Idiots to Lovers (bxb)

33 | Paint Got On Everything Except For The Wall

I carefully lined the floor with newspapers, even taping them at the edges and to the bottom of the wall in case Everett starts dancing around and scatters them everywhere. We had luckily bought a lot of painters tape, so I lined the sides of the wall to make sure we don't end up having to paint all the other walls as well.

Everett sat cross legged in the middle of the newspapers, impatiently hugging the can of paint. His fingers tapped on the lid, itching to rip it open. I had ordered him not to move a muscle till I had finished prepping the area. The only reason we had even managed to safely transport the paint to my house was because I had snatched it from him soon upon leaving the store, and had gotten him to carry the equipment instead.

The sound of Everett's fingers tap-tap-tapping on the lid was bringing on some type of anxiety, akin to a looming certainty. I was dead sure that any moment now, he was going to open the lid forcefully enough to crack the can and spill its entire contents on my floor.

"Hey, let me open that for you." I knelt in front of him, covering his hands with mine. "I'm done taping."

"No! I've been waiting to open it!"

"Let's do it together, okay?"

I slowly peeled the lid open and Everett's hands somehow slipped to opening it from the underside, coating his fingers in apple green.

"Oops." He tried to flip his palms around, but of course that only resulted in the backs of his hands dipping into the paint as well.

"That's okay, it was going to happen sooner or later," I reassured him. "At least we got it out of the way."

"What was that?" Everett grinned and reached for me. "You've got something on your face."

I quickly caught his hands with both of mine. Green fingerprints stamped over my skin and scattered over my knuckles, the swirls that were uniquely his imprinting themselves upon me.

Everett was suddenly so close. His lips were inches away from mine with our hands were clasped between us. I felt the light breath that exhaled with his whispered words, fanning across my face and heating up my cheeks. "Now that's out of the way too."

"Um, yes!" My voice came out in a squeak. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes. We can start now."

The area to be painted was neatly taped around into a rectangle so firm that even Everett couldn't paint outside the lines. I hadn't taped near the ceiling but I was planning to paint the top half of the wall myself. No way would I let him climb a ladder.

Everett forgot he was in the middle of torturing me and excitedly grabbed the large roller brush. He pushed it into the paint can, trying to stuff it in as much as it could go. "See this is why we have to get paint on our hands sooner or later, the thing is too big to fit."

He cupped his hand and dipped it in the can, filling his palm to the brim before lifting it above the roller and spilling the paint over it. A few drops made it onto the brush while the rest of the thick liquid poured straight onto his jeans.

Everett looked down in disappointment. "How did that happen?"

Honestly, nothing he did could shock me anymore.

"That's what Luca gave us the paint tray for," I reminded, sliding it towards him. "We can pour the paint in this and then roll the brush in it."

"Ohh." Everett lifted up the bucket in a quick, jerky movement—but I had been anticipating it. My hands were already at the base, balancing the can and determining how much paint was being poured.

Everett happily rolled his big roller in the tray once it was full, sloshing the paint over the side and sodding all the newspapers he knelt in. His jeans were so wet by now they practically clung to his legs. I was glad I'd decided to go for that extra liter.

He swung up the roller, paint flying and smattering over the wall. Everett held the roller brush directly above him, sweeping large arcs that showered apple green specks over his curly hair. He pressed the overly saturated roller tightly to the wall, letting rivulets drip down so that the bottom of the wall painted itself in messy streaks.

"You don't need that much paint to be on the brush," I suggested as he went to dip it in the tray again.

"I'm applying a thick coat so that we don't need to go over it again," he explained, "See, people never get these ideas. They spend all their time painting thousands of thin coats...imagine how many pointless extra coats have been painted over the years?"

Everett gestured wildly as he spoke, flicking us both with paint. I swiped at my face, glancing at my hand to note that paint had indeed smeared across my cheek.

"It saves paint—it would stop it dripping everywhere," I argued, "and getting all over you."

"It's part of the experience."

Not wanting to be the voice of reason yet again, I changed the topic instead. "Hey I've been meaning to ask you, what are you planning to do for college?"

Everett groaned. "Don't remind me. My parents have been hounding me for months now." He slipped to the ground and I crouched next him, careful not to get too close to his paint covered body. "Dad wants me to enroll for something boring like business."

"That's a useful field," I pointed out. "I was going to do it too."

"But it's so dull." Everett considered for a moment. "Though...it would be fun if we were both in the same class."

"Neither of us would learn anything."

"True." Everett flashed me a smile, scooting closer till his paint covered arm was pressed against my side. "Anyway, I wanted to take a gap year and work for a while...though dad doesn't really want me working for him anymore."

"I wonder why," I teased, slipping my hand in his. I couldn't bring myself to mind my clothes turning green.

"I suggested doing weekly baking workshops at the cafe, but he said that no one will learn anything."

I snorted.

"Clementine!"

Laughing, I pecked his apple green cheek. "Maybe you could teach a workshop called 'How Not To Bake.'"

"Hahah very funny." Everett rolled his eyes and smiled, casting me a sidelong look. "Although...."

I raised my brows, considering it seriously. "I guess it's not a half-bad idea."

"Wait, this could actually be really fun," Everett exclaimed, his eyes going wide, "A sort of reversal on the classic 'how-to' classes. 'How To Burn A Brownie In Five Easy Steps!'"

I laughed, his excitement rubbing off on me. "'How To Set Your Kitchen On Fire In Under Ten Minutes.'"

"It's too soon Clementine." Everett shuddered, eyes going hazy as he recalled his mother's ire that day. "Too soon."