Chris points a finger at her, his expression indignant. “We’re paying customers, and this is discrimination. Men like to paint, too! Besides, look at all these empty spots.” He gestures wildly to the few vacant easels.
The woman crosses her arms, clearly not buying what he’s selling.
“If you don’t let us in, I’ll file a complaint with the uh . . .” He snaps his fingers and glances around him at the guys for help. “The um . . .”
“The Better Business Bureau,” West provides, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yes!” Chris snaps his fingers. “What he said.”
The lady just rolls her eyes and throws her hands up. “Whatever. I don’t get paid enough for this,” she mumbles, then walks away.
The guys all high-five, clearly proud of themselves for crashing ladies’ night.
All of them except one—Brandon—who remains straight-faced, his bright-blue gaze homed in on me as if seeing the sunrise for the very first time.
Tension fills the space between us, electric and charged, like the calm before a storm.
My pulse pounds in my ears, so loud I’m certain everyone around me can hear it. I will myself to look away, frustrated when I can’t. Frustrated when his eyes stay fixed on mine?those same eyes that have witnessed both the smallest and most significant moments of my life.
He doesn’t waste any time as he heads for me, weaving between tables with determined strides. The other guys follow, but I barely notice them, my attention locked on Brandon as he approaches.
A trickle of panic shimmies up my spine, and I turn to the girls, wishing I could disappear. Wishing I had listened to Ethan and headed for MSU instead of opting to spend time with my friends, because I’m not equipped to handle this. I’m not supposed to even talk to him.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I whisper-hiss, glancing between them.
Samantha shrugs, looking completely puzzled while Brynn averts her eyes and tucks a golden lock of hair behind her ear, and Charlotte gnaws guiltily on her lip.
“Well, hello, ladies,” Chris says beside me. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Charlotte groans and palms her face while I stiffen.
Inhaling, I turn my attention to Chris, refusing to acknowledge Brandon despite his presence hovering beside me like a storm cloud waiting to break.
“Come here often?” I ask, my tone saccharine.
Chris scratches the back of his head, glancing between me and his girlfriend who looks like she wants to throttle him. “Um. Would you believe me if I said yes?”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Chris?”
“Okay, fine. You got me. We might have”—he grimaces—“done some recon and found out where you were going tonight.” Then rushes to add, “But, you know how lovesick we are without our girls.”
“Hey, don’t bring me into this.” Damon raises his hands before he rounds the table and plants a soft kiss on Avery’s head.
I sigh, stomach churning when the instructor at the front of her room clears her throat. “If all theladieswould like to take their seats, we’d like to start our lesson.”
“Sure thing.” Chris nods, then motions for Jace to help him as he proceeds to drag a nearby table over to ours with a high-pitched screech.
Everyone at the other tables wince. The instructor covers her ears, and a group of angry women shoots daggers at them.
“Kill me now,” Samantha mutters beside me as the guys all sit down and help themselves to a glass of our wine while I pinch my lips together, trying not to laugh, because Chris is like a big golden retriever—a little dopey, but sweet and lovable even when he’s being apain in the ass.
The chair beside me scrapes against the floor, and my smile fades as I’m hit by the familiar combination of soap and cologne I’d know anywhere.
“Is this seat taken?”
His voice is rough like gravel, and it takes everything in me to stifle my reaction to it.
I don’t answer, instead focusing intently on my blank canvas while I pray for the willpower to ignore him.
