Page 31 of Not Catching Love

He snorts. “You wanted to say booby, didn’t you?”

“Little bit. So … do you like boobies?”

“The birds or the part of a woman’s anatomy?”

I know I’m being cheeky by even asking, but I answer, “Both.”

“The bird I have no opinion on. The anatomy … does nothing for me. I’m completely gay.”

I don’t remember how or when I learned that Derek’s queer, but it’s good to have it confirmed officially. I’ve always low-key suspected, the same way I’m sure he’s always suspected about me as well, but that doesn’t stop me from confirming it. “Me too.”

“Let’s paint a raven,” he says.

I want to wave that suggestion off and get us back to more personal topics, but I’m afraid to scare him away like I did last week, so instead, I pull a chair up beside him. “Okay, what colors do we need for a raven?”

“Black.”

“And?”

Derek’s brow rumples. “Umm … I dunno? Maybe brown for a nest.”

“And yellow, orange, red? For the features, white, blue, we’ll make some gray.” I squeeze out some colors across the round board. We don’t have long, but I want to show Derek how things work together. How, when you look closer, the little details build to create an overall image. I start simple, with a wing. I lay the base color, create the shape, then layer the blacks and blues and whites. I add volume to the paints, andwhile they might not be as easy to work with as my acrylics, the wing takes shape. I move quickly, wanting at least a decent enough one down before everyone else gets here, and it’s not until I’m adding texture, making it more three-dimensional, that I glance over and find Derek’s still gripping the clean paintbrush loosely between his fingers.

I glance from it up to his face, immediately finding his eyes on me.

“You’re not doing anything.”

One corner of his lips gives the tiniest kick. “I’m watching.”

“You won’t learn much from that.”

“Actually, I’d argue that I’m learning a lot.” His voice is a smooth, deep whisper. The kind that pools in my belly and makes me warm all over. He’s got these tiny lines by his eyes that I can only see up close, and they make his whole face friendlier. “You’re really good.”

I frown, turning back to the wing. I haven’t let any of the paints dry since I was rushing, and they haven’t blended together well at all. The shape isn’t working, and the feathers don’t look all that feathery. I smudge out one particularly bad edge with my thumb, but it only ends up looking worse. “Sorry,” I say. “I ruined your paper.”

Before Derek can respond, the door opens, and I turn to find Kevin, Bethany, and Toni walking in.

“What bullshit are we painting this week?” Kevin grumbles.

The quiet bubble between me and Derek snaps, and I reluctantly get up to help them.

Derek stays for the whole class.

Chapter Twelve

Derek

There’s something about seeing Xander create that has me transfixed. He sees things in a way most people don’t, and watching him turn nothing into something breathtaking only reminds me of how much deeper Xander goes. That’s not supposed to be something I know about him; I promised myself I’d keep my distance, but every week is a new nail in my coffin. I get there earlier and earlier until one week, I arrive before he does.

In an effort not to feel completely pathetic, I collect the supplies he has stacked in a cupboard and set up the room the way he normally has it. The look on his face when he walks in makes it all worth it.

It’s only been a few weeks, but I’m scarily starting to live for these moments.

I reason with myself that it’s healthier than living for themoments when I have to see him professionally, so … improvement? Maybe?

I’m doing my best to separate those two sides of him. The one I treat and the one I see running these classes. And that second man is something else. Getting to see him like that only deepens the hurt that he won’t see a professional and try to get better.

This creative, snarky, passionate man deserves so much more than he lets himself have. It’s hard not to get pissy about that.

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