a sharp breath, the bright yellow papers to my side caught my attention. Holly’s newspaper. I still hadn’t read that article about me. She must have written some good shit, because I somehow managed to get a sale.
My tongue clicked. I didn’t want to read it. I didn’t want to care about what Holly had to say about me. But I snatched the school paper off my table and flicked through a few pages until I saw my name. I saw a clear photo of my painting with a few paragraphs below it.
Sawyer Westbrook knows how to make faraway lands feel close. He erases that distance. His work makes you feel the heat: you feel the sun and the warm air and the dry land. It’s everything. The best thing about Westbrook’s work is how easily it takes you away. There’s a spark there. The warm colors, the brightness, the vibrant elements: they all come together to create a piece that feels oh so special.
