Page 4 of Blindside Love

“Even if I did see him, it’s not like I could actually do anything about the attraction. I don’t exactly have a lot of time for fun, especially not for the fuck-boy type, and with how hot he was, there’s no way he’s not a complete and total man whore. I have Addy to think about, and I can’t do that to her. I don’t want to bring something like that into our lives. It’d just be someone she met that would end up leaving again.”

“Whatever,” Natalie grumbles as she crushes the box she just unpacked before throwing it into the ever-growing pile of recycling. It’s going to suck lugging all of this out, but it’s not like I really have a choice anymore. It’s just me now, and I don’t exactly have a long list of people that I can call for a favor since I’m the one who filed for divorce. I guess that’s the downside of being married to a lawyer— they can be rather convincing and downright manipulative. And unfortunately for me, people often take sides based on how others will judge them, regardless of the facts.

My mother happens to be one of those people. It definitely didn’t help that her best friend is Tom’s mother.

“Can I unpack this box of art supplies in that last bedroom?” Natalie asks quietly.

“No, there’s no point. I haven’t sat down to paint in months.”

“What? Why? I thought you loved it.”

“I do, but every time I would start something new, Tom would make some underhanded comment about how I should be spending time with my daughter instead of my silly ‘hobby,’ as he put it. He always liked to point out that my art was basic at best, that there was nothing special about it. I guess after a while, I just lost the desire to do it.”

If I’m being honest, it felt like all the joy had been stripped from it. The peace I used to feel when I painted was gone, along with all the color in my mind. Like it was sucked dry from my life, leaving only shades of black and gray. I’ve been living in a monochrome world. Even now, it feels like that most days unless Addison is here with me.

“Well, Tom’s a piece of shit, but I’ve been saying that for years. It’s so much worse now, though. The fact that he tore you down and ignored your incredible talent just shows how insecure he is about himself. Still, it doesn’t give him the right to be a complete douche-canoe,” Natalie says, her eyes filled with rage as she bites her lower lip in frustration. She looks like this anytime he’s brought up. She’s very passionate about protecting me. “Have you shown Betty any of your pieces yet? I know you told me she’d been asking.”

Betty is this sweet lady who owns the art studio I’ve volunteered at for the last five years. Her art shows are always packed and a huge hit, probably because she lines up some of the best of the best to host shows. I feel lucky just to be able to volunteer with her. She offered me a job a couple of years back, but Tom didn’t like the idea of his wife working—he said it made him look bad. I didn’t have the time or energy to tell him that we no longer lived in the Stone Age and women actually have rights and their own lives.

“No, I’m too nervous. She actually asked me again last week, but I just can’t. I always come up with excuses that I know she can see right through. I’m just stalling. Tom hated them, said they were boring, and were done by someone just messing around. Addison has seen them, and she loves them, obviously, but that’s because her mommy painted them, and she thinks I hung the moon. But, Betty? Hell, that’s asking a professional what they think of my amateur art. It’s too fucking terrifying, Nat,” I ramble, still stalling even just talking about it.

“You should. I know she’d absolutely love them,” Natalie says, her voice quiet, sincerity filling each word. “You’re way more talented than you give yourself credit for. But I guess now we know who’s to blame for that.”

“Maybe,” I say quietly, ignoring her little jab at Tom.

My mind is already elsewhere, thinking about my art. Maybe I should show her.

Maybe I’m good enough.

Chapter 3

Ellie

Knock, knock, knock.

What the fuck is that noise? It’s not even eight in the morning.

The knocking returns, proving it’s not just from my hangover. Someone is actually here, knocking on my door when I should still be sleeping off the tequila.

“Who the fuck is knocking? Were you expecting someone?” Natalie grumbles from beside me.

“No. I don’t even know anyone who lives here. Besides, you need to be buzzed in to come inside. There’s no way it could be Tom. He’s not desperate enough to try and sneak in, right?”

Tom’s upset because I won’t let him know exactly which apartment I’m in and because I declined his request for access to the building. I told him it was none of his business where I sleep, and that he knows which building his daughter is in and can contact the front desk if he can’t get through to my cell phone. I thought that seemed more than sufficient.

Although I thought his head was going to explode when he realized he wasn’t getting his way.

“Go look,” she says, nudging me to walk along with her as another more forceful knock taps on my door. “Why do I smell like tequila?”

“Because I’m pretty sure we finished that bottle of Patron we opened while belting out Taylor Swift like we were seeing her in concert.

Peering into the peephole, I nearly shit myself when I see who’s standing on the other side of my door.

“It’s him,” I whisper-shriek, unable to believe my shitty luck. How did he find me? The man who is currently knocking on my door just so happens to be the hot God who saw me make a fool of myself in the elevator. But it’s not like we even talked last night, so why would he be stopping by now?

“Who?”

“Elevator guy!”

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