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The still life constituted of old litter from table detritus. Things that weren’t technically necessary and yet, had been used regardless.
The bag that had contained apple slices, the plastic wrap from a straw. The sandwich box and the paper-wrap my cookie had been covered in…
I’d arranged them carefully and as my love was hyperrealism, I knew I’d done a great job on this piece because nearly everything I’d created was damn transparent! Yet, everything was perfectly visible, perfectly recognizable.
“Wow.”
The exclamation came from behind me and startled me because I hadn’t realized the door had opened.
Grimacing at how lax I could be sometimes, I turned and saw Cooper was gawking at the canvas.
“That’s insane.”
My cheeks bloomed with color at his words. “Thanks,” I told him softly. “I’ve been working on this one for like eight hours.”
“Is that all?”
I shrugged. “Had nothing else to do.”
He scowled at me. “What about studying?”
“No point.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to have to retake this semester whatever I do. You know my grades were low in Psychology and European History. Might as well start afresh from scratch in New York. Whatever school I go to, they’ll end up having a different curriculum.” “That doesn’t mean you should just not go to class. If you studied hard for the Finals, you could still pass.”
I wafted a hand. “It’s okay. I hate the professors anyway. It’s not like I need an excuse to avoid them. Jerks.”
As I pulled a face at him, I realized he wasn’t amused. Like, seriously not happy.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He stared at me a second, then ran a hand through his hair. He was practically bristling with agitation, something even an idiot would have spotted.
“What is it?” I asked quietly, taking a step toward him. “What’s wrong?”
His nostrils flared as he sliced his head to the side in a decisive nod. “We can’t do this, Lauren.”
“Do what?” I seriously had no idea what he was talking about.
Why was he in such a bad mood?
This wasn’t going the way I’d planned.
“This. We can’t do this anymore.” He sighed, closed his eyes. “We need to break up.”
For a second, I thought he was being serious and the pain unfurling in my belly was like being knifed. Then, I realized he was joking so I laughed.
The laughter felt good. Soul deep good, because after the pain his words inflicted, I really needed the belly laugh.
“Lauren, I’m being serious,” he growled after my attack of the giggles.
“Shut up,” I retorted, smacking my hand playfully against his sweater. I was hesitant to get too close as I was covered in paint and he was dressed in one of his good sweaters—money was tight for him. For both of us, I guessed, but I didn’t have to work as many jobs as he did.
I’d bought this for him. It was green and had a V-neck, because he hated being choked by regular necklines and the green made his blue eyes pop.
Why was he wearing a sweater I’d bought him while breaking up with me?
