Page 15 of Outside the Lines
“You up for the work?”
His grin took my breath away. “Dude, you have no idea.” His smile became more serious. “I’m so glad you walked through that door.”
His expression—I knew that twist of lips and frown. The longing, the need. Maybe it was sexual or artistic. Didn’t matter. Sent blood to my cheeks . . . and lower. “Me too.” It came out too deep, but it was true. Simon was like fresh air. I wanted to breathe in as much of him as I could, while I could. And like clean, crisp air, I hadn’t known I’d needed him until I experienced his presence.
Except, of course, I couldn’t have him. Not in all the ways I wanted. “If you want help . . .”
“I’ll let you know.” He spoke quietly, and for a moment, it looked as if he’d say something else, but he furrowed his brows, and bent to study the photos instead.
I went back to putting bark onto trees.
After a piece, Simon touched my shoulder. “Hey, Ian?”
I wanted more of that hand, more of that voice saying my name. Warmth spread through me like fire. “Yeah?”
“Can you see if I did this right?” Simon pointed to the table where he’d sorted through all of the remaining bits and pieces.
I wandered over. He’d created two piles. One obviously was for repairs and a much smaller one was for items that miraculously didn’t seem to require touching up. I took a quick look through both, and damn, Simon had an eye for detail. He’d found little imperfections most people wouldn’t, but that the camera would. “Man, this is great. You have no idea how much time you’ve saved me.” Simon was so close and our hands brushed. I wondered if he felt the heat from my body too.
“Good.” Relief was written into Simon’s smile. “I have to go open, but when I get a break, I’ll start on matching the colors and touching up the ones that only need paint.”
“Sounds good.”
Simon gripped me on the shoulder again, his expression so damned complicated, I didn’t know what to make of it. Then he was gone, heading toward the front of the shop while every bit of my body tingled.
Talk about mixed signals. Or mistaken signals. I had no idea. Didn’t matter in the long run. A few breaths steadied my nerves, and I got back to work.
Simon flitted in and out as he did his job in the shop. By the time he’d sorted out the paints and started touching up the bits that needed it, I was nearly finished placing as much of the bark as I could back onto the tree bases. Now all that was necessary was to fill in the gaps and sculpt it. I stretched out my back and my stomach rumbled.
“Hungry?” Simon set down a miniature rock he’d been painting.
“Yeah.” I loathed to lose time, though. The clay would need to set before I painted it. If I didn’t get the trees done today, I wouldn’t be painting them until tomorrow. But damn did my back hurt. I’d been sitting for a good part of the work, but I’d spent too much time hunched over. “I probably should take a break for lunch. What time is it anyway?” I checked my naked wrist, then dug my phone out of my pocket.
Simon was quicker since he actually wore a watch. “Almost one thirty.”
I didn’t believe him, but my phone said the same damn time. “Fuck.” I rubbed my forehead. “I need to get the trees done today.” No lunch for me. I rolled my shoulders and tried to crack my neck. “I’ll eat later.”
Silence. When I met Simon’s gaze, he tilted his head, inspecting me. Heat flowed to my cheeks, though the down-up he gave me wasn’t sexual at all. “Did you eat breakfast?”
Coffee had been my breakfast. Always was. I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I held out my hands. “Steady as a rock.” They were. I ignored the muscle twinges in my legs and the pain in my shoulders.
“I don’t want to clean your ass off my floor when you pass out.”
Oh, the skepticism. “I’m not going to pass out.” I sank down into the chair I’d been using, because falling over would prove Simon’s point. “I don’t want to lose my momentum.” I probably should eat, but I could wait until dinner. I’d only ever passed out on the job once.
Well, twice, but the second time I’d had walking pneumonia, so that didn’t count.
He chuckled, but didn’t sound amused. “You know, I’m going to sic Lydia on you, right?”
“Dude, I’m gay. Your wife isn’t going to charm me into lunch.” Okay, that was a bit much, but after all the flirting—or not flirting—I was cranky with him. “Especially since you failed.”
Same damn snort of laughter as before. “I’m not trying to charm you. If I were, I’d be whispering in your ear.”
Oh fuck. Imagining that was such a turn-on—and from the uptick of Simon’s smile, the bastard knew. “Wanna give it a try, straight boy?” I spoke through gritted teeth.
