Artfully Yours (14 page)

Alex didn’t see Elle for days. Another piece crashed into him without warning, and he lost himself to the fight of it.

It consumed him. He worked without stopping until he had to sleep, or risk burning himself to ash. He woke up and staggered back to the barn, falling into the creation again. Somehow, in a process he could barely recall, he forced a vision of passion and beauty out from the very depth of his bones and now it was there, in his barn, before his stunned eyes.

Perfection.

It was a simple fact of his artistic ego that when he finished a sculpture, if he liked it, he didn’t merely
like
it. He
loved
it. Reveled in it. Thought it was his best yet.

This, however, was the first time he stood back and felt, with a mix of panic and pride, that he’d created his masterpiece.

Alex took a shower, changed into sweats and a comfy old tee, snagged a beer from the fridge, and turned on his computer. He wasn’t shaking—he held his hands out in front of him to check—but his skin was buzzing.

He needed to see Elle.

Unfortunately, it was one a.m. and she lived with her sister and niece, so he couldn’t do what he wanted to do, which was drive over there, pound on the door, and when she opened up, just pick her up and pin her to the nearest flat surface. Wall. Door. Floor. Any one of them would do. All of them would be better.

Taking a pull of beer, he opened up a search engine and typed. He couldn’t shut down that simmering urge, that boiling need inside him. He’d have to direct it elsewhere for now.

He was on his second beer and scrolling through an interesting web page when he noticed the camera light at the top of his laptop was green. His fingers spasmed around the cold glass bottle. “Goddamn it,” he said. “Have you hacked me again?”

A small window opened on top of the web browser to show Gabe Sterling grinning back at him. “
Hacked
you? So paranoid. It’s called Skype, Alex.”

“I deleted Skype from my hard drive.”

“All right. I hacked you again. I had to hack you, man. What the hell are you looking at that shit for?”

Alex X’d out of the browser quickly.

“Oh, I saw it. You can close it down but, oh—” the browser window opened back up, “—there it is. Yeah, I’m in control of your computer. Let’s try the back button, shall we? See what other disgraceful crap you’ve been digging up.”

Alex sighed as his web history played out in reverse, window stacking upon window.

“What is
wrong
with you?” Gabe said.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t often get embarrassed, but this was awkward, getting caught by his best friend looking at this stuff.

“I mean, come the fuck on. Why aren’t you looking at porn like everyone else? Why the hell are you Googling how to date?”

“Because I don’t know how to do it.”

“You know how to date. I’ve seen you date.”

He hadn’t. Gabe had seen him hook up. He’d never seen him date, because that implied effort and trying and, well, Alex never really had to try when it came to women. That sure came as a big surprise, especially after an adolescence as a lumbering, spotty kid with an attitude problem. Or so everyone kept telling him. Then, it seemed, one day he smiled at a woman, she smiled back, and it all kind of grew from there.

Of course, that one day hadn’t come out of nowhere. It was one day that had come after thousands of other days spent wrestling with his art. As he wasn’t exactly a graphic artist, those thousands of days translated as thousands of hours of physical labor and sweat-drenched exertion. This built the kind of muscles a tech-head like Gabe had to go to the gym to get, built an impressive level of fame and even notoriety as the art world’s bad boy sculptor whose arrogance was only slightly less than his talent, and it built the kind of intensity and focus that women really seemed to like. Until they realized he only had the time and interest to turn it on them between the sheets, and that stopped being enough.

What Gabe called his dating life was nothing more than a (short) series of no-strings hook-ups he’d fitted in around work.

“What about Melanie?” Gabe was saying. “And Sarah. Stephanie—”

“For the last time, I didn’t sleep with Stephanie, just gave her the damn interview—”

Gabe continued his list. “And that, oh that feisty chick with the, with the, uh, the little tattooed one? She was something. Do you still have her number?”

“They weren’t my girlfriends. I didn’t date them. We hooked up.”

“News for you. They thought you were dating.”

They did? “Huh.”

Gabe took a swig of an energy drink, tipped it at Alex. “Underneath all that, you really are just one giant nerd, aren’t you?”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “Computer geek.”

“Art freak.” Gabe crushed the can and tossed it over his shoulder. Alex heard a distant clang as it hit the trash. “Give it up, buddy. I have ADHD and I’m caffeinated. I can go all night. You can’t win here. So, who’s the lucky lady who caught your eye and inspired a web history suited to a lovesick thirteen-year-old?”

Alex looked at him without saying anything.

Gabe, his hyper-fast brain making the connection, sat up straight. “No,” he said. “It’s not your girl. It is? It
is
! Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s back in town?”

“Yeah.” Alex thought back to Elle’s wide eyes when she’d bumped into him in the market. All right, when she’d looked into his basket and seen the condoms. “And I’m not convinced she feels lucky. More…spooked.”

“Not surprised she’s spooked if you’re shuffling around trying to date her. Stop exposing your awkward nerd underbelly, and fall back on what works. Your hook-up moves. She’ll feel lucky enough then. Empirical evidence suggests I am correct.”

“I haven’t tried to date her yet, so it can’t be that.” No, he just mauled her every time she got within three feet of him. She seemed to like it when she was in the moment, but she did have a habit of bolting. “And I don’t want to hook up with her.”

“Stick with your moves. Empirical evidence also suggests she’ll think you’re dating anyway, like all your other victims. Seriously, that little tattooed chick. What was her name again?”

“You know, this is pissing me off. I don’t want to hook up. I don’t even want to date her. I’m not up for playing games. I know what I want. It’s not—” he leaned forward and read off the screen, “—shit, six dates before sex. Six? I can’t wait six dates. I want it now.”

“That’s sweet. But you don’t get it unless you play the game. Just how it works.”

Six dates? He was going to go ahead and cross off one. Kissing in the barn. That counted. The second time on the porch, there was coffee involved. He was the only one who’d drunk it, but she was there. So that was date two. Date three, she’d seen the box of condoms. That had to count for something.

Alex groaned. This was ridiculous. He wanted to do everything on the list of things he was supposed to do with her. Just not first. That was for later, when they were together. For when he
had
her. “Do I have to date her? Can’t I just buy her a ring?”

“Why not?” Gabe sat back in his chair, waving a casual hand. “In fact, go ahead and book the minister. Hide him in your living room, lure her over for dinner, and marry her between dessert and coffee.”

“I like that idea, even though I
can
tell you’re being sarcastic.”

“Yes, Alex. Yes, I am. Jesus. At least play a little hard to get. You’re embarrassing me.”

“I don’t see why. I’m marrying her. Sooner or later. I’d prefer sooner.”

“Shouldn’t you at least sleep with the girl first? You know. Take her for a test drive.”

“You’re a douche.”

“I’m practical, you romantic nerd. What if you’re not compatible in the sack?”

Alex laughed out loud. “Not a chance. You wait. When you see the work just knowing she’s within reach has pulled out of me, you’ll understand. It’s good, Gabe. It’s really good. It’s my best.”

Gabe was unconvinced. “Come on. There’s a chance. She’s your muse—maybe it won’t translate. When it comes down to it, you could fizzle.”

Fizzle?
“Let me think about Elle Finley naked.” He looked down at his lap, then back up at the screen. “I’m hard.”

“Don’t sit there and tell me you’re hard. I’m open to a whole lot of shit, Alex, but we’re skating awful damn close to cybering, you start telling me you’re hard.”

“Cybering?”

“Cyber sex. And there’s no point giving me that look. That virgin-librarian-is-shocked look. You’re the one who started talking about getting hard.”

“What is it with you and virgin librarians?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe said. “It pops into my head. It’s like I can’t control it. I keep going there. I may have to get therapy. More therapy. Can we focus, please? Promise me you’ll sleep with her before you marry her.”

“I’ll try.”

“And try to take her for a date before you sleep with her. Treat her like a lady.”

Alex considered it.

“Alex.”

He lifted and lowered a shoulder.

“Just one, man. One date.”

“Maybe. Although if she shows up again, I can’t promise. I don’t want to play games.”

“I love playing games.” Across the room on the couch, Alex’s iPad binged. “I sent you a dating handbook, loser. Read, inwardly digest. And don’t wait too long. She’s recently back in town, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely don’t wait too long. I’ve read a lot of romance novels. You sit around, she’ll be having some soul connection with the local hottie.”

Alex pointed to himself.

“No one falls for the weird artist, Alex. They fall for the chiseled doctor-vet-firefighter. Or construction dude. But only if he’s either running the crew, or volunteers as a…no, only if he’s running the crew. Or is secretly a duke.”

Alex blinked.

“I mean it.”

“You read romance novels?”

“They’re awesome, and I read everything.” He clapped his hands. “Act!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

No getting away from it. Two weeks of hard labor, and from the outside the Finley house still had all the charm and ambiance of a hovel. Elle dug her keys out of her tote as she headed up the driveway. At least the yard was cleared of the hoarder’s junk. And the plumbing worked. The plumbing had better continue to work for the next hundred years, considering the massive bite it had taken out of her savings to overhaul the entire system because yes, it was of course more complicated than a blocked toilet. As for what had caused the blockage, they still didn’t know. Although, the plumber did somewhat disturbingly ask if they wanted to bury it.

They were making progress.

She had a job, earning enough to be comfortable and hold them steady while Jenny was up to the eyebrows in DIY and interior decorating books, fabric swatches and paint chips, planning for when her cast came off and nothing, she vowed, would hold her back from pulling her own weight and fixing up the house. Until that glorious day, they were hacking away around the edges, meaning that tonight, after eight hours at the clinic, Elle got to spend a few hours more painting Katie’s room.

She was going to need pizza.

The front door opened before Elle reached it, and Derek Tate lunged out. He slammed the door behind him, put his back to it, and held it shut with a firm grip. His high cheekbones were streaked red, and his eyes were dancing. Smiling, he used his free hand to tuck his oil-and paint-stained T-shirt with some super-cool indie band logo on it into the front of his jeans.

“Finally told Jenny you’re a mechanic?” Elle asked as he pushed away from the door.

“Yep.” He strolled over, holding up a hand for a high five when he drew level.

Without thinking, she reached up and slapped his palm. Then realized what she could have possibly high-fived him for. “Damn it, Derek.”

He turned and said, walking backward, “My intentions are honorable, Elle.” He immediately shook his head. “I’m lying. My intentions are dirty. My
endgame
is honorable.”

“Stop telling me about your sex life with my baby sister!”

Derek’s laugh followed her into the house.

Jenny was in the kitchen. Her face was bright red, her hair stuck out like she’d licked an electrical socket, and she was wrestling with the buttons on her shirt. Elle grinned at her.

“What?” Jenny barked.

Her buttons were done up wrong, but instead of pointing it out, Elle said, “Let’s order pizza tonight.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion is that I have a job I like, you’ve got three more weeks until the cast comes off, and by this time tomorrow, my niece will have a beautiful newly painted bedroom.”

Jenny scowled. “She already has a beautiful newly painted bedroom.”