Mitchel lets out a low whistle. “Reagan wasn’t kidding.” He looks up from my phone, squinting his eyes at me and shaking his head. “And she’s got it right that you don’t sell them or display them anywhere?”
“Nah, they’re just—”
“Messing around.” He shakes his head again, snorting out a disbelieving sort of half laugh. “Well, if you ever change your mind and decide you want to sell the results of thatmessing around, you let me know. Every one of those paintings of yours I just saw blows anything I’ve ever sold here out of the water. People would snap them up in a heartbeat.”
“You’re fucking serious?”
Fuck, I probably shouldn’t have just saidfuckingto my boss— It’s just that my head’s gone all floaty-spinney and my blood’s pumping so hard and fast through my ears that I can’t think straight.
Anyrealartist, with work in real galleries and shit, would laugh their ass off at me for getting all worked up over having someone want to sell my paintings in their coffee shop, but holy fucking shit—
“One hundred percent fucking serious.” Mitchel grins at me. “You doing anything Monday? Tuesday? If not, bring five or six of your paintings by in the afternoon, and we’ll talk prices. I’ll be here.”
“I’ve got a date Monday—” and holy fucking shitagain, ‘cause how is this my life? Fuck texts from Josh. Iamdoneletting his motherfucking ass scare me. “So, Tuesday?”
“Tuesday’s great. I’ll be here all day.” Mitchel’s grin widens. “And you’ve got a date, do you? Nice guy? Uh, or girl?”
I’m not really sure what sort of sappy-ass look I get on my face, except that it’s gotta be pretty sappy, ‘cause Mitchel’s grin softens, and he doesn’t wait for me to answer before he nods his approval.
In my back pocket, my phone lets out a single harsh buzz, and my heart’s in my goddamn throat. Yeah, I cansayI’m not gonna let Josh scare me anymore, but in reality?
The moment Mitchel turns away to restock the pastry case, I swipe open my messages, and I can’t even try and pretend away that totally shitty, familiar sinking feeling in my stomach when I read what’s there.
Withheld:You fucking answer me when I text you
My hand’s shaking so bad it takes me two tries to delete the message, and even when I do, there’s no moment of relief this time.
I can tell myself whatever I want, but this shit with Josh isn’t going away anytime soon. All I can do is remind myself that at least he’s far enough away that this is the worst I’ll have to deal with.
Is it terrible that the moment I stepped through the door to Jesse’s apartment, every last worry about all the Josh shit just vanished—poof!—gone from my mind like none of it had everbeen?
Probably it means I’m totally fucked, and maybe that would’ve seemed like the worst thing in the whole damn world this time two weeks ago. But now? Not gonna lie, I think I kinda love it.
And then, when he wrapped me up in his arms, all warm and perfect…
Fuckbut he smelled good.Feltgood.
I’dfelt good. Felt…right.
The way he’d held me, his face tucked in against my hair, had my heart going all melty-soft. Only my heart though, ‘cause feeling his body pressed up against mine had my cock perking right up.
The fact that I couldn’t, and,obviously, still can’t, think about much besides the two of us naked in bed might have seemed like my same old using-sex-for-deflection routine. Except it wasn’t. And it isn’t.
Yeah, thinking about it totallydoesturn off the shit that’s been bouncing round my brain all day. Still, I can’t even begin to pretend like that’s the only reason I can’t think about another damn thing. The credit for that lies squarely on the fuzzy-sweater-wearing, comfy-as-fuck-to-lie-on shoulders of my unfairly sexy sunshine.
The evening’s only gotten better since, with the two of us tucked up together in that sketchy-ass chair of his while we wait for the takeout delivery Jesse ordered for us.
Better, except the way he keeps slipping his hand up under my shirt and running his fingers over my skin has got meall kindsof worked up. And don’t even get me started on those criminally hot kisses he keeps sneaking.
Such a fucking tease.
Personally, I’d beall forjust canceling the order and going straight to bed, only when I’d suggested it, Jesse’d just lowered his eyebrows in this serious, not to mentiontotallysexy way that really had not helpedat allwith the semi I’ve been dealing with ever since climbing into his lap.
“What exactly did you have for lunch, Tris?”
Fucker wasn’t too happy with my answer. Doesn’t he realize thatpeanut buttercookies haveactualpeanut butter in them?
So, I guess now I’m stuck waiting to have him untilafterdinner.
