Page 18 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

My shoulders drooped as I looked away, studying the black wall instead. “I probably should. But Kelly’s good at her job, and it would only stress her out. I don’t want to do that.”

I heard the whoosh of his breath, as if he just put down a heavy weight. “Thanks, Nikki.” I lifted my chin and tried to offer him a smile, but he was looking at his painting again, muttering, “You know, it was really nice of you to offer to take Uncle Henry to my class. He’s been looking forward to it.”

The thought of Uncle Henry made me smile, despite the shitty disappointment rolling itself around my gut for reasons I didn’t want to think about. “It’ll be fun.”

He shot me an incredulous look, as if he couldn’t have heard what I just said. “Really?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, geez. I know I’m bad at creative stuff, Tristy.” I couldn’t hide my smile as his brows rose higher on his forehead. “So don’t expect any works of art from me. But it’ll be fun seeing you in action.”

He let out a snort of laughter that made me smile wider. “Great, that’s great. It’ll be fun then.” He tilted his head and said, “Actually, I don’t think you’ve seen me paint before.”

“I haven’t. You always painted at school, and you wouldn’t let me see anything.”

He raised a brow at me. The reason behind why he used to hide his work was pretty obvious now. The first time I had a chance to see his paintings was at his big renovation reveal, and I criticized every one of them.

I really was such a bitch. Who did that to their best friend?

I took a breath and tried to smile despite the ache in my throat. “But I should warn you, I’ll probably be a bad student. I can’t even draw a decent stick figure. You’ll have to walk me through ev-er-y-thing.”

He laughed again, less surprised this time. “That’s okay. I consider it an honor to teach you. Do you think I’ll have to take you by the hand and direct your strokes?”

I took in a small breath as Tristan’s mouth dropped open. He uncrossed his arms and took a step closer, waving a hand in front of his chest. “Uh, no, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant–”

I had to laugh. This unsure, heartfelt and painfully respectful version of Tristan was always so much fun. “It’s alright, I know. I’ll see you on Sunday, okay?”

I shot him a full, genuine smile and turned on my heel, heading back to my booth to devour my baklava.