Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
He stood, threw me the remote, then headed to bed.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe as I stared absently at the movie for far too long.
28
Alex
When the team decided to head up to Shenanigans Thursday night, I jumped on the chance. It might do me good to get my mind off my swirling thoughts for a while. We met at the swim house, where I took a couple of hits of the weed that was passed around. I just wanted to numb these fucking feelings.
Unfortunately, all it did was make me tired. Still, I powered through. It was better than being at the dorm by myself tonight.
When Steve showed up, I recognized the longing in Jordan’s eyes and felt for him too. Surprisingly, Steve stayed near him the entire time, and Jordan looked so happy. I only hoped he didn’t get hurt. Damn, I was being a downer.
The bar was packed, but we finally got a table and ordered a bunch of food, yet I barely touched my plate. I kept hoping Remy and Derek would walk through the door and bug the crap out of us. Remy was probably working, and besides, things would feel different now, and I didn’t know how I’d react to having him so close and not being able to touch him.
My cell buzzed with a text that made my breath hitch.
What are you up to tonight?
My pulse beat erratically as I typed: At Shenanigans with the team.
Any chance you could meet me?
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Was Remy asking for a hookup? I didn’t know how to feel about that. About continuing with this arrangement after I’d shown him my cards. Wouldn’t it only hurt worse after? Still, I couldn’t help wanting it—wanting him—even if we couldn’t be anything else to each other.
At your place?
No, at the studio. I’ll be here late.
Maybe he wanted to drag me into the supply closet again. And though the idea was more than tempting, I wasn’t sure what to think about this sudden request. Maybe he was missing me too—or at least our steady schedule of orgasms.
“Who are you texting?” Bailey asked, and I automatically bristled. Until I remembered that everything was cool between us now. Well, getting there.
“Remy,” I muttered low enough that no one else heard.
He glanced toward the entrance. “Is he coming to Shenanigans?”
“No.” I looked away, my cheeks growing warm. “He wants me to meet him.”
“You should.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Danica’s on her way here, so I might bow out early anyway.”
I bit my lip. “I’m not…I’m not sure.”
He scowled. “I’m sorry if Remy’s being an ass. You haven’t been yourself the last few days.”
“He’s not. We haven’t really talked, so I assumed things were just…over.”
“Remy is Remy, you know that.” He shook his head, frustration in his expression. “But I thought he… It felt different with you.”
“You have to say that as my friend,” I pointed out.
“No, I really don’t.” He screwed up his face. “Not when it comes to my brother and my best friend swapping spit and other bodily fluids.”
I laughed and playfully shoved him.
“I want to see him. I just don’t know if I can…”
“Maybe you need to, if only to clear the air,” he said in a serious tone, and I nodded, knowing I would go. I’d only needed the extra push. “Where are you meeting? At his place?”
“No, he wants me to come to the art studio.”
“See? That means something. He’s never invited me there.”
“You weren’t even speaking to him until last week, remember?”
His mouth turned down at the corners. “True.”
“Promise me something,” I said, all at once feeling a rightness in my gut no matter what happened between Remy and me. “Promise that you’ll ask Remy to see his art. It’s different from when we were kids. And you just…you need to appreciate how talented your brother is.”
His eyes widened. “I promise.”
My stomach roiled as I headed across campus to the art building, my heartbeat thumping as I walked up the stairs to the second floor. I glanced at the supply closet before quietly opening the door to the studio and padding inside.
Remy’s back was to me, but he still took my breath away. His very presence made my pulse pitch and my chest ache, and him standing in front of his stunning art only enhanced all my churning emotions.
“I can see the adjustments you made,” I said in a soft voice so as not to disturb the other artists in the room. “They’re subtle but add, like, dimension or shading or something.”
“Exactly,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s why an artist feels like their work is never completed. Well, until it feels right in your gut. But even then…”
His voice trailed off as he studied the painting in front of him. It was the one of a woman with her head inside a fishbowl. To me, it could represent lots of things—it was how I’d felt in high school a bunch. Graduating was like taking a gigantic breath of fresh air, and college gave me the opportunity to explore more of the world. I had no doubt Remy would say something similar. The smaller places where we connected assured me that, at the very least, we could always understand each other and be friends.