“Cheeseburgers?”
“Potato chips, too. Those were his real drug. He could eat a whole bag in one sitting, and not even think twice. It wasn’t just one thing, though. It was a lifetime of consistently bad nutritional choices, along with a genetic predisposition. And staying fairly active just wasn’t enough.” Her eyes went to mine. “So seeing you eat something which I know contributed to Darren’s death is just…hard. And yes, I gave you a look of disapproval, and it was judgmental, and I’m sorry.”
I pushed my plate to one side, wrestling with unease—with truth. “Liv, the honest answer here is that you’re right. You’re right to look at me that way.” I growled, tilted my head back to look at the ceiling. “I did have a heart attack, actually. Only barely survived it. I…well—I ain’t a healthy man, Liv. That much is obvious. And I know I need to change things if I want to stay alive, but…honestly, there’ve been times lately when I just didn’t necessarily see the point.”
She reared back. “Lucas—”
I smiled at her. “I’m startin’ to see the error of my ways, though.” I winked. “Gorgeous women have a way of doin’ that.”
She blushed even as she rolled her eyes at me. “You just met me.”
“Minds can change in a heartbeat, babe.” I paid the check, and we headed out to Liv’s truck. I settled into the passenger seat, and then continued when she was behind the wheel. “In all seriousness, though, I need to get healthy because I want to be around for my boys. And I got a whole pile of nephews to get to know, too.”
“A pile of nephews?”
I nodded. “My brother had eight sons.”
“Had? Past tense?”
I growled under my breath, and then sighed. “Long story.”
“Seems like you have a lot of long stories.”
“Like I said, my life ain’t always been…pleasant, or easy.” I noticed, then, that we weren’t heading back to my apartment. “Where are we going?”
“We’re picking up the paint for your apartment, and supplies to start painting.”
I blinked at that. “We are, huh?”
“Yep.” She smiled. “I’ve got a great shade picked out.”
I blinked again. Did I particularly want to paint? Not really. Did I want to spend more time Liv? Absolutely.
“Sounds good,” I said.
4
Liv
Lucas was…not great at painting. I had put down drop cloths, taped off around the windows and light switches and such, and had even borrowed painter’s coveralls for both of us from a contractor friend of mine—mine were enormous on me, pooling around my ankles and wrists even after being rolled half a dozen times; his were too small by at least a full size, straining around his belly and those colossal shoulders of his.
He had paint on his cheeks, in his beard, on his nose, in his hair, all over his hands…very little was even getting on the walls. He was grumbling a nonstop stream of curses under his breath the entire time as he held a tray of paint in one hand, wielding a trimming paintbrush in the other. He was supposed to be doing around the painter’s tape while I did the broad sections with the roller. Really, our jobs should be reversed, but it was just funny to watch him struggling with it, cursing and grumbling with such comical irritation.
“Piece o’ shit fuckin’ paint brush…goddamn stupid drippy-ass paint,” he muttered, glopping way too much paint on the end of the brush, cursing again as it dripped down the brush and onto his wrist, and then onto his boots and the drop cloth.
He touched the brush to the wall beside the taped-off light switch, only to have the paint drip and roll down the wall.
“Motherfucker,” he snarled.
I couldn’t help it, at that point—I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Lucas.”
He glared at me. “Glad somebody’s getting some enjoyment outta this shit,” he snarled.
“You know, I’m not even going to apologize for laughing,” I said. “You’re just so darned funny. Such a grump.”
“It’s stupid, and I hate it. It’s gettin’ fuckin’ everywhere ’cept where I want it to fuckin’ go.”
I set my roller aside and moved beside him. “Oh, Lucas.”
