We lay there, catching our breaths, kissing—until her stomach growls breaking the silence. Her cheeks turn pink and she hides her face behind her hands, embarrassed laughter fills the room.
Her embarrassment is so damn adorable.
“Well, sounds like we need to get some food in you.” I tease, “We wouldn’t want you to get hangry.”
“Can we pretend that never happened?” She wrinkles her nose. “And I don’t get hangry!”
I laugh loudly at her indignation. “It’s my experience that all women get hangry when denied food.”
I playfully slap her ass and get up, grabbing her hand to pull her with me. I was supposed to leave an hour ago, but it’s so worth it to be late.
As we walk toward the kitchen, I stop and notice the paintings displayed in the hallway. They’re covered with portraits of her sister and some with them together.
I carefully rub a finger along the painting, tracing the lines of her face. “What was her name?” I ask, realizing she’d never told me.
“Um…” she stumbles, looking down. “Ari.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine.” She cuts me off. “It’s starting to feel easier to talk about her now.”
I give her a sympathetic smile. “I can’t get over how beautiful they are. I notice you use a lot of similar colors in your pieces of her.”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “Teals and yellows,” she explains, her eyes bright and wide. “Each color means something to me.”
“What are hers?” I ask, intrigued. I glance over at her staring hard at it.
“Happiness and laughter. She was the teals and yellows of my life. Always laughing, always smiling. Her happiness made me happy. Before she started cutting, we’d always get into trouble for talking and laughing past our bedtime. She’d tell me made up stories and they always made me burst out into fits laughter. I’d pull my sheets over my mouth to cover the sound, but our parent’s room was down the hall and they always heard us.”
“I love that.” She turns and looks at me. “Teals and yellows.”
She nods with a small smile. “Yeah. It’s how I want to always remember her.”
“You can remember her any way you want. She’s your memory. Her life might’ve been short, but it’s made a big impact on you.” Her eyes lower as she fidgets, and I’m afraid I’ve pushed too far. “Aspen?”
She clears her throat and looks back up at me. “I’m fine.” She nods, reassuring herself more than me.
I check my watch and groan. “I’m sorry I have to leave so early.” I wrap an arm around her and pull her body to mine. “I’ll see you later?” I ask, kissing the top of her head.
“Yeah, of course.” She returns a forced smile.
“Don’t forget to eat something,” I remind her as she walks me to the door. Before walking out, I tilt her chin and place a soft kiss on her lips. “Bye, sweetheart.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ASPEN
Teals and yellows.
Ariel could make me laugh until I was in tears. Our dinners were spent giggling at the table while our parents narrowed their eyes at us with a warning. Eventually, they cracked and ended up laughing at her jokes, too.
The way I paint her is how I saw her on the outside—bright, funny, and confident. People look at my abstract paintings and see a girl full of life—a girl, who has her whole life ahead of her, can be anything she wants, and the freedom to express herself.
After the first time I found her in the bathroom, someone else surfaced in place of the sister I knew. Ariel wasn’t Ariel anymore. She’d changed, and I couldn’t figure out why or what had caused it.
I think that’s what kills me the most. Perhaps, had I known, I would’ve known how to help her.
Those painful thoughts and memories are what inspired my Ariel Rose Collection. I think about telling Morgan the truth, but I can’t help the fear of it changing how he sees me. They’re dark and some are even creepy. They represent her inner struggle that she hid from the rest of the world and the sadness that surrounded her—the part she didn’t let anyone else see until it was too late.
When I paint them, I release something from deep inside of myself. I welcome the bad thoughts, feeling that same sadness and the memories to fuel that same internal struggle to create something on paper. I give into the depression and paint those feelings.
I’m not sure how I can explain that to someone, especially him, without scaring him away. Or maybe it’s because when I do, it’ll mean they’re no longer just for me anymore. Our memories are sacred and letting someone else into that part of my life feels more intimate than I’m willing to share right now.
But the longer I don’t tell him, the worse the consequences will be.
I sleep over at Morgan’s house Monday night after classes, except neither of us really sleep, but I sneak out before his niece wakes up and sees me.
Now I have to go through the whole day of classes and a shift at the gallery before I can go to his night class. It’s going to be hard keeping a straight face around him now knowing I had my lips wrapped around his cock less than twenty-four hours before that.
But I’m a professional.
I can do this, I tell myself.
The moment he steps into the classroom, I feel my cheeks heat. I’d hoped chatting with Ellie beforehand would help distract me, but my body shivered the moment I saw him.
Perhaps I can’t.
I lower my head and bite my lip to keep the stupid grin off my face, but it doesn’t work. The corner of my lips tilt up as he walks in all teacher-like—briefcase in hand, crisp button-up shirt tucked into his dark dress pants. He barely flinches as he sets his briefcase down on the desk and looks out at all of us.
“Evening, everyone.” They all straighten up in their seats and greet him back. I avoid making eye contact with him but find it hard to not be drawn by his deep voice and bright eyes. The sexual charge between us is so strong, I’m almost certain everyone in the room can feel it. But they go on as usual, grabbing their supplies and back to their projects. Next week is spring break, so we have the rest of this week to finish our assignments before we have a week off.
About half way through class, Ellie leans over and grabs my attention. “So I forgot to ask, how the hell did you end up standing naked for the life drawing workshop? One second you were sitting next to me, clothed, I might add—” She waggles her brows. “And the next, you were in the front, buck ass naked.”
I cringe knowing how many people saw me naked the other night. I hadn’t had much time to think it through, but I don’t regret it either. Ms. Jones needed me, and I’d do anything for her after how much she’s done for me.
“The model got sick after the first set and needed a replacement. My boss needed a fill-in, and I volunteered.” I shrug it off as if it’s no big deal.
“Was it awkward? All those people just staring at you?”
“They weren’t staring,” I correct. “They were drawing me. There’s a difference.”
She snorts. “Hardly. But if you say so.”
She gets back to her painting, but I notice every few minutes, she glances over at me and furrows her brows. “What?” I finally ask, tilting my head and lowering my brush. “You want a second viewing or something? A personal session maybe?” I tease.
She laughs quietly and shakes her head. “Nah, the first show was good enough to last me a while. However, I just figured out why you’ve been acting so weird.”
“I have not,” I defend.
“You’re more timid than usual, and every time Professor Hampton walks around us, you blush and lower your head like a cowering animal.”
“I do not.”
She smirks. “He saw you naked,” she clarifies. “I’m sure he barely remembers the first class,” she states, reminding me of my and Morgan’s first interaction.