It was a long goddamn night. It was one full of Ares Mallick’s glances. It was like he was checking to make sure I was okay or some shit, and eventually, I threw my paintbrush at him. He was working at the trunk of the car, and the brush caught him right in the face.
“The fuck?” He popped up, snarling. We’d almost finished the side he was on and probably only had a few more days on this thing before the piece came together. He tipped his chin at me. “What was up with that?”
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head and turning back toward the mural. “That’s because you won’t stop fucking looking at me. You’ve been doing that shit since we started the night.”
And he’d been more than obvious about it. If he had something to say, he might as well say it.
A sigh occurred behind me, loud enough where I heard it. Eventually, I heard him make his way over, and he watched me paint for a while.
“It’s looking good,” he chose to say. I supposed it was easier than actually talking about anything else. When we did talk, it was about art. He’d said never to bring personal shit in here, so we didn’t.
Ares started to walk away, but then he braced his arms.
“You good?” he asked, but when I didn’t say anything, he pushed himself into view. His brow arched. “Sloane.”
“Ares?” I continued to paint, barely looking at him. He sighed again, and I didn’t miss when he sat back down on his stool. He didn’t stare at me this time, but he also didn’t put his earbuds in.
“I talked to him.”
I turned after what he said, and unlike most of the night, he had his head down, his full concentration on the paint.
He swirled a long stroke. “He told me what happened, and I told him that wasn’t cool. Especially after I told him to back off.”
“Why even bother?”
His shrug was subtle. “You seemed upset.”
Again, why would he care?
“You better be careful, Mallick,” I said, pausing. “You’re kind of looking like a friend. Actually, you look like a friend a lot.”
He stopped painting. He gazed up. “Or maybe I’m not an asshole.” His lips tightened. “Maybe in all your judgment, I’m not as much of a dick as you want me to be.”
“And maybe I’m not a bitch.” I tilted my head. “And I never did get an apology for that. That first day?”
Not to mention he’d called me a cunt, and God only knew what else. He’d been a tool. He knew it, and that was outside of him not believing me either at first.
His nod was slow. “I did snap-judge you. I did judge you, but I was wrong, little.”
He was wrong…
“I’m sorry.” He opened his hands. “I was in the wrong, and about more than a few things since then. I’m sorry for all of it.”
I honestly didn’t know what to say to that. I never thought I’d hear that.
“Anyway, are you okay? I mean…” He pulled the paint towel off his shoulder, twisting it. “I’d like not to be enemies. I know I’ve called a truce in the past, but I actually mean it this time.”
I definitely hadn’t forgotten about the whole lingerie-party thing.
Nor the fact that he just asked me if I was okay.
“Dude, this is looking sweet.”
We both angled around, Bru waltzing into the garage. Bru stepped over a few paint cans, and with his arrival, he’d cracked the weird fucking vibe in here.
My brother lifted a hand to Ares, and though his teammate didn’t seem like the type to appreciate people poking in to stare at his work, Ares was cool about it.
“Thanks, man,” Ares said. “It’s really coming together.”