She let out an exaggerated huff as she looked at him. “This coming from the same person who spent nearly an hour picking out a Christmas tree that time?”
“What can I say? I’m finicky. I don’t deny it. But not all of us have your memory. You see something and the picture of it is burned in your brain forever, but the only greenery I can identify is the kind I can smoke.”
“You mean this kind?” she asked, picking up her paintbrush. She dipped the tip into the container of green paint and quickly drew the outline of a marijuana leaf on the corner of the canvas.
He laughed. “Yes, that kind, but you probably shouldn’t have done that. You fucked up your painting.”
She shook her head with frustration, sticking her paintbrush in a container of murky water. “It doesn’t matter, Carmine. It was already fucked up.”
He gaped at her. “What did you just say?”
“I said that it was already—”
“Christ, tesoro, you can’t say that shit!” He cut her off before she could repeat herself. “Do you know what it does to me?”
She smiled, blushing, and her eyes darted directly to his crotch. Yeah, she knew exactly what it did to Carmine. Closing his eyes, he let out a groan.
“I’d apologize, but I can’t honestly say I’m sorry,” she admitted.
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t apologize then,” he muttered. “You should always mean what you say and say what you mean.”
“But you never say anything mean,” she added.
His brow furrowed. “That’s not a part of the saying.”
“It fits.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s bullshit. Sometimes you have to say something mean.”
She looked at Carmine incredulously. “There’s never a time when you have to say something mean.”
“Yes, there is.”
Her eyes narrowed. “When?”
“Plenty of times.”
“Name one.”
He didn’t balk at a challenge, not even one that came from her. “When someone says something mean to you first.”
“Then you just walk away,” she said. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Well, what if you can’t walk away? What if they won’t let you?”
“And you think saying something mean is going to help you if that’s the case?”
She had Carmine there. “Well, what if you got something on you, like in your teeth. Shouldn’t I tell you?”
“Yes, but that’s not mean. That’s helpful.”
“What if it’s something permanent though, like your nose? What if you have a crooked, fucked-up nose?”
Her hand immediately went to her face, her fingers running down the ridge of her nose as she eyed Carmine hesitantly. He groaned, realizing it sounded like he was telling her that. He recalled how self-conscious she had been years before and felt like an asshole. Way to go, DeMarco. Insult her next time . . .
“Not you, tesoro,” he said. “I didn’t mean you. Your nose is fine. Fucking great, even. I’m just saying, you know, hypothetically . . .”
“Well, hypothetically, why would it be necessary to tell me? It wouldn’t be hurting you, so why hurt me?”