“You started that,” he says, brushing his nose against mine.
“You asked for it,” I whisper back.
His smile softens as his eyes dip to my lips, then back up.
“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs.
“Dangerously hot,” I shoot back.
“Yeah, you are, baby,” he answers immediately.
My laugh softens into something quieter yet more expansive.
He’s still hovering over me, his hand resting on my hip, his thumb idly stroking paint across my skin.
I reach up and trace the edge of his glasses, slightly crooked from our chaos, nudging them straight again.
He watches me like no one else exists.
He looks at me like I’m his whole future.
And for the first time in so long, I want a future too.
He flops beside me on the blanket, laughing—really laughing—like his whole chest is finally free to breathe again.
We’re both covered in paint. The canvases are a joke, and breakfast is probably warm by now, but none of it matters.
I can’t stop touching him as my fingers trail from his arms, feeling his ridged skin, to his jaw, the subtle shadow of his trim beard. I swirl my fingers through his mustache before caressing his lower lip.
“I’m gonna go wash up real quick,” I tell him, still grinning like an idiot.
He catches my wrist and pulls me into a soft kiss that steals the edges of my smile. “Hurry back,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my cheek.
My stomach does this wild swoop I’m still not used to.
I slip inside and close the bathroom door behind me, my heart doing cartwheels.
Placing my phone on top of the toilet, I lean over the sink, trying to scrub paint from my cheek, when my phone lights up and keeps lighting up.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Buzzbuzzbuzzbuzzbuzz—
My smile fades.
Brian has left me forty-six texts. I haven’t really heard from him, and now, he’s spiraling.
I wince as I grab my phone, my nerves racing, making my breathing come in shallow bursts.
Brian
So this is what you call work now?
Another arrives before I can breathe.
Brian
Filming trash in some small town?
