Read Online Hardcore: Volume 1 by Staci Hart - Free Book Online

to buy time in an attempt to get my head together but met his eyes when I set down my glass.  
    This is how you run a con. You give enough of yourself, of your honesty to convince them that you are what you say. I didn’t even have to lie. The thought gave me comfort.
    My smile was genuine and easy because my words were true. “It was hard to walk away, honestly. I understand what you show me with your work. Seeing your gallery sealed the deal.”
    “I kind of hoped for that.” His smile was sideways.
    I chuckled and rolled my eyes, but my cheeks were warm. “God, you think you’re so smart, don’t you?”  
    “I have my moments.”
    I looked behind him to the oven and jerked my chin. “Rich, athletic, and cooks?”
    He never stopped smiling as his eyes locked on mine. I almost squirmed, it was so intense. “I seek out things in life that are satisfying. Running, food, photography. You.”
    I picked up my drink and raised an eyebrow, trying to keep it light. “And charming. How are you single? You must have some serious baggage.”
    Van leaned over the counter. “No more than anyone, I guess. I just don’t settle.”
    It was such a prickish thing to say, as if no one had ever been good enough for him. I looked down my nose at my drink with a suppressed smile. “Ah.”
    He paused, looking over me. “You’re judging me.”
    “Maybe a little.”
    He watched me for a beat before responding. “I’ve dated and had a few long-term relationships, but it always imploded. Women see money or muscles or status when they see me. Do you know what it’s like to find out that someone you thought loved you only wanted to use you?”
    My hands went freezing cold. I shook my head.
    “Yeah, it’s not fun.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t want to waste my time with someone who wants me for money or status, but I’m probably more trusting than I should be. I just have a very low tolerance for bullshit. And past that, most people don’t get the things that I love. I can’t imagine spending my life with someone who doesn’t understand the basic concepts that make up who I am.”
    I was an ass for assuming, and a fucking scumbag for the rest. But more than that — I completely understood. I took a breath. “I get that.”
    “I had a feeling you would.”
    We stared at each other from across the bar, silent for a moment, and I was unable to think of a single thing to say.  
    Van broke the connection and turned for the oven, grabbing a thermometer on his way. “How long have you been a traceur?”
    I spun my glass around. “I’ve been freerunning since I was sixteen. We used to hit the warehouses in the Meatpacking District and Hell’s Kitchen, but honestly, it’s always been a part of my life. I used to drive my parents crazy scaling counters and the pantry to get to the Froot Loops, which was apparently my favorite food at two. Or once, my mom told me I used to scale my closet wall to hang on the clothes rack.”
    He laughed as he stuck the thermometer in a pork loin and watched the digital face. “Same here, in the sense that it’s always been a force in life. My dad used to hide candy in a jar over the fridge, but by the time I was three I could get to it.” He shook his head. “My buddies and I started running in high school too, in Queens. Moved to the Manhattan as soon as I opened the gallery.” He pulled out the meat and set it on the counter to rest.
    “I was wondering what the story was with the gallery. How’d you get started?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “I figure you would have done the full Google stalk down. Paybacks, right?”
    “I’d rather hear it from you.”
    Van leaned on the counter again, crossing his wide forearms in front of him. “I don’t really know when it happened. I’ve always been into art, but something about parkour gets into me. It’s art through motion. Such a rush. And you learn things about the city that you can’t find out any other way. You see it differently,