Page 26 of Burning Daylight
“I hate you,” she says.
I lean in and pinch her chin between my fingers, cataloguing every feature on her face and committing it to memory. “No, you don’t.”
Then I step back, settle against the opposite wall with my foot propped against the brick, and grin, hoping it comes across as casual and not like my heart’s about to beat right out of my chest.
“She’s not, for the record,” I say.
“What?”
“Amanda. She’s not my girlfriend.”
Her eyes narrow. “Does she know that?”
“She does. We’re just friends.”
“Friends like… just friends, or friends like you save her from dying and then flirt until she starts naming your hypothetical children?”
Amusement curls in my chest, and I wonder if that’s somethingshe’sbeen doing. The idea thrills me, to be honest. I like imagining that she’s as obsessed with me as I seem to be with her.
I smirk and she flushes that perfect shade of pink.
“Friends,” I repeat, slower this time. “Acquaintances, even.”
She hums like she doesn’t buy it, tearing her eyes away from me.
I follow her gaze, seeing some art tagged on the dented trash bin.
“You don’t like graffiti,” I guess.
“I don’t feel any type of way about it, really.”
“Then why are you here?”
She hesitates, her teeth sinking into that luscious bottom lip.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “That art inside? I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, you’ve been to Rosebrook, you know how it is there. I never thought something that looks like that”—she points to the blocky letters on the garbage—“could be in the same class as what’s hanging in there.”
I glance toward the gallery, a hit of pride suffusing me because she likes my work. “How do you know they’re not done by the same person?”
She laughs like I’m joking.
I’m not.
“You’re serious.”
“Art is art,” I say. “Only difference is one gets framed. The other gets you arrested.”
“And skill level,” she shoots back.
I lick my lips to try and douse the fire she’s making rage inside of me. “Didn’t realize you were such a harsh critic.”
She straightens, clearly bristling. “And what are you, then? Some tortured art savant?”
I spin the ring on my finger once. “I’ve been known to draw a thing or two.”
Her breath catches. “Oh.”
“Don’t act so surprised.” I tease.
