Read Online Outside the Lines (Rebel Hearts #1) by Emily Goodwin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emily Goodwin
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and tingly all over. “Well, I’m here to help so … uh … I’ll help if you want my help, because that’s why I’m here. To help.” I internally wince at my own choice of words.
“So you can help?” he teases and goes around to his messy desk. I take a minute to look around the space. The “office” part opens into a large studio, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the street. Sheer curtains have been hung over them, several feet of fabric gathered on the floor. The walls are a mix of cracked plaster and exposed brick, and I’m not sure if it was done on purpose of if that it happened over time. It is very fitting for an art studio, nonetheless.
Shelves are pushed against the wall, every inch covered in paint, brushes, and other various materials. Several easels have been set up in the middle of the room, and some sort of statue was shoved in a corner, looking forgotten. The entire place is a mess, but it’s working. In fact, it wouldn’t work any other way. Chaos and creativity go hand in hand.
“That’s the new router you got?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“It’s not very good.”
“The guy at the store recommended it.”
I put a hand on my hip. “You believe some teenager in a blue shirt over me?”
That grin is back on his handsome face. “How do I know you’re any more—or less—qualified?” He runs a hand through his thick hair. “Where did you go to school?”
“MIT,” I say right away then wish I could take it back. I got the majority of my schooling done there but actually graduated elsewhere.
“Fair enough,” he says. “What router should I get?”
“Considering the old wiring in this building, I’d get something stronger with a better range. I can write down some recs for you.”
His eyes fall onto my chest again. “Or we can go out to the store and get something together and then have dinner.”
“No,” I say right away, surprising myself. Hot Guy, aka, asshole-not-asshole Ben, just asked me out. Why is my gut telling me not to go? I’m not in high school anymore. This isn’t some setup to mock me. We’re adults. He wouldn’t ask me out if he didn’t actually want to go with me.
He looks taken aback, like he’s surprised at my insta-rejection. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Nope. I don’t have a husband either. I’m single.” Might as well get it all out there. “You?”
“No boyfriend or husband. And no official girlfriend or wife.”
“But you have something unofficial?”
“I date,” he tells me. “But it’s nothing serious.” I’m not sure what to think of that. “Look,” he says. “It’s not every day I spill coffee on a hot chick that thinks I’m an asshole.”
I smile. “That doesn’t happen to me every day either. Or ever. Really, it’s never happened.” I don’t remember the last time someone called me hot. Well, someone other than people at Comic Con admiring my accurate yet revealing costumes.
I put the router back in its package the best I can so Ben can return it. We start setting up the new computer.
“Do you have plans this weekend?” he asks me. I don’t, other than playing video games, working on my Comic Con costume, and binge watching Firefly on Netflix. “If not, I’d really like to take you out.”
“I think I can rearrange a few things,” I say. “Where are you going to take me?”
“What do you like?”
“When it comes to food? Uh, everything.”
He laughs, flashing perfect white teeth. “That’s easy. Friday night, eight o’clock?”
“Sure,” I say, a little breathless, and try my best to hide my smile. No harm can come of this, right? I push aside my initial fears to give this a go. I fire up the new computer and sit down. Ben goes into the studio and turns on music, streaming from his phone. It’s set to random, and goes through everything from Mozart to Pink Floyd. I keep stealing
“So you can help?” he teases and goes around to his messy desk. I take a minute to look around the space. The “office” part opens into a large studio, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the street. Sheer curtains have been hung over them, several feet of fabric gathered on the floor. The walls are a mix of cracked plaster and exposed brick, and I’m not sure if it was done on purpose of if that it happened over time. It is very fitting for an art studio, nonetheless.
Shelves are pushed against the wall, every inch covered in paint, brushes, and other various materials. Several easels have been set up in the middle of the room, and some sort of statue was shoved in a corner, looking forgotten. The entire place is a mess, but it’s working. In fact, it wouldn’t work any other way. Chaos and creativity go hand in hand.
“That’s the new router you got?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“It’s not very good.”
“The guy at the store recommended it.”
I put a hand on my hip. “You believe some teenager in a blue shirt over me?”
That grin is back on his handsome face. “How do I know you’re any more—or less—qualified?” He runs a hand through his thick hair. “Where did you go to school?”
“MIT,” I say right away then wish I could take it back. I got the majority of my schooling done there but actually graduated elsewhere.
“Fair enough,” he says. “What router should I get?”
“Considering the old wiring in this building, I’d get something stronger with a better range. I can write down some recs for you.”
His eyes fall onto my chest again. “Or we can go out to the store and get something together and then have dinner.”
“No,” I say right away, surprising myself. Hot Guy, aka, asshole-not-asshole Ben, just asked me out. Why is my gut telling me not to go? I’m not in high school anymore. This isn’t some setup to mock me. We’re adults. He wouldn’t ask me out if he didn’t actually want to go with me.
He looks taken aback, like he’s surprised at my insta-rejection. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Nope. I don’t have a husband either. I’m single.” Might as well get it all out there. “You?”
“No boyfriend or husband. And no official girlfriend or wife.”
“But you have something unofficial?”
“I date,” he tells me. “But it’s nothing serious.” I’m not sure what to think of that. “Look,” he says. “It’s not every day I spill coffee on a hot chick that thinks I’m an asshole.”
I smile. “That doesn’t happen to me every day either. Or ever. Really, it’s never happened.” I don’t remember the last time someone called me hot. Well, someone other than people at Comic Con admiring my accurate yet revealing costumes.
I put the router back in its package the best I can so Ben can return it. We start setting up the new computer.
“Do you have plans this weekend?” he asks me. I don’t, other than playing video games, working on my Comic Con costume, and binge watching Firefly on Netflix. “If not, I’d really like to take you out.”
“I think I can rearrange a few things,” I say. “Where are you going to take me?”
“What do you like?”
“When it comes to food? Uh, everything.”
He laughs, flashing perfect white teeth. “That’s easy. Friday night, eight o’clock?”
“Sure,” I say, a little breathless, and try my best to hide my smile. No harm can come of this, right? I push aside my initial fears to give this a go. I fire up the new computer and sit down. Ben goes into the studio and turns on music, streaming from his phone. It’s set to random, and goes through everything from Mozart to Pink Floyd. I keep stealing
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