Read Online Unmask (Adrenaline Series (Stand Alone) Book 4) by Xavier Neal - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Xavier Neal
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in my brain doing their best to separate the actual meaning from the innuendo I wish he was referring to. On a soft sigh, I snatch the pencil. “Fine. But you asked for this monstrosity.”
He nods as I lean over, so my body is pressed tightly against his. Unsure if the closeness is necessary or not, I take it for what it is. Happening. I do my best to focus on the request, my hand shaking while the creation falls in the empty corner on the page. When I'm finally finished there's a sense of pride sitting on my shoulders.
Not too bad, huh?
“That's....that's...” Drew seems to struggle to find the words. “That's awful.”
I hate him.
“Well,” I snap and shove the pencil back at him. “I tried to warn you.”
“Is that supposed to be a snowman on a diet?”
“Shut up.”
“Did he confuse cocaine for snow?” The teasing continues until I start to smile. “Should we all be on this diet?”
“Very funny.” Rolling my eyes, I make the motion to move away when Drew's body tenses as if indicating it wants me to stay right where I am. Nervously I swallow. “I tried to tell you.”
His arm extends around the back of the couch.
It makes me wonder if he could wrap his arm around me right now would he. What do you mean of course he would?
“Can you draw a heart?”
“So you can tell me that it looks like a pumpkin exploded or something. No.”
“I won't say that.”
A sarcastic scowl comes from me.
“Swear.” He surrenders his left hand. “I won't say that. Draw me a heart.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me?”
I shake my head.
I learned my lesson trusting a gorgeous smile and a smooth talker a very long time ago.
“I wanna show you something. Draw the heart.”
A deep sigh escapes me. I snatch the pencil back from him. I concentrate with everything in me on drawing the simple curves and trying to connect them at a point. Once I'm fairly certain I've done an alright job, I offer him back the pencil. I expect him to take it with his right, but he uses his left. He proceeds to shade my heart, turning it from a simple doodle into something remarkable. Suddenly it has veins and valves like an actual beating organ. Next thing I know there are pulse lines coming out of it to make the letter M.
“This is a tattoo all of Triple D has,” he announces as he finishes. “Destin designed it. He designed most of the tattoos we have, but this one was to represent our mom. She was the heartbeat of the McCoys. She uh...she never hesitated to do what it took to keep us safe.”
I look over with just enough time to see a sadness I can relate to. Wanting to go where I know I don't need to, I once again redirect our attention, fighting the instinct to attach myself to the first new object in my fishbowl of a life. “You drew that with your left hand.”
A little smirk returns to his hardened face. “Yeah. Daniel's fucking left handed, so it became a skill I had to learn. That's the thing when you're always switching places. Smarter people pay attention to little details like that.”
“So you can sculpt...and Destin can draw?”
“He can. He rarely does it anymore,” he mumbles more to himself than me, the pencil still darkening the lines. “Merrick could paint.”
My body nestles a little closer. His
He nods as I lean over, so my body is pressed tightly against his. Unsure if the closeness is necessary or not, I take it for what it is. Happening. I do my best to focus on the request, my hand shaking while the creation falls in the empty corner on the page. When I'm finally finished there's a sense of pride sitting on my shoulders.
Not too bad, huh?
“That's....that's...” Drew seems to struggle to find the words. “That's awful.”
I hate him.
“Well,” I snap and shove the pencil back at him. “I tried to warn you.”
“Is that supposed to be a snowman on a diet?”
“Shut up.”
“Did he confuse cocaine for snow?” The teasing continues until I start to smile. “Should we all be on this diet?”
“Very funny.” Rolling my eyes, I make the motion to move away when Drew's body tenses as if indicating it wants me to stay right where I am. Nervously I swallow. “I tried to tell you.”
His arm extends around the back of the couch.
It makes me wonder if he could wrap his arm around me right now would he. What do you mean of course he would?
“Can you draw a heart?”
“So you can tell me that it looks like a pumpkin exploded or something. No.”
“I won't say that.”
A sarcastic scowl comes from me.
“Swear.” He surrenders his left hand. “I won't say that. Draw me a heart.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me?”
I shake my head.
I learned my lesson trusting a gorgeous smile and a smooth talker a very long time ago.
“I wanna show you something. Draw the heart.”
A deep sigh escapes me. I snatch the pencil back from him. I concentrate with everything in me on drawing the simple curves and trying to connect them at a point. Once I'm fairly certain I've done an alright job, I offer him back the pencil. I expect him to take it with his right, but he uses his left. He proceeds to shade my heart, turning it from a simple doodle into something remarkable. Suddenly it has veins and valves like an actual beating organ. Next thing I know there are pulse lines coming out of it to make the letter M.
“This is a tattoo all of Triple D has,” he announces as he finishes. “Destin designed it. He designed most of the tattoos we have, but this one was to represent our mom. She was the heartbeat of the McCoys. She uh...she never hesitated to do what it took to keep us safe.”
I look over with just enough time to see a sadness I can relate to. Wanting to go where I know I don't need to, I once again redirect our attention, fighting the instinct to attach myself to the first new object in my fishbowl of a life. “You drew that with your left hand.”
A little smirk returns to his hardened face. “Yeah. Daniel's fucking left handed, so it became a skill I had to learn. That's the thing when you're always switching places. Smarter people pay attention to little details like that.”
“So you can sculpt...and Destin can draw?”
“He can. He rarely does it anymore,” he mumbles more to himself than me, the pencil still darkening the lines. “Merrick could paint.”
My body nestles a little closer. His
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