Page 81 of Before We Break

NOAH

Silvery graphite glides smoothly across the paper, forming a line along the bridge of her nose. I run my middle finger over the mark, smudging it lightly to create a shadow. It’s better, but not perfect.

I count the freckles for the hundredth time, making sure I got each of the thirty-six specks that decorate the bridge of her nose and the curve of her cheeks. They’re all there, every last one, so why does it feel like something’s missing?

I stare at the paper, parsing out each line, one by one, analyzing the shadows and the light reflecting off her face.

Finally, I see it. Her smile.

It’s lackluster and lifeless. Not at all like Clio’s.

I flip the page to a blank slate, not daring to question why I’m drawing her in the first place or why I can’t seem to stop until I get it right.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. Clio’s name lights up the screen, and my pulse quickens in answer to a question that hasn’t been asked. I toss my sketchbook aside and reach for the phone. When I tap into our text message thread, I’m assaulted by a mirror selfie, and my mouth goes drier than the Sahara.

She’s wearing a neon sunset silk dress that dips low, showing off her ample breasts and the dip of her waist that I already know fits my hand perfectly. Her hair is parted down the middle and swept back at the sides, leaving the rest down in auburn curls around her shoulders.

And there’s that smile I can’t seem to capture.

Radiant. Captivating.

She has one foot crossed in front of the other and a hand on her hip. Her toes are painted bright pink, and she's wearing strappy high heels.

I’ve had my hands all over that body—her softness beneath my fingertips; it’s the best kind of muscle memory.

God, I’d love to put my mark on her, something colorful and vibrant like the woman in the photograph, but it would be like painting over a masterpiece. Something so perfect should be kept behind glass.

Shortcake: Ignore that. I meant to send it to someone else.

Someone else.

My teeth grind together as I fight a surge of jealousy so potent it threatens to consume me. Don’t do it, Noah. She’s not for you.

I dial her number, and she picks up on the first ring.

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who was the selfie for?”

She exhales into the phone, and I can almost hear the smile in her voice when she says, “If you must know, I have a hot date tonight.”

I open my apartment door and stride across the hallway with only one thought swirling in my head.

Mine.

I bang on her door with a lot more force than I intended. Too much time passes, and I raise my fist to knock again just as the door swings open to reveal sunset silk, auburn hair, and that megawatt smile that can bring a grown man to heel. Nothing, not even a mirror selfie, could’ve prepared me for this view.

She’s still holding her phone to her ear. She lowers it ever so slowly, her brow creasing. “Hey.”

I hang up the call and pocket my phone. Without so much as a greeting, I grip her hips and walk her backward into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind me. I don’t stop until she’s trapped between the kitchen island and me.

“Noah.” My name comes out on a soft exhale, and there’s a hollow pounding in my chest as I stare down into her expressive doe eyes.

“Where’s Lexi?”

“Sleepover at the ranch. She’s babysitting the twins.”