Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“I…” Swallowing, I try to think of a reasonable excuse. I’m not about to give my professor a quick rundown on all the drama in my life right now. “Would it make a difference to my grade?”
“Ah.” Professor Haywood grins. “I can’t give too much away. Let’s just say that a complete ensemble is far, far, far more preferable.”
So that’s her basically telling me yes without saying it outright.
“Can you do it?” she asks me.
I nod. No matter what, I want to do well in school. Even if I’m behind the other students in extracurricular activities and preparing for after college, I’m doing well in the class itself. I’m near the top. I love the work, and I want to stay on this path. So that means risking seeing my man again. No, not my man. Just a man. A handsome, steamy, muscular, perfect older man who will make all my dreams come true.
“I think so,” I tell her.
My car is still in the garage, so Lexi gives me a ride to the gym. Two nights ago, I told her what happened between me and Fletcher. She watched me with her mouth wide open, her eyes matching saucers. When I was done, she did something heartwarming and reassuring. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, “I want us to pretend I never had a crush on him, and for the record, I don’t anymore. I support you. I want the best for you.”
It’s good to know I don’t have to worry about that particular piece of confusion. Lexi parks but doesn’t get out of the car right away. Glancing over, she asks, “Do you want me to check if the coast is clear? I don’t want you running into any nasty surprises.”
A nasty surprise is the last way I’d describe my man. If anything, I’m longing to see him. “I think it’ll be okay. Just don’t tell Mom if I go all googly-eyed.”
“You really like this guy, huh?”
“That’s an understatement. Mom thinks I’ve lost my mind. She thinks I should be careful.”
“I agree with the careful part,” Lexi says.
“Have you seen Fletcher with other women before? Has he got a reputation as a playboy or anything?”
“Not that I know of,” Lexi replies. “But if he was a playboy, it’s not like he’d do it at the gym, right?”
“Yeah, fair point,” I mutter, absolutely hating the idea of being just another notch on my man’s belt. “Let’s head in. I know you’re keen to get your workout started.”
She grins. “How can you tell?”
“You look ready for some action, Lexi.”
She raises her fist, winking. “Always.”
We walk toward the gym. It’s quiet today, meaning I can set up in the corner. I clamber awkwardly onto the cabinet where they keep the spare gloves and pads. It gives me a slightly elevated view, but I’ll still need to use my imagination to portray the area effectively.
As Lexi gets into her workout, I focus on my work. I try to imagine life before I saw Fletcher, before I kissed him, before everything. It shouldn’t be that hard, considering we’ve only met twice, but it feels borderline impossible. It gets even more difficult when I see him standing there.
He’s at the top of the stairs, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, the silver in his hair catching the sunlight slanting through the windows. My breath catches, and I wish he’d stay like that and let me paint him and bring out his strength and handsomeness.
Slowly, he walks toward me, right past Lexi. She shoots me a side-eye look as if asking if I need help. Mom was right, though. My emotions are already coiling around me, telling me I’m stupid for trying to stay away from him and pretending I don’t want or need him.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says with a casual smirk, drawing me under his spell again. “Working on another masterpiece?”
He’s speaking lightheartedly, maybe because the gym is quite busy. I’m sure I can see the heat in his eyes, captivation in his expression. He walks even closer, reaches over, and touches my hand. Just for a moment, like he can’t help himself. Sizzling energy sparks up my arm.
“Y-yes,” I say after a pause, struggling to hide my lust, need, and hunger for the future. “Well, not a masterpiece.”
“Don’t undersell yourself,” he says. “You’re my perfect painter, remember?”
This could be a line, a way to continue his seduction. Then after, he’ll leave and pretend it never happened, and I’ll be left a crying wreck, wondering where it all went wrong. That’s what Mom seems to think, anyway. I meant what I said to Fletcher on the phone. I’ve always valued Mom’s advice.
Even so, I smile. I can’t help it. “How could I forget?”
He grins. He’s not touching me anymore, but he’s close. He doesn’t seem ashamed. It’s not like he doesn’t want anybody to see.