me.
Right at that moment, something whispered, He likes you.
I turned toward Hunter, stiff. “What?” What?
He came to stand beside me, propping his elbows on the low aisle. The side of his tattooed arm was level with my eyes. “I’m assuming the object of interest is across the street, if the way you keep blushing and looking at them is any indication.”
“I’m not blushing .”
A slow sideways glance. I was getting real tired of those. “Mmm,” he murmured. “Look in the mirror. You’ll see otherwise.”
“Shut up.”
He regarded them through hooded eyes. “You can’t blame him, though. She’s hot.”
Again . He likes you, silly.
“Unlike me,” I said, feeling annoyed all of a sudden. “Thank you, Slade. Moving the hell on.”
“So you like him.”
“Oh, you couldn’t tell? I thought my tomato-potato face was more than enou gh evidence.”
“It is, but it’s always fun to see girls getting flustered and shit. Gives me little thrills.”
“Thanks for the information. I’ll try to be a straight-faced bitch from now on.” I crossed my arms and grumbled, “No thrills for you.”
Faint amusement tugged up one corner of his lips. It was a nice thing to see him almost smile, but I couldn’t linger on it for too long. Feeling my spirits plummet, I watched Ash and his girl, my hands clenching at my sides. The friend zone was a real thing. And I was eternally stuck in it.
“Before I forget,” said Hunter. “Here.”
Blinking, I turned.
“I use these for most of my paintings,” he said, holding up two paintbrushes and a box of pastels. “And these pastels are great. Blend easily. If you break them in half—which you seem to be a pro at—you can crush one of the parts, add water, and turn that into watercolor.” He handed them to me and then reached for something on the shelf. “Let’s see…For this project, some rives paper would be fine, I think—”
“You sound like an old artist or something,” I said, and then deepened my voice, pairing it with a silly French accent. “‘Let’s see…some rives paper would be—’”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“I don’t need your help.” Lie. “You’re not the expert.” Also a lie.
He continued searching the paper stacks. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”
I couldn’t not believe him. His awesomeness with the paintbrush was undeniable. “So…why are you taking a beginner’s class, then?”
A pause. Then: “Because I thought it’d be fun.”
“You keep getting funnier by the second. Really. You sit in the back giving everyone the stink eye—or the expressionless eye, if we’re talking about you—and you expect me to believe that you think it’s fun? Right. And I’m secretly a man-eating carrot.”
“And as always, Hazel, you misinterpret shit.” He rolled up the paper and handed it to me, meeting my eyes with steady gray orbs. “I said I took it because I thought it’d be fun. Do I think it’s fun now?”
“Yeah.” I raised my eyebrows . “Do you think it’s fun now?”
He stared down at me, his lips set in an unreadable line.
“Are you enjoying the class?” I said, getting the feeling that this whole conversation was grating on his nerves. Oh, the joy. “Would you recommend this course for another student, young man? Why don’t you tell Betsy all about it, now.”
“If Betsy would shut the fuck up, then maybe.”
“Aaaand there we have it, folks. He hates it. Which is just ridiculous, because with the unbelievable amount of talent he has in his bastardly right hand, he could’ve gotten into the Advanced Placement course, or better yet, applied to take a super exclusive art class at the university. Can we say missed opportunity? Or should we call it…stupidity?”
It was at thi s point that I realized it’d be impossible to get a rise out of him. In the depths of the depths of his eyes I could see that I’d gotten on his nerves—and, boy, did that have me bouncing on
Right at that moment, something whispered, He likes you.
I turned toward Hunter, stiff. “What?” What?
He came to stand beside me, propping his elbows on the low aisle. The side of his tattooed arm was level with my eyes. “I’m assuming the object of interest is across the street, if the way you keep blushing and looking at them is any indication.”
“I’m not blushing .”
A slow sideways glance. I was getting real tired of those. “Mmm,” he murmured. “Look in the mirror. You’ll see otherwise.”
“Shut up.”
He regarded them through hooded eyes. “You can’t blame him, though. She’s hot.”
Again . He likes you, silly.
“Unlike me,” I said, feeling annoyed all of a sudden. “Thank you, Slade. Moving the hell on.”
“So you like him.”
“Oh, you couldn’t tell? I thought my tomato-potato face was more than enou gh evidence.”
“It is, but it’s always fun to see girls getting flustered and shit. Gives me little thrills.”
“Thanks for the information. I’ll try to be a straight-faced bitch from now on.” I crossed my arms and grumbled, “No thrills for you.”
Faint amusement tugged up one corner of his lips. It was a nice thing to see him almost smile, but I couldn’t linger on it for too long. Feeling my spirits plummet, I watched Ash and his girl, my hands clenching at my sides. The friend zone was a real thing. And I was eternally stuck in it.
“Before I forget,” said Hunter. “Here.”
Blinking, I turned.
“I use these for most of my paintings,” he said, holding up two paintbrushes and a box of pastels. “And these pastels are great. Blend easily. If you break them in half—which you seem to be a pro at—you can crush one of the parts, add water, and turn that into watercolor.” He handed them to me and then reached for something on the shelf. “Let’s see…For this project, some rives paper would be fine, I think—”
“You sound like an old artist or something,” I said, and then deepened my voice, pairing it with a silly French accent. “‘Let’s see…some rives paper would be—’”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“I don’t need your help.” Lie. “You’re not the expert.” Also a lie.
He continued searching the paper stacks. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”
I couldn’t not believe him. His awesomeness with the paintbrush was undeniable. “So…why are you taking a beginner’s class, then?”
A pause. Then: “Because I thought it’d be fun.”
“You keep getting funnier by the second. Really. You sit in the back giving everyone the stink eye—or the expressionless eye, if we’re talking about you—and you expect me to believe that you think it’s fun? Right. And I’m secretly a man-eating carrot.”
“And as always, Hazel, you misinterpret shit.” He rolled up the paper and handed it to me, meeting my eyes with steady gray orbs. “I said I took it because I thought it’d be fun. Do I think it’s fun now?”
“Yeah.” I raised my eyebrows . “Do you think it’s fun now?”
He stared down at me, his lips set in an unreadable line.
“Are you enjoying the class?” I said, getting the feeling that this whole conversation was grating on his nerves. Oh, the joy. “Would you recommend this course for another student, young man? Why don’t you tell Betsy all about it, now.”
“If Betsy would shut the fuck up, then maybe.”
“Aaaand there we have it, folks. He hates it. Which is just ridiculous, because with the unbelievable amount of talent he has in his bastardly right hand, he could’ve gotten into the Advanced Placement course, or better yet, applied to take a super exclusive art class at the university. Can we say missed opportunity? Or should we call it…stupidity?”
It was at thi s point that I realized it’d be impossible to get a rise out of him. In the depths of the depths of his eyes I could see that I’d gotten on his nerves—and, boy, did that have me bouncing on
Similar Books
