“Want something to drink? I’ve got beer, wine, soda…” I hover nearby, reluctant to move too far from her now that she’s here.
“Water’s fine,” she says, reaching into her bag. She pulls out the iPad, setting it on her lap with a small frown. “I feel stupid even asking for help with this. It’s probably something obvious that I’m missing.”
I grab two waters from the mini-fridge tucked beneath the bar and return to the couch, sitting closer to her than strictly necessary. Not touching, but close enough that a slight shift from either of us would change that.
“No worries. Tech can be frustrating even when you know what you’re doing.”
Her hair falls forward as she bends over the tablet, and I catch another waft of that peach scent. My body responds instantly, heart rate increasing. I wipe my palms on my jeans just in case they’re all sweaty. The reaction is visceral and unwelcome. I shouldn’t be attracted to her, not now, not knowing what I know.
“So, what’s giving you trouble?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
Ash shifts the tablet toward me, Procreate already open.
“Something’s wrong with it,” she says, leaning closer. Her thigh is touching mine. “It won’t let me add any more layers. The button just… stopped working.”
I take the iPad from her and glance at the canvas info panel. The dimensions make me pause for half a second.
“You made this thing enormous.”
Her shoulders lift in a small shrug. “I saw something that said the more resolution, the better it will print.”
“Sure, that’s totally true.” I have to get her a printer. I have to have a room wallpapered in what she creates. I clear my throat. “But Procreate limits the number of layers based on canvas size. The bigger the canvas, the fewer layers it allows.” I tilt the screen so she can see, pulling up the canvas information. “Right now, you’re working at something like poster resolution. The iPad can handle it, but Procreate’s protecting the memory budget. That’s why the layer button’s grayed out.”
“Oh.” She leans closer, her arm brushing mine as she studies the numbers. It would be weird if I pulled her right into my lap. Right?
I duplicate the canvas, then scale it down slightly. The moment the resized version loads, the layer menu lights back up with room to spare.
“There,” I say, handing the tablet back. “Still huge resolution, but now you’ve got breathing room for layers.”
Ash taps the screen experimentally, then glances up at me with a quick smile.
“Okay, that actually makes sense.”
On the TV, the pre-game coverage for the Scorpions plays at low volume. Beckett’s face flashes on screen during a segment about injured players. Could be my imagination, but her scent seems to flare just at the sight of Beckett. All my attention is fixed on the small point of contact where our arms touch, on the way her fingers tremble slightly as she hands me the tablet.
“Can I see what you’ve been working on?”
“It’s all shit,” she says instantly.
“Please.” I should be embarrassed by how close to begging that is.
Ash licks her lips and tucks hair behind her ear, then scrolls through the gallery.
“You’ve got a good eye for composition.”
“Just doodles.” A flush creeps up her neck at the praise.
“No, they’re good. Really good.” I swipe through her recent work, mostly abstract landscapes that somehow capture emotionthrough color and form. There’s a darkness to them, a yearning quality that makes my chest ache.
Just like her searches, her art tells a story she won’t put into words.
The game starts, and we shift our attention to the TV. The Scorpions are playing poorly without Beckett, already down by two goals in the first period. We settle into a comfortable rhythm of commenting on plays, sharing the popcorn, and questions about the game. Ash is totally not a puck bunny. She knows as much about hockey as I know about ballet.
This is fucking fantastic and torture at the same time. I’ve already tucked her in with fuzzy blankets, given her snacks, and answered all her questions. It’s perfectly innocent. And yet, my dick is hard and it’s taking every bit of sanity not to lay her out on all the pillows and—
Ash shouts and claps her hands. The Scorpions scored. I laugh and casually pull a pillow into my lap, praying she never notices what having her this close, with her scent going crazy, is doing to me.
Chapter thirty-six
