Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I’m just as bad. Both of us are full-on scumbags.
Dad is in the office, getting more work done. Jacob sits at my side, radiating warmth and fierceness, or maybe that’s all in my head, but I don’t think so. I think it’s more than that. I think he wants to touch me just as badly as I want to touch him.
Jacob doesn’t even need to hold a treat. He just sits there, and Rusty stares up adoringly. I mix my paints, swallowing. I never usually paint with anybody watching me, especially not my crush—I mean, my ex-crush.
My hand trembles slightly as I start by creating an outline of Rusty’s body. The window behind him shows the snow, trees, and icy blue atmosphere.
“He looks like he’s in love,” I say, trying for a laugh, but nothing’s funny. It’s more of a nervous thing.
“He’s just a lost dog who needed some help,” he replies. “When this is over, he’ll love whoever adopts him once he gets used to it.”
“I don’t think he’d look at them like he’s looking at you, though.”
“He’s a dog, Emma,” Jacob says stiffly.
I glance at him. He’s staring at Rusty. “Part of being a painter is noticing things. Right now, Jacob, I’m noticing how much you care about Rusty.”
“Why does it matter?” he snaps. “Is it proof I’ve got a heart? Proof I’m not a complete piece of shit? Is that it?”
“You’re such a jerk,” I say.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he replies, and we both smile. It’s so weird. We enjoy the battle because we know what comes afterward—the steam, oh, hell, the steam.
“I do my best,” he grunts. “Focus on your work.”
“Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing—a supervisor to keep me on track.”
“Then focus, Emma.”
“Okay, and sorry for calling you a jerk.”
He grins. “Sorry for being one.”
He stares at me with that same aura of desperation, as if he’s always on the edge of collapsing when we’re together, his resolve shattering.
I turn back to the canvas, doing my best to focus on the art. Soon, my passion takes over, and I can hone in on the minutia of the work: the subtle strokes, attempting to catch the curious mixture of hope and fear in Rusty’s eyes. It’s like I’m trying to bring that out of myself—the hope, the fear—and instill it into the painting. Mom would probably laugh at that. She wouldn’t say so, but she’d think it was pretentious, and maybe she’d be right.
I gently guide the brush over the canvas, doing my best to bring the pooch to life. After a while, it’s like Jacob watching me becomes somehow pleasurable. Not just emotionally but physically, as if he’s sending me signals that have my whole body sizzling, wondering what would happen if we let it, wondering how far we’d take it. Maybe all the way this time.
No, no… focus. Focus. Just the art. Just the paint. Just Rusty’s smile.
CHAPTER TEN
JACOB
Watching her work is a unique pleasure. I have to keep reminding myself not to stare at her like some Shakespearean goddamn lover, just in case her dad catches me looking. There’s something so gorgeous about the way she’s sitting there, everything in her focused on the work, biting her bottom lip as she delicately handles the brush. I want to walk up behind her, lean down, and kiss the nape of her neck. “What do you want for dinner?” A snippet in my mind, a domestic scene, both of us living in bliss. The sort I don’t deserve.
She brushes her hair from her face. Jesus. I want to drag my fingertips through it so badly. An hour passes like this. I could sit here for the rest of my life. I could watch her every second of every day and never get bored. There was a reason I stayed away and should’ve eaten a bullet. She glances at me, her cheeks flushed with creativity.
Rusty puts his head back and whines.
“He’s proud of you,” I say.
“Do you think it’s terrible?”
I lean forward. “Why say it like that? Don’t doubt yourself so much. You’ve got talent. I know nothing about art, but that…” I gesture at the painting of Rusty brought to life, especially the sparkle in his eyes. “… is excellent work. Ten out of ten.”
She beams. “You’re just being nice now.”
“Oh, yeah,” I say sarcastically. “Because I’m well known for being nice just for the sake of it.”
She laughs, and I find myself smiling. Being with her is easier than being with any other woman ever could be. It’s the sort of chemistry I’d be addicted to if I knew it wasn’t poison—if we weren’t poison.
“Maybe with me, you’ll start.”
“It’s not just for the sake of it,” I tell her. “The work’s good, but stop fishing for compliments.”
“I’m not,” she says, her voice going high as if she’s doing her best to seduce me. I want her so damn badly. It’s not her fault. Everything she does is seductive to me. She follows up quietly and asks, “Why are you looking at me like that?”