“Is it because he’s in a writer's program, then?”
I laugh and instinctively place my hand over the textbook I brought here for her.
“No.”
“Okay, fine.” Her voice drops into a whisper. “It’s because he’s a guy.”
I smirk, raking my eyes along the plains of her features, soft and strong and so, so pretty. “No, Liliana. I’m bi, so that doesn’t matter to me.”
“Wait, really?”
Seeing the shock on her face sends laugher through me again. “Is that a problem?”
“No, no, of course not.” Her brows crease together and she leans into her hand. Strands of hair fall out in front of her face, framing her features. “I just thought that’s what you were getting at. Why isn’t he your type, then?”
I wonder again if she’s truly wants to know what it is about Kam that doesn’t interest me, or if she’s hooked on this conversation the way I am.
When seconds pass and she does nothing but wait for my answer, I accept that maybe it’sherbeing oblivious to romantic advances. Or maybe I didn’t make my feelings for her obvious enough when we used to huddle together during lecture and text each other into late hours of the night.
Slowly, my hand moves towards a strand of hair spilling out of her ponytail.
“He’s a redhead.” Twirling the piece of hair around my finger and relishing in the way her face flushes, I savor the feeling of it. It could be the last time I’m this close to her. “Did I ever tell you I've got a thing for brunettes?”
Her breath catches. Cheeks turn red. My gaze drops to her lips and I linger there so she can see it happen. I want her to process the expression on my face when I’m mesmerized by her.
Liliana coughs and leans back in her seat. Her hair falls out of my fingertips and I feel the loss instantly.
“Anyways.” She turns her attention back to what’s on the table. Her skin returns to her shade of tan, erasing the blush of an impact I had. “This art movement. You said it might be able to help me if I read over some stuff in the textbook. Where would you suggest I start?”
The air around us changes back to dull and lifeless. I cough. That wasn’t the first time I gathered the courage to reach out and touch her hair, or the first time I’ve ever seen her flush a beautiful shade of pink. But it’s the first time she’s ever purposefully pushed away from me and pretended like it never happened.
In undergrad, it was shy giggles and stares held a little too long to be platonic.
I’ve only admitted it to Derek, but back then, I think Liliana had a crush on me.
And if I had gathered up the courage when I needed to, we would be more than two people working through a textbook together.
I swallow and nod, to her and to myself.
“First, with that outline you liked.” Her face scrunches, and I continue before she can argue. “Forget what your classmates said. Talk to me about it, and we’ll dissect what works for you, inspiration-wise. Then you can work on that draft.”
“What about the textbook?”
A smile tugs at my lips. It’s soLilianaof her to want textbook logic to support a concept.
“I’ll reference the book and the movement to help us make sense of everything. Okay?”
She doesn’t answer with words, just motioning to the book between us. It’s more than enough of an answer to pave a way for my priorities. I came here for more than Locke. To start earning back Liliana’s friendship. I’m not sure if I deserve a second chance, but I’m willing to work for it.
And if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll earn my way back into her heart, too.
eight
GRANT
A hum swirlsaround in my head when I’m holding a pencil. It’s not loud, or annoying. Just a constant buzz. An indicator my mind is slipping into creativity and nothing else.
There’s something soothing in escaping the world around me by creating one of my own, turning shapes and lines into something only I can see until it’s finalized on paper. Times like these—going into a piece without any specific idea—are the most relaxing. I let the clock above the door of my office-turned-art studio tick away, and my subconscious takes control of my movements.
