It wasn’t until she correctly voiced their silent communication out loud that he realized they’d done it. Silently communicated. Aw, fuck. “Shelby—”
“But I was wrong about him,” Shelby said, smiling at Anna and Brett. “As
I’m sure you know, he does, indeed, seem to have a heart. And he’s actually a pretty cool guy, one I’m proud to call my friend.”
Well, hot damn, she’d given him a compliment. An actual compliment. Smiling, he asked, “We’re friends now?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but the art teacher came up behind her and gasped. “What do we have here?”
Shelby flushed. “Uh…”
“Have you taken lessons before?” the teacher asked.
“N-No.” Shelby was now the same color as the red paint on his brush. He craned his neck to try to see her painting, but the art teacher snatched it up. “I used to paint, before…”
She didn’t need to finish that sentence for him to know where she’d been going with that. Before she’d followed her ex out here and been abandoned. Shit, he wished he knew where this ex lived, or if he was even still here in Atlanta. He’d show him exactly what he thought about him taking a girl like Shelby and trying to destroy her. Even now, having all eyes on her, she looked two seconds from running out of the room and never coming back. Also, she kept looking at him like he was going to be pissed off.
Why the hell would he be pissed off if she was good at painting?
Was her ex that kind of guy? The kind that couldn’t bear for her to be better at something than he was? If so, they’d been doomed to fail from the start. He might not have known Shelby for long, but he knew her well enough to think that she was pretty damn good at pretty much everything she decided to try. If her ex wasn’t a big enough man to handle that?
Then it was his loss.
Clearly.
He caught her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
The teacher held the painting up. Even though they’d all painted the same image, there was something about Shelby’s that just screamed of…of…a life unlived. He wasn’t a big art critic, or really into art at all—not like his father was—but this right here? He could feel her desire to live vibrating off the damn painting. He wanted to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and show her how much fun life could be if she was with the right guy.
If she was with him.
People told Shelby her painting was incredible, and she thanked everyone who came forward, letting go of his hand after the second person came over. Every once in a while, she would look at him, and he’d smile, or nod, or something else supportive since she clearly needed it from him.
At some point, as Shelby talked to the teacher and after Anna had hugged him good-bye since she and Brett were heading out, Brett came up behind him and said, “Keep this one. I’m telling you now. She’s the one.”
Eric laughed nervously, tugging on his tie. He still wore the suit he’d gone to work in, since his last case had run late. Shelby, too, still wore her work clothes. “Nah, man. We’re just friends.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He patted Eric on the shoulder. “So were me and Anna, until we weren’t.”
Before Eric could make a sarcastic reply, Brett walked over to Anna, threw his arm over her shoulder, and led her out the door.
She waved once, and they were gone, their paintings in their hands.
He cleaned up his and Shelby’s art center, and then wiped his hands on his suit pants. Across the room, Shelby talked animatedly, her hands flying, and she glanced his way. When their eyes locked, the breath he’d been taking froze in his chest, choking him.
She literally stole his breath away.
Motherfucker.
Logically, he knew this should scare him, knew he should run, but there was no way he’d leave her when she was smiling at him like that. He always played it safe with women, and yet with her, he wasn’t. Sex, and love, and relationships?
They were fucking war.
Sex was foreplay to the big upcoming battle, if you let it be.
That’s why he never went further than that.
It was why he always retreated before the first shots were fired. And yet here he was. Not retreating, even though there was clearly something real between them—something he should be running from. But instead, he smiled back, lifted a hand, and waved. She said something to the teacher, then made her way over to him, her eyes lit up with excitement. “Hey.”