“I’ll make it up.” My gaze flicked back to the studio window. I couldn’t see into the apartment despite it being on the ground floor. “About what happened… I’m sorry about the music room.”
“I’ll confer with Mr. Matteson and let you know, Maxwell,” he said coolly. No indication of either hope or a go fuck yourself. The call disconnected.
Frustrated to my eyeballs, I shoved my cell in my pocket, wishing I had a cigarette.
I’d accepted that what had happened was my fault. With the constant pain and chaos in my head, and, struggling with the nightmares of an accident I couldn’t remember, I’d been in a really bad place, and I’d lashed out…
And here I was, still as screwed up. A shadow appeared near the window. Logan.
No, not so fucked up anymore, I realized. Because of her. She radiated a warmth that drew me, made me feel like I could breathe again.
I jogged up the few steps, and entered the apartment. Ray was on the couch, busy with work on her laptop, her brow furrowed.
With the throb in my skull hiking, it was a struggle to resist the relief I’d find in the bottle in my tote. But I was a stubborn bastard, determined to hold out for as long as I could. Maybe this way, pain would kick loose the fucking memories hiding in the abyss of my mind.
The smell of coffee brewing drew me out of my dark thoughts and into the kitchen. As I poured some into a mug, I heard Logan say, “Ray, Titus is coming over in a few minutes, send him to the studio would you?”
“My pleasure.” At the excitement in Ray’s tone, I rolled my eyes. “And I’ll personally escort him there.”
Coffee in hand, I walked into the living room. Logan’s gaze briefly flicked my way before she hustled off. Since the night we’d had soup, a few days ago, she’d been keeping her distance from me. My gut tightened. It took every bit of willpower not to go after her and demand that she acknowledge she had feelings for me, too.
“Max,” Ray said, her attention back on her laptop. “Before I forget, Jude said you’re welcome to play any evening you’d like at the bar. The customers loved your performance the other night.”
I frowned. I wasn’t interested in performing for a crowd. I played because it gave me an escape and made me feel closer to my mother. Just the thought of her, and my heart constricted, agony submerging me in a deluge of guilt.
The doorbell rang.
“Don’t answer—I got it,” Ray yelled. Jumping up from the couch, she shot past me like an unleashed arrow.
“Believe me, that’s the last thing on my mind,” I muttered. As if I wanted to open the door for the pinup. I picked up the TV remote just as the dickweed entered.
“Ray.” Titus Connor gave her a charming smile, shrugging off his outer coat. “How are you? Is Ila ready for me?”
“Yes, she’s in the studio,” she said. Stars practically popped out of her wide eyes. Un-freakin-believable.
“Thanks. Can I have coffee, black, in an hour please? Great.”
Ray’s mouth dropped open, the stars exploding a fiery death as he dumped his coat in her hands and disappeared into the studio. She tossed the thing on the small table there and stomped back into the living room then glared at me likeI’dgiven her the damn order.
“He didn’t just say that, did he? Do I have ‘waitress’ stamped on my forehead even at home?” She rolled her eyes, did a gagging mime, and flopped onto the couch. Seemed she was over her celebrity crush.
It should have made me feel better. But Logan was still locked in her studio with him. “You’d think he’d have enough pictures of himself around. As if he needs a damn painting, too,” I muttered.
“Yeah, models. They seem to live on a whole other plane—” Her cell beeped. She grabbed it off the coffee table and read the text. “Gotta go. Tell Ila I’m covering a shift at work.”
“Sure.” I lowered to the armchair.
“Oh, and Max?” I pulled my gaze away from the ballgame. Hers brightened in merriment. “Would you take Titus his coffee?”
“Not in this lifetime. Or any other.”
Laughing, she headed upstairs. “Then he’s just gonna have to die of thirst.”
After she’d left, the silence became oppressive. Channel surfing didn’t hold my attention. I stared absently at the news, the closed door in the foyer mocking me.
The hour came and went. How long did it take to paint one scrawny-ass male model? I pushed up from the armchair, deciding to head for Jack’s, unable to handle this constant gnawing in my gut. Truth was, I didn’t like Logan with the guy—hell, I didn’t like her near anyone with a dick.
Then the door opened, followed by soft footsteps. Logan appeared and passed me without a word, her cheeks flushed.
