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he car, took her tea, and winked at him. “For our playdate.”
“That just sounds dirty,” he said, smirking.
She locked eyes with him, forced herself not to look away, and said, “Maybe I meant for it to sound dirty, Eric. You’re not the only one who realized they need to have a little more fun.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she slammed the door shut before he could—and before she said something way too logical and ruined her uncharacteristic flirtation.
Even though she should.
Chapter Seven
Eric stroked the brush over the canvas, looking at the teacher as she painted the corner of the stark whiteness in front of her with soft, sure motions. Frowning, he tried to mimic her movements, and it came out as more of a blob than anything even remotely resembling artistic. Cursing inwardly, he tried to relax his touch and move the paint around until it looked better, but all he did was leave a streak of white in a blob of red. He glanced again at the teacher, who was still showing off at the front of her class with her pretty paintbrush skills. She made it look so fucking easy. It wasn’t.
This was hell.
He was in hell.
And nothing was going to save him.
Brett laughed and pointed at his own canvas, a glass of red wine at his side next to his paintbrush cup. His brown hair was longer than the last time Eric had seen him, and his green eyes shone with a happiness he’d never noticed in his friend’s face before. “It looks like I painted a damn cross. Which would be fine, if I was supposed to have a cross in the corner…but I’m not.”
Anna laughed and nudged him. She had gray eyes and hair that was a little lighter than his, and she looked utterly, completely at peace with herself and her life. She didn’t have a ring on her finger, so Brett must not have proposed yet. Or he had, and Anna had said no…which was pretty fucking unlikely. “I like it. It adds an artistic flair to an otherwise boring picture of a wineglass and a bottle of wine.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Brett accused, setting his paintbrush down and pulling her close. “But I love you for it.”
“I love you, too,” she said, smiling and letting her brush fall to the table, too, as Brett kissed her briefly. “But I really do like it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brett muttered, whispering something in her ear that only she could hear.
Anna’s cheeks flushed, and she swatted at his arm. “Stop it.”
Brett grinned and picked his brush back up.
Anna did the same, her head low and her cheeks hot.
Eric eyed them both, torn between being disgusted…and jealous.
Where the fuck had that come from?
Since when was he jealous of his friend’s obvious happiness?
It’s not like he wanted that for himself. He didn’t. He just wanted to hang out with Shelby, maybe convince her that they could be more than friends for a short time, and make the most of the time they had together. But he didn’t want this. Didn’t want love.
He glanced over at his date for the night. She watched Brett and Anna with an almost wistful expression. Shit. He damn well better have not been staring at them like that.
When she saw him looking at her, Shelby leaned over to see his painting, avoiding his gaze. “Wow. That’s…”
“Shitty,” Eric finished for her.
She hesitated. “Well, I wasn’t going to say that. It’s…it’s…” He watched her, letting her struggle for the right word on her own. She’d give in eventually and use his. “Different.”
He frowned at his painting. His wineglass was wiggly, and the wine he’d tried to paint with a graceful hand was way too solid a line to be liquid. Not to mention the fact that the stem of the glass that he’d tried so damn hard to do properly was crooked. “What’s yours look like?”
“The same.”
She picked up her wine and took a big gulp. She’d picked out Moscato at the store on the way here. All night long, she’d been fun, and teasing, and friendly with his sister.
Anna seemed to like her, and that should have set alarm bells ringing in his head. Anytime your family liked a girl, it was serious, but since Shelby wasn’t looking for anything with him, he ignored those screaming warnings. Even if he somehow managed to get her in his bed, she’d still leave come the first good job offer, which was why they made perfect sense.
