Caleb rubbed his chin. “A fake girlfriend.” He liked the idea.
“And . . .” Nathan sucked in a deep breath, stray chuckles still escaping. “Since you’ve already cultivated your manwhore image, no one will think twice about you bringing someone new to the parties.”
“Gee, thanks.” Caleb scowled.
“Happy to help.”
“The question is, who?” Preston asked, bringing them back to what they had already discussed earlier.
“I can’t think of anyone else.” Caleb’s hope deflated like a balloon with a small hole. “Maybe Tash knows someone?”
Nathan pursed his lips. “You’ve already dated all her friends.”
“And her friends’ friends,” Preston added.
“I think I liked it better when you were quiet.” Caleb combed his fingers through his hair. He had done that so much today he was afraid he would grow bald if they didn’t find a solution soon.
Ignoring the jab, Preston asked no one in particular, “Who do we know that’s outside our usual crowd?”
“You want Caleb to contract this out?”
The best friends were arguing the merits of fishing out of their pond, when the image of the girl with startling brown eyes came to mind. Caleb leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and clasping his hands together. It was a stretch. Aside from knowing her name, she was a complete stranger to him. Would she do it? Who would say yes to attending stuffy parties all summer pretending to be his girlfriend? But she was the only one he knew on the outside. . . .
“I know that look,” Nathan said.
“I think I know someone.” He bit down on the tips of his thumbs. She had jumped off Coward’s Cliff. Maybe she was impulsive enough to agree. But his father had said that he needed to stay on his best behavior. If she was the reckless type, it could become a problem, especially considering the social circles he moved in. “I’m not sure.”
“Come on.” The whine in his cousin’s tone made him look up. “We can’t help you if you don’t share what you’re thinking.”
Ah, screw it! If he was to survive, he had to do something. “How well do you know the manager at the club?”
Six
BY FRIDAY OF the following week, Didi had done only three things: eat, sleep, and paint. Not necessarily in that order.
She started by painting his eyes, trying to find the right shade of blue to match how she remembered them. Van Gogh had a thing for blue too. So many shades, so little time. Eventually she moved on to the contours of his face, combining flesh tones like an alchemist in search of the perfect mixture when re-creating the angles and planes. His hair was the toughest part. She had to blend several types of brown, trying to translate onto canvas the right texture of softness she imagined she would have felt if she had given in to combing her fingers through it at the dock that afternoon.
As far as muses went, Caleb Parker was frustrating. She couldn’t quite pin him down, and she knew she wouldn’t see him again. They might both live in Dodge Cove, but they were galaxies apart.
She was in the final stages of her third attempt when the doorbell rang. With a jolt, she pulled her hand away. Good thing the brush hadn’t made contact with the canvas yet, or there would have been a yellow streak across his face.
The bell rang again.
Aside from the occasional pizza delivery, the button beside the front door was hardly ever used. Had her mom forgotten her key or something? Not likely.
When a third ring reverberated through the house, she plunged the brush into the jar of turpentine she kept close and grabbed a filthy rag.
Another ring.
“Coming!” she yelled, rubbing the rag over her fingers to get as much of the paint off as she could. Despite neglecting the cleaning, her mother wouldn’t appreciate paint on the doorknob. Which reminded her: must clean house.
As a final precaution, she rubbed her hand against her overalls. Once satisfied she wouldn’t leave any oily residue, she turned the lock. Only when the door was already halfway open did she remember her mother’s reminder of asking who it was first. Might be some rapist or home invader, she would always say.
As a safety precaution, Didi warned in her most threatening voice, “If you’re here to rape me or invade my home, I have the nine and the one already dialed!” Then she threw the door wide open. Her lips formed an O when she recognized the person standing on the other side. “You’re not a rapist or home invader.”
A sexy smile accompanied a raised eyebrow and the removal of aviator sunglasses that revealed those blue eyes she had been dreaming of all week. Damn. They were a darker shade than she had first thought. Or maybe it was because the light was different on her front porch.