Sketch - Laramie Briscoe Page 0,3
week at the gym, and I run every morning. I look better now than I did in high school. I haven’t lost a lot of weight, but I’m much more muscular than I’ve ever been, and I do have the beginnings of a six pack, if I do say so myself.
Her car is parked in the driveway as I turn my truck in, parking beside her. Sitting there for a few minutes gives me time to get my feelings under control, and I know it keeps her guessing and on her toes. I see her get out of her car, so I get out of mine.
“Nina,” I greet her with a nod of my head. I don’t want to give her any more of myself than I already have. If she wants words from me, she’s going to have to work for it.
“Hey, Sketch,” she greets me with a small smile. “How are you?”
I don’t miss the way her eyes rake over my body. It gives me a sense of accomplishment.
“Let’s not make small talk, Nina.” I purposely use her name. “What are you here to get?”
She swallows hard. I can tell by the way her throat moves. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” she pleads.
“Harder? You left me, babe. Not the other way around.” There’s that anger again, festering just beneath the surface. It makes me want to either beat the shit out of something or grab my shoes and run another three miles.
“Do we have to get into this?”
Putting my hands on my hips, I face her. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I face her. “There’s no time like the present, sweetheart. Why don’t we lay it out on the table?”
She’s still watching me with more interest in her eyes than she has in years. I’m a dick and I know it, but I can’t help the words that come out of my mouth. “Or we can use the table to lay your body out. I haven’t fucked you on the kitchen table in a long time.”
“Is this necessary?” Her eyes narrow and she glares at me.
“Whatever it takes for me not to lose my mind is necessary,” I tell her with a tone that is much rougher than I’ve ever used with her. “Please, do us both a favor. Get your shit, and get out.”
“You’ve changed, Devin.”
Back to the real name again.
“I had to. When your heart is ripped from your chest and torn into a million pieces, you’ve kinda gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”
The look on her face tells me that maybe I’ve not been the only one hurting, but I don’t allow myself to respond.
Chapter Three
SKETCH
I keep my distance as I follow her into the house. There’s a huge part of me that wants to be able to witness her reaction to the changes I’ve made. It’s shock value, I tell myself. Her response will fulfill a part of me that’s been empty since she left. That’s another thing I tell myself all the time.
We get to the door and she stops, stepping aside. “I doubt my key still works.”
It’s said with a little self-deprecation, but I can tell she truly wonders.
“Your key still works,” I admit. “You could have come to do this while I wasn’t here if you had wanted to.”
Pushing the door open, I motion for her to step inside. I watch as she immediately goes for the living room. It was always her haven. Flipping on the light, I prepare myself for the onslaught I know this woman is going to rain down on me. If she’s anything like the girl I married, I’m about to get my balls handed to me.
“Sketch, what the fuck did you do?”
The anger and hurt is there, in her voice. It makes me feel good, and I know it shouldn’t, but I want her to hurt as badly as I did when she walked away from me. We never talked about it—hell, this is the first time we’ve seen each other. It’s past time we had this conversation.
“Got rid of that goddamn fucking cheery yellow.”
“I loved that yellow,” she argues, piercing me with an accusing glance, her blue eyes sparkling with anger.
“I know,” I admit as I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest.
Her interest doesn’t escape me. There was always one thing Nina loved, and that was the ink on my arms. When we were in high school and I