I laugh. “That’s fair.” I run my finger over the biggest, thickest line on the page. “Those are her hands.”
“Her?”
“Yep.” I trace it, showing him the outline of her jaw and chin, where her hands cradle her face. “Her lips, her nose.”
His eyes widen. “Holy shit. I see it now. Her eyes,” he says, taking over for me. “And her nose. She’s… She’s gorgeous.” He leans forward, squinting at the drawing.
I see the moment it clicks for him.
His hazel eyes snap to mine. “She’s you.”
I grin, nodding. “She’s me.”
“She looks like she’s sad. Like she’s crying.”
“That’s because she is.”
He smiles sadly. “Are you sad?”
“I’m—” I shake my head. “No, not anymore, I’m not.”
Because of you.I don’t tell him that, though.
“Is that why you used yellows and oranges and not blue?”
“Yes, this is her rebirth. Like a phoenix. Hence the feathers.”
His eyes scan the drawing again, really taking it in now that he understands it. Then finally, he looks up at me, and there’s nothing but pride in his eyes.
“This is stunning, Nessa. Absolutely fucking studio-worthy.”
Heat flares in my cheeks at his admiration. Is it good? I guess some people would think so. But is it studio-worthy? Not a chance.
“While that’s sweet, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, because I don’t even have my own place to live. Or my own bed, for that matter. Speaking of…where is that?”
“Oh, uh…” He scratches at the scruff along his jaw. “The mattress company called to reschedule for next week. Something about being short on delivery drivers. Anyway, back to this studio thing—why not?”
I huff. “Because I’m not ready for something like that. Like you said, I’m just getting back into”—I gesture toward the book—“well, whatever that is. A studio is a dream for years down the road, when I’ve refined my skills far, far more.”
He frowns, and I can tell he wants to keep arguing about this more, but I don’t bother giving him an inch, knowing he wants a mile. I grab the sketchbook, closing the cover and setting it and the phoenix-rising version of me aside, then crawl over him on the couch. I kiss his chin—right in that little dimple he has there—then up to his lips. I don’t just kiss him because I want him to forget all about my art struggles, but because I missed him today. If I’m being honest, I’m missing him more and more every time he goes.
“I know you’re trying to distract me,” he says against me, his hands sliding over my waist and down to my ass, where he squeezes my cheeks firmly.
“So what if I am? It’s clearly working.” I wiggle my hand between us, palming his already hard cock.
Gavin groans, kissing me harder. I let him because it means I don’t have to think about my future. I don’t have to think about what I want from my art. I don’t have to think about what I’mgoing to do when he no longer needs me around to feed his fish. I don’t have to think about how much I don’t want that to be all this is between us.
And I don’t have to think about how maybe…just maybe…I want that future to include him.
CHAPTER 16
LOCKE
I’m not usually one to pat myself on the back—not when I know how fragile this game can be—but holy hell, I am on fire.
