“So, what kind of stuff do they paint in this class?” I ask, filling the silence that’s settled on us.
Jamie rubs the back of his neck. “Hm. Good question. I’m not sure. I think something different every time?”
“Have you been to one of them before?” I ask.
“No, but my friend Maddie’s talked about them and said they’re great. She’s an artist. She goes to Brumehill, too. You two should hang out sometime. Maybe you’ll bond after we discover that you’re an art prodigy.”
I hum sardonically at his joke.
“Do you like your coworkers at Last Word?” he asks, switching tracks.
I tilt my head. “Yeah, they’re alright.” An unpleasant emotion pinches in my stomach. I get along with my coworkers fine, but a lot of them are really friendly with each other. I’ve just never felt like I fit in. I never joke around with any of them or make plans to do something after work.
That’s just my personality, I guess. I’ve never picked up friends easily. I have my best friend from high school, but she went to a college in the south. We keep in touch, but it’s not easy to see each other often.
Am I happy with that? I guess I’m not. I guess that’s where the unpleasant pinch is coming from. But it is what it is. It’s who I am. How are you supposed to change who you are when you’re already an adult?
I realize I’m not doing a lot to keep the conversation rolling tonight. Maybe that’s for the best. If we have an awkward night, Jamie might finally lose interest in me for good. Write me off as a lost cause.
That’s what I want. But I don’t know why the thought has a cold chill wrapping around me underneath my fluffy coat.
We reach the building on campus where the class is held. Jamie shrugs off his jacket.
I have to say, he looks good tonight. The way he looks has never been the thing keeping me from reciprocating his interest, that’s for sure. His brown sweater is roomy, but his broad, heavy shoulders still fill it out with ease. My eyes tick to the end of his sleeves, and heat stirs low in my core at the sight of his hands.
Like a thief finding the perfect moment to slink through a carelessly unlooked door, the thought of those hands running over my body flashes in my mind uninvited.
A chill dances up my spine, and my nipples pebble under my shirt.
After feeling those hands all over me, I wonder if the adjectives and phrases I can’t call to mind would just pour out of me, allowing me to finish my chapter with ease.
I wonder what Jamie would be like in bed. Would he be timid and reserved like he usually is? Or does he have a dark side that comes out behind closed doors?
Does he let his partner take control?
I entertain the thought of taking the lead with Jamie, instructing him on how to use that well-oiled machine of a body to please me exactly the way I want …
Heat pulses between my thighs, liquid and tight. If only Jamie were the kind of guy who could do no-strings-attached, it might be fun to find out.
But he’s not, so I better stop thinking about it.
We take seats in front of empty canvases in a medium-sized room. It’s warm. Really warm. More than warm, it’s hot. Someone really cranked up the thermostat.
The seats and canvases are set up in a semi-circle, all facing an empty chair. I guess someone’s going to sit in it, and we’ll be working on portrait painting today? Maybe.
It’s a good turnout tonight. Plenty of people who look like college students, along with adults of all ages.
My conversation with Jamie is in a lull. He clears his throat self-consciously, obviously plumbing his brain for a topic to get it going.
“So, uh, watch any more art documentaries lately?” he asks.
“No, not since the one I told you about.”
His cheeks turn pink. “I have.” A bashful smile lifts on his face. “Since you mentioned the one you watched, I’ve kind of been on a kick with them.”
A light feeling pulses in my chest. That’s adorably pathetic. Jamie’s a nice guy. The sooner he can get over me and find the kind of girl who suits him, the better. He’ll make someone happy, that’s for sure.
Am I sure it couldn’t be me?
