“I think she's a little weird,” Walt adds unhelpfully.
“Nu uh!” Jemma warns the pair of us. She points her finger at both of our faces, waggling it back and forth. “No bickering tonight, not when I'm so happy right now.”
“Sorry,” I reply contritely.
She raises a menacing eyebrow at Walt. Back when she first met him, I know Jemma was intimidated by him – it's hard not to be – but now he sinks into his seat and actually looks sheepish. “Sorry, Jem.”
“That's better.”
Changing the subject, Reid starts telling us about a new client of his who's determined to get the faces of the Harry Potter movies tattooed across her back, and I almost manage to ignore Walt for a whole five minutes. It's a glorious five minutes.
So, given it up to my brother yet?
If I wasn't so scared of being bitch slapped by Jemma, my drink would be all up in his face.
None of your business. Jerk.
I haven't had sex with Aleix yet, but Walt sure as hell doesn't need to know that. I mean, we've fooled around a little. Okay, a lot. He came back to my place after dinner one night and there was some definite rolling around going on beneath my sheets, but we didn't go all the way. There were one or two pretty nice neargasms though.
Fine, I'll just ask him.
He wouldn't tell you anything. I know him better than that.
Walt scoffs, and a couple of people around the table turn to him questioningly.
“Got something stuck in my throat,” he lies, and I have to stifle a laugh.
You haven't even known him two weeks.
Why do you even care?
His eyes meet mine across the table then, and for the briefest moment there's a flicker of something in those impossibly dark depths. Something vulnerable, something raw. Something I've never seen before, not in him. But then it's gone so quick I decide I must have imagined it, because Walt. . .he would never look at me that way. Like I was the very air he needed to breathe.
I don't. I don't care about you at all.
Chapter 4
Ibbie
WHEN ALEIX STOPS calling and texting and starts ignoring my messages, I'm not super pissed. I mean, it's only been a day and I'm not a clingy freak of nature. He's probably just busy at work.
On the third day, I'm ever so slightly miffed. Because rude much?
By the time the fifth day rolls around, I'm just hurt. We may have only known each other a few weeks but we'd been having a good time and I'd thought he liked me as much as I liked him.
I start getting worried on day number six. What if he had an accident and hurt himself, or what if he got so sick he isn't even able to pick up the phone to call? Okay, that's a stretch, I know, but still the thought keeps running through my head on a revolving loop.
On the seventh day I gather up all of my resolve and I do the unthinkable – I swallow every last bit of my pride and I go see the one person who might be able to give me some answers.
Walt looks understandably surprised when he opens the door to see me standing on the other side. I had to use every last bit of charm in my arsenal on the stuffy old doorman downstairs to get him to let me up without buzzing first, because I knew if we'd buzzed then Walt probably wouldn't have let me in. The only reason I even know where he lives is because I was with Jemma one time when she picked him up on our way to meet Reid.
He's so shocked to see me that he doesn't even manage to come up with a snide comment like he usually would. It's a refreshing change.
“Ibbie?” he asks. What is he expecting? For me to unzip my face and reveal that I'm somebody else like one of the villains from Scooby Doo?
“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” I say, scuffing my converse against the carpeted floor. “I stopped by Reid's tattoo shop and he said you weren't working for him or Digby today.”
He blinks. I've never noticed before how long his eyelashes are. “You were lookin' for me?”
Well duh almost slips right out of my mouth, but then I remember that I'm here for his help. “Yep.”
“You wanna. . .uh, you wanna come in or somethin'?” He looks about as uncomfortable as I feel.
“Yes please.”
Without another word, he opens the door wider and steps aside.
My lips press tightly together as I step inside Walt's apartment for the very first time. It's way nicer than I expected – it's not the fiery pits of Hell, for one thing. But the place is smart, in a modern, manly kind of way. Wooden floors and black and blue furnishings, with an entire wall made up of windows. Very bachelor.
Stacks of canvases lean against the walls, some empty, but some filled with beautiful swirls of color. I move forward curiously to check them out but Walt hurries over to turn them away from my prying eyes. For a moment I bristle, thinking he's doing it to be rude, but then I catch the faintest tinge of pink on his stubbly cheeks and I realize that he's embarrassed.
He's wearing a black vest which clings to his sculpted body. On one side, the snake tattoo created by Reid curls around his arm, and even though that's incredible in its own right, the other side is what never fails to take my breath away. From the top of his shoulder right down to his hand is one continuous work of art, a masterpiece. Starting with the intricate tattoos of the sun and the moon and the stars at the top of his shoulder, to the birds mid flight as they escape a terrifying dragon on his bicep, to the flames and the swirls of patterns with small words and phrases worked in that I've never gotten close enough to read on his forearm and wrist.
“I didn't know you were an artist,” I tell him. “I mean obviously I knew you were an artist, because you kind of have to be if you're going to be inking people's bodies and all, but I had no idea you did other kinds of art too.” Wow. Ramble much?
He shrugs, not meeting my gaze. His hands are covered in black charcoal dust, and I see an open sketchpad on the table behind him.
“Can I see?” I nod towards the sketchpad.
A look of panic flits across his face. Without even turning back, he reaches behind him and flips the pad closed, then stands in front of it protectively. This Walt, he's so strange and different to the cold, snarly guy I'm used to. He's almost. . .shy? He folds his arms across his chest, making the muscles in his arms bulge. I'm pretty sure the snake on his arm just winked at me. “No. It's private.”
“Okay then,” I reply slowly, because I'm ninety nine percent sure the real Walt has been abducted by aliens and replaced with this stranger.
“So what do you want?” he demands roughly. “Isn't it enough that I have to see you when we all hang out?” Ah, there's the Walt I know and hate.
“What, you're not gonna offer me a beverage? A snack? A comfy chair by the fire?”
“I would, but I don't want you getting any ideas. Like that you're welcome. Because you're not.” And the verbal punching begins. “This is a princess free apartment.”
I hold my hands up in the air. “Okay, can you just. . .find your silence for like, two seconds. Please?”
He rolls his eyes. “Seriously, what do you want? I'm not having sex with you, if that's what you're after.”