A blush spreads across her face, and it’s fucking beautiful. “I didn’t realize you were serious,” she tells me, completely lying as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, showing off the paint smeared across her forehead.
“Angel, I’m always serious when it comes to you.” I push up from the counter and make my way toward her, grabbing the packet of wet ones I see sitting next to her. Standing in front of her, I crowd her space, caging her in with my body.
My stomach grazes across her legs, and she sucks in a nervous breath. “Wh … what are you doing?” she questions anxiously, making me smile just that bit more.
Ever so slowly, I pull out a wipe while staring straight into her eyes. “You’ve got a little … paint right here,” I say before reaching out and cleaning her up.
Amelia’s body tenses as her eyes go wide. She jumps off the counter, brushing the front of her body across mine before scrambling up the hallway. “Shit. I’ll umm … I’ll be right back,” she yells over her shoulder. “I’m just going to quickly jump in the shower.”
I hear her slam the bathroom door, and I lean back across the counter with a sigh. I pushed her too far. Damn it. How the hell am I going to fix this?
I take my chance to take in my surroundings, feeling awkward, and not exactly sure what to do with myself. That only lasts a few seconds before I realize what kind of opportunity I have here. So, I do what any normal human being would do and snoop. I head in the direction of the bedroom Amelia was in before I interrupted her.
Walking in, I quickly realize this must be one of the girls’ rooms. It’s perfectly fitting for a little girl, and it’s clear what Amelia is trying to achieve. If only she had a little talent where painting is concerned.
What is it with chicks and painting? One would only assume you would want to make work easier for yourself, not harder. I don’t know whether the mess is worse from Amelia thinking she was rocking out to her own private concert and flicking paint everywhere or because she’s just that bad at painting. Either way, it looks like a pink massacre. It’s on the ground, splattered across the walls. There’s even some up the hallway. Don’t get me started on the poor ceiling fan.
OCD has me itching to fix it while Amelia showers. Hell, I might as well give it a crack.
Slowly rolling up my sleeves, I walk over to the window and open it up, so we don’t die from the paint fumes. Wandering back to the doorway and sticking my head out, I check that the shower is still running.
Seeing as she’s still occupied, I make my way over to the paint tray, grab the brush which she carelessly dropped when I startled her, and place it back onto the tray. I can’t say I’ve ever worked with pink paint before, but I guess there’s always time for new experiences in life. Besides, this shit is giving me ideas for my niece’s bedroom. She’d love this girly crap in her space.
I look closer at the wall and notice Amelia has started taping it up, but on closer inspection, it’s clear that she’s only taped to as far as she can reach. I smirk to myself as I grab the tape off the floor and finish taping around the top of the window and cornices.
I step back and double-check it’s all done before grinning to myself. I have to give her credit for buying the tape. Clearly, she knew she was going to need it. I crouch down by the paint tin and open the lid before giving it a good stir, doubting that Amelia remembered to do that earlier. I refill the tray she was using then grab the brush and make sure there’s a nice, even amount on each side before getting started.
If I’m being honest, she’s done an alright job but the caveman inside of me doesn’t want her having to get her hands dirty. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have her sitting back and watching, keeping me company while I take care of this shit. Though it’s clear that she’s independent, I want her to need me. And sooner or later, she is going to need to get that shit through her head.