Page 37 of Fresh Canvas
I stole a glance at the two of them over my shoulder.
Amantha’s wavy blonde hair had grown longer since she first started at the museum, not that I had noticed. It tumbleddown her back as her head tipped back in laughter. Her sparkling gray eyes collided with mine, the remnants of her last witty jab resting on her smile.
That smile.
My mouth ran dry.
An Amantha shaped—and oh, thatshape—riptide threatened to drag me from my island of loneliness. I had stumbled onto the island over two years ago, stabbed a flag into it, and declared it mine.
Minealone.
Attraction was overrated. And that was all it was. Attraction. Short-lived and easily dealt with. Besides, plenty of attractive women had approached me over the last few years. I wasn’t blind to their lingering looks and flirtation. While itwashard to resist some of them—I was still a red-blooded man, after all—I wouldn’t reciprocate.
And if they really got to know me, they wouldn’t want me to either.
I shifted uncomfortably in my sweaty black button-up and broke down the ladder before hauling it back to the industrial carts also needing to be put away. The metal rungs trembled against my shoulder. Despite my near-perfect gym attendance, the set-up was targeting different muscles I didn’t normally hit in my workouts.
Amantha’s beet-red face flashed through my mind as she had tried to muscle that heavy wall on her own. A small grin lifted my mouth. When the rest of the technical crew didn’t show up, I hadn’t expected her to lift a pretty pink fingernail. Now, she stood with Rick, barefoot and bare-shouldered and nearly as sweaty as me.
I swiped a hand across my slick brow, erasing my smile and replacing it with a scowl.
The woman didn’t make sense. Each time she did or said something unexpected, it only made her more interesting to me. The answers I wished I didn’t care about felt like sand slippingbetween my fingers. If I managed to hold onto a grain, it only sparked a thousand more questions.
I wished I’d never gone to that dumb pottery class. Regret ate me up inside for not ditching that punk, Stirling, after he insisted I participate. I should have left before I heard Amantha laugh—reallylaugh, like she actually enjoyed me for a second.
But above all, I wished she hadn’t touched me.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone other than family had willingly touched me. Before that touch, Amantha had simply been annoying. Cosmically designed to bug me, like a gnat I couldn’t swat. But after?
I still couldn’t shake the sensation of her ivory fingers atop mine.
That gaze of hers swung my way for a moment, hypnotizing me in my tracks. Her eyes were the color of liquid mercury, shifting from the palest moonlight to the deepest shadow, depending on her mood, which usually seemed to be irritation around me. I smirked, knowing full well that I was the cause for that irritation.
Resolve straightened my spine as I cracked my neck side to side. Nothing had to change. I wouldn’t let it. I threaded one arm through the other, stretching my sore shoulder as I walked toward them.
I met Amantha’s stare with a cocky one of my own.
“What’s that look for?” Amantha smirked. “Planning on driving another golf cart into a pond?”
I forced the fakest-sounding laugh I’d ever heard. “As long as birds stay the hell away from me, no.” I couldn’t hold her gaze anymore, so I looked at the floor instead.
Boring. Gray is barely a color, anyway.
Rick glanced between me and Amantha, a sneaky look forming in his eye. In the time it took for Amantha to duck her head and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, Rick had shot me a knowing look and a suggestive nod toward her. An almost comical wink followed.
I decided to interpret the wordless communication as, “Get a load of this chick. So overrated.”
Couldn’t agree with you more, Rick.
The janitorial cart must have caught fire or something then, with how fast the old coot ambled away from us. My brain stumbled as Amantha drew closer, suspicion lifting her dark blonde eyebrows. She tapped a thoughtful finger against the neck of her lemonade bottle.
“Okay, so no plans to drown golf carts. Hmm. Let me guess. Kicking puppies then?” The undignified snort at her own jokeshouldhave been off-putting.
“Nice one, Adams,” I said dryly.
“Or is stealing walkers from old ladies more your speed?” She grinned.
Thatone was creative. I pressed my lips together to conceal my amusement, but an unreadable glimmer in her eyes made me pause.
