I Like Being Watched

"Or is it a crude observation of an undeniable truth?" Blake shot back, talking about me like I wasn't standing right fucking there.

"I think it is proof that you and your brother have some issues you clearly need to work on. With some sort of impartial mediator," Wynn said, shaking her head at him. "All of this is unproductive. I'm sure you have other things you'd rather be doing than arguing what I can only assume is the same old argument with your brother."

"You are right about that," Blake said, nodding. "Lots of pretty ladies out there I could be making smile instead. Care to go get a drink and be one of them?" he asked.

I hoped to hell the growl I let out at his words wasn't loud enough for either of them to hear from across the room. There was no denying to myself, however, that was exactly what it was. A growl. A base, primal sound brought about by the prospect of Wynn spending her free time with my brother.

I'd never been a possessive man before. I'd never cared enough about a woman to be upset when her free time wasn't saved for me.

I guess that was further proof that I didn't just want to keep fucking Wynn. I wanted something more than that.

"I can't."

"Hot date?" Blake asked.

It was a throwaway kind of question, but I felt my stomach twisting for a long second before she answered.

"Yes, with my paintbrush and a fresh canvas."

"Oh, right. I forgot you play around with art in your free time."

Well, if I'd been worrying Wynn might transfer her interest from me to the much more laid-back and fun Blake, it all slipped away with that comment. As well as her reaction to it.

Her eyes blazed bright enough to damn near scorch me from across the room. Her jaw tightened. Her chin raised. And her arms crossed over her chest.

If you wanted to piss off a creative person, implying that their craft was something to be fiddled with in their free time after working at their 'real job' was a pretty damn good way to do it.

Wynn looked two seconds away from starting an argument with Blake that would rival the one I'd just had with him.

"Blake, I think you are going to want to shut your mouth and leave," I suggested even as he seemed to notice the same thing about Wynn that I did right then.

"Right. Yeah. I, you know, didn't mean anything," he said, rushing out.

"You never do," I grumbled to myself even as my gaze fell on Wynn again, practically shaking in her rage.

"He's an idiot who doesn't think before he speaks," I told her, watching as her gaze cut to me. "I can't apologize for his ignorance, but he doesn't speak for the whole family," I added. "I know your art is an important part of your life, and that the time you dedicate to it is valid."

At that, she took a slow, deep breath, and exhaled it on a sigh as her arms fell down at her sides.

"Thank you. I know it shouldn't get a rise out of me. I've been hearing it all my life that art isn't a 'real job.' And, I guess, for most of us, it isn't. We tend to have to go out and get jobs that will pay the bills."

"I'm sure you will make a name for yourself in due time," I told her. She was smart and dedicated. If she set her mind to succeeding, I didn't doubt she would get there eventually. No matter the odds. "Whenever there is a rule, there are exceptions to it."

"That's true," she agreed, relaxing by the second. "And Blake might be a nice enough guy, but..." she started, trailing off as she waved a hand outward.

"He has absolutely no idea how the world works? Yeah, I'm painfully aware of that fact."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why do you take care of him? I know it might be a cultural thing, but in the middle or even upper-middle class, when you have an irresponsible ingrate, the caretakers tend to cut them off eventually, so they get a chance to get a kick in the ass that will set them on the right path."

"It's our father," I told her, shrugging. "He asked me to look after Blake."

"I understand that. But would your father insist that to do that, you would need to put up with the disrespect he always gives you?"

"You have a point," I admitted. "My father was more tolerant of Blake's behavior than he would have been with me. I think age softens parenting styles. But he would never have put up with the way Blake destroys the house." Amongst other things.

"I mean, I'm not saying you should cut him out of your life, or off completely. But maybe if he had to learn how much things actually cost because he has to pay his own rent, utilities, food, and furnishing costs, he would be more considerate."