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I follow Porter and Lucia, and it seems like that is all I do the entire night. At some point, I decide to wander around the gallery alone. A painting catches my eye; that hasn’t happened the whole night. It’s simple and sad, and it makes my fucking heart ache. It brings back memories I have tried to shove into the recesses of my mind, memories that are better left untouched.
When I step closer, my breath hitching just a little. It’s a picture of a girl who can’t be older than twelve and standing beside an iced lake. Her face is half turned to me, smiling, stray strands of hair peeking out of her hat. The artist captured her happiness, but the odd thing is that he did that through his own sadness.
Something tells me a man painted this. It’s private, yet utterly revealing and I have to step away because looking at it makes me uncomfortable suddenly. I almost lose my footing as I slam straight into someone. “Sorry,” I whisper, spinning around and coming face to face with Ryder. He reaches out to steady me, but I shrug his hands off.
“You should watch where you’re going, kitten. Who knows what can happen to little strays who lose their way?”
“You should do the same. From the look of it, you were trying to run into me. Obsessed much, Ryder?”
He chuckles, showing his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. “What’re you doing here?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m out with a friend.”
He looks around the gallery, and I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks. “Imaginary friend? Aren’t you a little too old for that?”
Anger bubbles, and, shaking my head, I push past him. “You really are an asshole.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he calls after me. Scanning the room, I come up empty searching for Porter and decide to wait at the bar.
“Hey, there you are,” Porter finds me half an hour later, cider in hand. I am not much of a drinker, but tonight seems like an appropriate time to have a much-needed dose of alcohol.
“Yeah, here I am.” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“You, okay?”
I suck in a breath. “Look, you seem like a nice enough guy, but don’t invite me to shit if you’re gonna leave me on my own the whole evening. That isn’t cool.”
He looks down at his loafers. “You’re right.” His blue gaze meets mine. “I should have been a better date tonight. I get so caught up in these things. I’m sorry.”
Sighing, I cave, “It’s okay. Would you mind if we get outta here?”
He smirks. “Not at all.”
Porter leads me to the car with a hand on the small of my back. “You wanna grab something to eat? The least you can do is let me make up for being such a dick.”
“I’m not that hungry.” His face falls, and I instantly regret it. “But a milkshake would be nice.”
That has him smiling again. Maybe this night won’t be a total bust and if I’m being honest, the mood killer was Ryder, not Porter.
We’re sitting in his car at a burger joint. He turns to me, slurping on his milkshake. “So, what’s your story?”
“My story.” I smile, staring out of the windscreen at a couple making out on the hood of their car.
“Not much to tell. I’m just a regular girl, I enjoy writing. It’s pretty much all I do, really. My Aunt Felicity always said Rothwell had a great literature program and with a full ride, I couldn’t pass up the chance.” Felicity’s influence landed me a full scholarship and for that, I am grateful. After my parents died, my uncle Graham took on the responsibility of me, but I knew the financial burden was great with my parent’s mountain of debt.
He nods. “And your parents, they're cool with you living with your aunt?”
His question isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but I don’t feel like going down that road right now. “Yeah. I mean, I had to leave home at some point.”
“Well, I’m glad you did. It brought you here,” he smiles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers continue to trace down my cheek. “Would it be presumptuous if I kissed you now?” he asks, leaning over the console.
I don’t want to kiss Porter, not because I don’t like him, but because he ignored me for an entire evening. Hot or not, that isn’t precisely spark-inducing.
His hand cups my head, and he’s so close, his lips press inches from mine.
I push against his chest. “Not right now.”
“Come on, Ash. I like you; you like me. What’s left is this….”
