Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

He crossed his arms over his chest, the button down he wore stretching over his broad muscles. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re scared of opening yourself up to what you’ve shut away, but maybe that’s the problem. People can only take so much, Della, even you.”

I said nothing. All I could do was stare, not sure if I was offended or just irritated that he was right. Maybe a little of both. I mean, he wasn’t wrong. I knew there’d be a day in the not so distant future that I broke from keeping it together. I just figured I’d shut myself in my apartment to do it and ignore the rest of the world. What was wrong with that?

“Do you really think Mariska wanted to paint something like this?” The yes was at the tip of my tongue, but I held it back. He must have sensed that because he shook his head. “She was a lot of things, but she wouldn’t have put herself out there like this unless she felt a reason to. And you know what? If I think hard enough, I can probably remember the day she finished this. Not long before she left, she looked lighter. Like a weight had been lifted. The truth, I suppose.”

“The world already knows my truth.”

“You are the only one who knows your truth,” was his argument. His voice was hard, not willing to give me room to disagree. “You told me how angry you were, but it isn’t for the same reasons people probably think. Paint that. Hell, Della. Paint whatever makes you feel something.”

I looked at him for a long moment, knowing what was about to pass my lips was pushing the boundaries he’d drawn. “What if what makes me feel something involves you? Us?”

He didn’t even pause. “Then paint us how you see us. Scarred. Broken. Beautiful. Make it real, because reality fucking hurts, Della.”

“Is that…how you see us?”

That time, there was hesitation. “I see two people who have seen what the world can do to those less deserving of its wrath.”

It became hard to swallow as I absorbed his words. Did he think we somehow deserved what was coming to us? What had happened? That wasn’t normally how he spoke, not about anything I’d endured.

“I see.” Forcing out the words through my tight lips, I brushed off the hurt and stepped away from him.

He cursed when he realized what he said, reaching out to cup my arm just above my elbow. I stared at the contact, waiting for him to draw back like he normally did. “I didn’t mean it like that. How many times have I told you that you were never at fault for what’s happened? It’s me, Della, that the world would punish in a heartbeat. It’s gone after people who didn’t warrant that type of treatment, but me? It’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan and I’m not taking you down with me when it does.”

“Why?”

He scoffed. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Why would you assume the world is after you when you’ve been nothing but kind? You took care of a child that wasn’t yours. You sacrificed your time to a person you didn’t need to. Pretend you’re some ruthless businessman, but that isn’t who you are to me. If I don’t deserve being treated like shit because of things I couldn’t control, you shouldn’t either.”

“That’s your viewpoint, little Della.”

“Stop.” Abandoning the naivety that told me to flee the room, I opted to crowd him where he stood by his ex’s painting instead. “You no longer get to act like I’m too young. I can’t handle the hot and cold from you. One second, I’m an adult and the next, when it’s convenient for you, I’m little Della again. I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”

His features hardened, not in offense but something else. Caution. Jaw ticking, he remained silent on his own accord which only fueled my agitation further.

“You can’t have this both ways, Theo. I won’t play a part in your life as anybody but me. Adele Maria Saint James. Twenty-two. The little girl you taught to slow dance, to ride a bike, the one you learned to braid hair for, she’s gone. She grew up. She is standing right here waiting for the man she adores more than anything in this world to see her for what she is instead of what he pretends to view her as for his own protection. You want to be the big man on the block—the person the world should fear and punish? Then own up to it for once.”

The low growl that rose from his throat should have told me to back down, especially when he closed the gap between us and towered over me. I kept my head held high just like he always told me to do. It was that moment when he knew he’d raised me to be his biggest downfall, I could see it in his wavering demeanor. His walls were crumbling. All. Because. Of me.

What did he expect? We’d been circling around this pent-up frustration for over a year. Longer, even before he stormed into my apartment and made the first move. I’d crushed on Theo West ever since I knew what that was, and whether he knew it or not, it’d been brewing to this inevitable outcome since.

“Fuck,” he rumbled, before his hand gripped my jaw and tipped my head to meet his dark gaze. “Are you trying to ruin this?”

I took a deep breath. “Maybe I’m doing the exact opposite. Pretend all you want, but even if we are scarred and broken, that doesn’t mean we aren’t deserving of some good in our lives.”

His fingers tightened but not enough to hurt. We stared at each other like that, his eyes piercing mine, refusing to blink. The first one who did would lose, and we were both too prideful for that. He wasn’t the only one pretending to be somebody else, after all. I was selfish. I’ve wanted Theo West for most of my life in any way I could have him. I wanted all his attention, affection, and time. I got along with his wife for him, his “friends” who I learned were no more than associates as I’d gotten older, and anyone else I knew was important. All for me, so I could call him mine.

“I’m not the one who showed up drunk at your house,” I reminded him breathily. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but that would be backing down. We never talked about it because I’d been too afraid. But in moments like this, with his hands on me, I felt confident.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“I’m not the one,” I said despite his protesting, “who made the first move. Who begged you to kiss me. To touch me. To lick me because I needed you to know what I tasted like. That was you, Theo. All of it. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want it or that I don’t think about it. I do. A lot. Especially knowing that you made the choice to push m

e against that wall and—”

He cursed again before his mouth was on mine and my back was pushed against the wall similarly to how this unraveled the first time. I knew the painting was still there, pressing against the back of my calves, and I didn’t care. What I cared about was barely recognizable because his lips and teeth and tongue were dominating my mouth until all thoughts were hazy at best.

Grip tightening on my jaw, I winced as he rolled his hips into mine to pin me there. He was hard, and heat instantly pooled between my legs when I tried getting the friction I needed to get myself off, but he refused to let me move. One of his hands trailed down my side and grabbed my hip, kneading the muscle as his tongue twisted with mine and his teeth nicked my bottom lip. He wasn’t too rough, but he wasn’t gentle either. It was a combination I wouldn’t expect any differently from a man like him.