Free Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series by Donna McDonald

can’t be total scum warmed over if he was able to raise a son like Brandon.”
    Michael blinked and warned his mouth not to open, but the ‘oh hell’ side of him won. “Do you think Brandon saved Chelsea, and never had any reaction to her? The girl is turning into a woman. A man is just a man, Brooke. Be careful of putting people on pedestals. It hurts to fall off one. Trust me—I know.”
    Brooke raised a hand to the ceiling and let it drop back to her side. Men. They were a united front about their insane beliefs. They all felt they had some biological imperative to indulge in the debauchery of every female who crossed their path.
    “Why did I bother coming here? I should have known you’d take Drake’s side. You’re a guy.”
    “Side? What side? I’m taking no one’s side. I simply think you should talk to Drake, not just me.”
    “Come on, Michael. There are a ton of women on campus who would lay down at Drake’s feet and let him walk all over them for the hope of sleeping with him. It wasn’t just the naked woman today. It was everything leading up to it—like his dead wife’s pictures, which he still paints and sells. I was already worried about competing with his ideal of her . I didn’t know he had regular access to all the beautiful women a man could want to look at and a damn booty call. Do you really think Drake walks around completely obtuse? Do you really think Drake never has any reaction to all those naked women he sees?”
    Michael shrugged. He knew it was the wrong response when Brooke all but screamed. The explosive look in her eyes made him step back a couple steps.
    Brooke raised her arm and swept it towards the ceiling. “Well, you know what I think? I think I’m done. And I say fuck all masculine rationalizations. These are my feelings, and I damn well have them. I don’t believe Drake’s oblivious to any of the female attention he receives and really that’s what matters. He’s been playing a mind game with me, but I’m done playing.”
    Michael stared at his door as it slammed shut behind Brooke. Exasperated about the drama always hitting his front door first, he thought about calling Shane and dumping it on his head. But he didn’t because his younger brother had enough going on in his life. He and Reesa had one teenager in college and another about to leave the nest, plus a third coming up quickly behind them. Then there was the little one who was so cute she had them all dancing to her tune.
    He shook his head as he tried to talk himself out of caring. “This is none of my damn business anyway. Fucking hell, Brooke. Why am I making this my business? Why did you have to come and grill me for answers? My wife understands the artist in me.”
    Snorting and resentful, Michael grabbed his car keys and headed out the door. Brooke and Drake were his mother and father happening all over again. Maybe it wouldn’t work out. Who knew? There were certainly no guarantees—but damn it—the unsuspecting man deserved to know his stepsister had gone ape-shit crazy over something so stupid.
    He could well imagine a stunned Drake being blindsided by a cold-shouldered Brooke. He’d seen his Dad struggle to understand his mother’s crazy accusations about his fascination with the human form. Spousal understanding had never happened for his father when he had been married to his mother. Divorce hadn’t mended anything. It had just brought relief from it.
    Frowning, Michael backed out of the driveway. Maybe it was better Brooke and Drake had never started anything. But why wasn’t his gut buying that rationalization?
    Thinking of Carrie’s proud gaze on him when he talked about his inspirations, he realized again how insanely lucky he was. Somehow he had landed in love with and married to the absolute right person to share his creative life.
    “Thank you, God—I love my wife. I freaking love everything about my smart-mouthed, bossy, artistically supportive wife.”
    Michael continued