Page 13 of Heart of Thorns

She points with the paintbrush still in her hand.

There’s a spatter of paint across my shirt. It kind of looks like blood, and I cough to cover my sudden laughter. She got me pretty good.

“Stop laughing,” she orders.

“You can laugh, too, you know.” I catch the paint on my finger and reach out, fast as a whip. I drag it across her cheek.

Her eyes widen. “You asshole.”

I shrug and step away before she can get back at me. “I didn’t go for your tits. I think that makes me a gentleman. And why are you?—?”

My focus swings to the wall.

Where my face has been painted, along with half my jersey. The outline of my number—thirteen—is visible on my chest.

I open and close my mouth.

Did I totally misread this chick?

Is she actually a stalker?

“It’s not what you think.” She sets down the brush and crosses her arms. “I was commissioned?—”

“Please save the lame excuses.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I thought you were normal, mystery girl. But breaking in and painting my face is a weird way to get my attention.”

I feel… oddly let down.

I take a step back, then another.

At the last second, I remember my tennis shoes and go straight for my cubby. Her gaze burns into my back, but I can’t do it. Short of her coming at me with a knife andliterallystabbing me, I can’t be bothered.

Ridiculous.

I locate the shoes and leave the locker room without a backward glance.

So much for trying something new.

CHAPTER 5

BRIAR

My hands ache.

I wiggle my fingers a few times and crack my neck. Standing on the ladder for hours last night and again tonight has my body tight in all the wrong spots. My knee is so swollen I could hardly pull my jeans on this morning. There’s no going back now, though.

Typically, if I was on a commissioned job, I’d wear a shirt and loose pants that were already covered with paint. But going home and trying to get this denim off will do nothing but exhaust me.

I end my short break and stand from the bench, then spin around the locker room to stare at the rest of the empty spaces I still have to fill in. I have plenty of time to finish the job, but after another run-in with the football king himself, I’m more inclined to finish fast so I don’t have to see him again.

Anger zips to my fingertips as I stare at Thorne’s perfectly arched jawline. I worked so hard on it last night. I was proud and I still am, butGod.My blood boils. The disgust on his face after heassumedI was another obsessed jersey chaser pisses me off.

Talk about being full of yourself.

He thought I was doing this to get his attention? If I wanted his attention, all I’d have to do is lift my pant leg up and show him my scars. That’d surely get a second look.

I exhale and pull my pencil out from behind my ear.

Arrogant asshole.

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