Page 26 of Sweetest Hate

"I didn't exactly have anywhere else to go." I ripped off another piece of biscuit with my teeth.

He didn't look happy, but I didn't care. It was his fault anyway. Quinn finally shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry. I promise the bed is yours tonight."

The slam of a cabinet, closing way harder than necessary, made me jerk my gaze in the direction of the noise. Just in time, I caught a glimpse of the back of Arsen's distinguishable tall body and dark wavy hair as he stalked out of the kitchen and through the back door.

"The fuck is his problem?" Quinn asked.

"No idea," I answered, but the clench in my gut told me I knew exactly what had set him off. It had to do with me and what he'd likely overheard. Or it could have been as simple as my very existence that seemed to piss Arsen off. Both were equally possible.

Shawn, who'd been quiet while Quinn and I had talked, snorted. "Arsen doesn't strike me as the type to share."

I widened my eyes and gave him a slight shake of my head in warning. What happened to him keeping his mouth shut?

"Share what?" Shawn's lips twitched at Quinn's question.

"I meant Arsen doesn't strike me as the type tocare. He's just his normal self." He shrugged, and I held in an exasperated sigh at his poor attempt to cover the flub.

Quinn seemed to buy the story, laughing quietly. "Truth. I keep trying to tell Kellan, but he's obviously not listening." He looked at me. "Don't stay with him again, okay? I don't trust him."

Neither did I, but not the same way Quinn meant. It was me, more than Arsen, that I didn't trust when I was around him. For all the swearing I did about not hooking up with him again, it didn't mean it wasn't tempting. Arsen had been right last night. I both wanted him and hated myself for it at the same time. I couldn't and wouldn't admit that to Shawn or Quinn. "Yeah, okay, Dad."

"I'm just looking out for you," he insisted, but I was pretty sure he just wanted me to stay away from Arsen for the simple fact that he didn't like him. I was supposed to be on Quinn's side. I would have wholeheartedly agreed at the beginning of the trip, but it was impossible to ignore that Arsen had been right about something else.

While Quinn seemed to forget about me when something new and shiny caught his attention, Arsen had been there picking up the slack. Or rather dragging an unwanted burden into his own bed, so I had somewhere to stay. I wasn't fooled, though. Arsen had his decent moments, but he was still the guy who had callously dismissed me as nothing more than asnack. Between the two guys, I wasn't sure which one I was madder at this morning.

I went back to eating, stewing over everything that had happened since we'd arrived. This wasn't the way this week was supposed to go. I was supposed to be relaxed, enjoying the sights and sounds of the lake, painting the views—not wound up over the constant swinging moods from an overgrown arrogant asshole and the wishy-washy behavior from my best friend.

Speaking of painting, that was exactly what I needed to distract me from the chaotic thoughts crowding my mental space. Making the decision on how I'd spend my day, I shoved the rest of the biscuit in my mouth and scooted off the chair.

"Where are you going?" Quinn asked, glancing up at me.

Feeling lighter at the thought of taking in the views while hiding away in a quiet, secluded area, I stepped back. "To grab my art portfolio case from your room."

* * *

Toweringwhite clouds dotted most of the sky with random breaks in the billowing swells that created different hues of gray, white, and gold. The sun broke through the rising clouds at just the right angle to send a perfect ray of blinding sunlight streaking from the blue sky. I did my best to capture the ever-changing scene on a small canvas I'd toted along with my art portfolio case.

Swirling a thick paintbrush through a mix of blue and white, I swiped the new powder blue color along the edges of the clouds, giving the swells dimension and texture. Though I could still hear the music and chatter from the group back at the cabin, the sound was muted from where I was. I'd climbed high up a hill and was sitting under the shade of the tall trees surging above me. Adjusting the volume on my phone, I cranked up the rock tunes in my ears, completely drowning out the noise from the others.

Blending multiple shades, I created a gradient of blues to match the view before me until it met the tops of the trees on the other side of the lake. Grabbing a fine-tipped brush, I scratched in the thin, bristled branches of pines, which were really nothing more than a blur from a distance. Once I reached the water, I changed the piece's tone completely, foregoing the still waters in front of me and creating chaos on the canvas, more suited for a storm in the lake. I wasn't sure why I made the switch. I didn't know whether it reflected the dueling and confusing feelings I was personally experiencing or because I was just following an uninvited muse. But when my strokes became erratic, with steep swells crashing on the black soil peeking from the bottom of the piece, I thought of one thing. Arsen.

Setting the brush aside, I swiped my finger through the shades and dragged a hefty amount of black, the color of Arsen's hair, into the mix. Running my thumb over the rough ridges of the canvas, I let free the feelings swelling inside me, sweeping through the already chaotic depiction of the lake and making it wilder. Untamed. As if the waters weren't contained by the natural walls of the massive hole in the earth. They seemed to rise despite them.Arsen, my mind repeated. I paused at the thought as I realized that was exactly what I was painting. Two sides. Two emotions invoked as I stared at my creation.Son of a bitch.Even when I turned to an unfailing source of comfort, he was there, wreaking havoc. With a sigh, I set my supplies aside and bent my knees, resting my elbows on top of them. Taking deep breaths, I attempted to calm my heart that had begun to thump as wildly as the waters in my painting.Why couldn't I get him out of my head?

As if conjured from my thoughts, large tennis shoes came into view, and I jerked my head back. Speak of the devil. I scowled. Wasn't invading my thoughts bad enough? Did he really have to intrude on my solitude? Even with the light at his back and his face in shadow as he stared down at me, his light eyes seemed to pierce the dark.

Arsen was glaring.Why the fuck was he glaring?

I tugged my earbuds out. "What do you want?" When he continued to watch me silently, I waved my hand. "Hello, stalker. What do you want?"

"What are you painting?" Arsen asked his own question instead of answering mine. Shocker.

"None of your business." I couldn't even flip the canvas upside-down to shield it from his curious gaze because it was still wet. Even with the realization I'd painted the very thing I'd been trying to escape I couldn't bring myself to ruin the scene.

Arsen reached down, lifting the canvas, careful not to touch the paint. I scrambled to my feet, barely able to keep myself from snatching it back thereby smearing four hours of work. "That's not your business, Arsen. Put it down."

It was bad enough I'd realized he'd been my muse, but having him scrutinize my work was too much, and my temper flared. I reached for it, and he stepped back, holding it just out of reach.

"This is good," he said simply. As far as compliments go, it wasn't much, but it came as a shock coming from Arsen. Where was the insult? The asshole comments?

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