Page 94 of Finding Delaware

“All right, I give up.” He throws his hands in the air, face bunched up as he shoves his properties toward Logan. “Take all my shit. I’m done.”

“You’re such a sore loser.” Logan gathers his winnings with a satisfied smirk, and Taylor scrubs at his face.

“I do not understand this fucking game. Who enjoys escaping from the reality of paying rent and taxes by playing a game about paying rent and taxes?!”

I raise my hand with a pencil, eyes still focused on my sketch. “Me.”

Taylor scoffs. “Says the Poli-Sci major.”

Blinking, I force myself to keep my gaze down instead of glancing up at him. How does he know I’m going for a Political Science degree? Logan may have mentioned something.

Christian’s voice from that night at the rally replays in my head.

“Baby boy never misses any. And if he does, he gets moody as fuck.”

I honestly thought it was an exaggeration, but if it wasn’t? An uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut, and I shift around on the couch to displace it.

As Logan cleans up the game, Taylor rises with a huff before unceremoniously plopping down between us, sending her textbook on media ethics sliding to the floor.

“You fucker,” she grunts, and he smiles as he picks it up for her before turning his attention to me. To the sketchbook on my lap.

He watches quietly until Salem kicks him in the thigh.

“You still draw?” He clears his throat as I shoot him a look.

“Obviously.”

Taylor says nothing, only studies the sketch I’m trying to do of the lake.

“I didn’t, for a long time,” I admit with a shrug, “but I’m trying to get back into it.”

“Yeah?” Another kick from Salem. “Um, so I might have an idea for you if you’re interested.”

With a raised brow, I turn to look at him, waiting. His eyes nervously bounce from mine to the sketch, and I grit my teeth impatiently.

“So, Christian and I had this idea–” A third kick to his thigh. “Salem, Christian, and I had this idea of expanding our T.O.T brand into things like merchandise. Shirts and hats and stuff. Maybe stickers. We would need an artist to help with the designs, and I figured since you’re an artist and all...” His fingers pick at a loose thread on his sleeve. “If you wanted to, you know, collaborate. Help with ideas.”

I stare at him wordlessly because I don’t know how to respond.

“You’d get compensated, of course,” Salem pipes in. “We’d pay you for the work, and you’d get a cut of the sales. You’re not expected to work for free. Unlike me.”

She snickers at Taylor, who rolls his eyes before placing them on me expectantly.

My lips pull down while I blink a few times. “I’m...not very good.”

He holds a hand out for the sketchbook. “I highly doubt that, but let’s see.”

That self-conscious feeling churns in my stomach again like it did when Logan’s dad and Maisie were looking, but I hand the book over to him and focus on the fire as he slowly flips through it. Salem leans in, making little‘oohs’and‘ahs.’It’s a new sketchbook, so there isn’t a lot in it yet, but a slight sound comes out of Taylor’s throat that has me whipping my head toward him. I go very still when I see what he’s studying with wide eyes.

Shit. I forgot that was in there.

Motherfuck.

“This is my bike?” Taylor taps the page with a finger, lips parted as he brings it closer to his face. He’s almost enraptured, completely awed, and sweat starts to bead on my neck. The wheels are bigger than they should be, and big puffs of cartoonish smoke billow out of the tailpipe.

Faking an easy shrug, I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I was trying something new, is all.”

“Your attention to detail is amazing, man,” he laughs, pointing at a spot near the rear fender. “I scraped it right there whenI overcorrected a landing at a buddy’s house and laid the bike down. And look at all of my decals!”

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