Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Don’t move,” I order him as I grab another canvas and set it up on the stand.
Gold, it has to be gold. It needs to be bolder, brighter, glowing like he does.
Yes, this feels right…
I bite my bottom lip as I work, not even having to look up much since I can still feel the ridges of his body, proud I’ve memorized them so well.
But that’s short-lived because things go downhill fast.
No! I was wrong, dammit!
My hands tense, my fingers refusing to obey for another brushstroke, so I chuck the canvas once again, the stand toppling over. “Why isn’t it right?”
I’m worried my behavior might be concerning to Dax, but he’s silent, lets me have my moment before I set up yet again, sneering at the blank ivory linen, the brush hovering, but I stop myself because I’m missing something. I quiet my mind the best I can. “Talk to me, Dax.”
“About?”
“I don’t fucking know.” God, this is so damn infuriating.
“Well, I had a grilled-cheese sandwich earlier.”
“Did you make it?”
“Yeah, why?”
“That’s kind of adorable that you make grilled-cheese sandwiches.” Focus! “No, that’s not what I meant.” I can feel a headache coming on, I’m stressing myself out so much over this. “I need something bigger. Talk to me about something from your life. Something that matters. I don’t care what. Just go.” I sound like I’m mad at him, but I’m mad at myself for not understanding what I’m doing wrong and why none of it feels right yet.
“Tell me about your mom.” I regret the words as soon as they come out. It’s too intrusive. Fuck, I’d lose my mind if someone asked me to just start talking about mine. “Sorry, no. This whole thing is a shitty idea.”
Frustrated, I grab the blank canvas, ready to chuck it to the floor with the others when Dax says, “No, no. It’s okay. I’m fine with that.”
The tension in me ebbs, and as I refocus on him, I see the sorrow in his expression. Yes, not gold. Gold was all wrong. What the hell is wrong with me?
Conflicted as I am about what I’m asking of him, I can tell he’s about to give me exactly what I need. Exactly what will allow me to capture Dax. The real Dax Armstrong.
16
Dax
I don’t really understand what’s going on here. Miles is such a mystery.
Everything started out cute and playful. I thought we were going to have sex, but then he asked to paint me, and though that’s the last thing I expected, I was game. I’m still game. The thought of it is not only extremely fucking sexy, but deep too, like we’ll be sharing something that means a lot to him. Like he’ll be showing me myself through his eyes, and I’ve never in my life wanted to see what someone else sees when they look at me the way I do with Miles.
But now…things don’t seem right. He’s all over the place. I feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves, nearly drowning me in the riptides, and all I want is to fix it, to make it better for him. To ease whatever’s always troubling him. I don’t think anyone has ever tried to soothe him that way. Most people make their assumptions about him and move on. They’ve all decided who Miles is because of the prank that caused the fire at Sigma Alpha and left Alpha Theta Mu’s former president hospitalized. Of course I wish he hadn’t done it, but we’ve never really heard his side of what was clearly an accident. Maybe, like there’s more to Miles than we know, there’s more to this than we know too. I want to talk to him about my mom, to share every single thing I can with him, so Miles can get to know me and I can hopefully get to know more about him as well.
“She had the world’s best laugh,” I say, not sure why that came out first. It’s something I haven’t talked about in a long time—my mom’s laugh, the way it would fill a person up with joy. Miles is not looking my way, not even at the canvas anymore, but like he’s lost in his head. Where are you, Miles Tanner? “It was impossible not to laugh when she did. Just the sound would make you happy, no matter what your mood had been.”
“You got that from her, then?”
At first, I think it must be a joke, but Miles isn’t smiling. He’s studying the canvas now, and with such intensity, it feels like the thing has magical powers, like somehow by watching it and listening to me he’ll know exactly what to paint.
“I…don’t know. No one has ever told me I have her laugh before.” I like the thought of it, though, of putting people in a good mood with my joy.