Page 57 of Hiding Forever

16

Nova

I sleep on the couch again that night and force Riley to sleep in his bed. Being around him and his sexy charm is messing with my head.

I’m not one not to make a move when the mood strikes. With Riley, the mood keeps striking and that is not fair to him or me. I like him. A lot. He’s becoming a good friend. Neither of us need to go beyond that. He won’t even tell me the real reason he’s here.

I wouldn’t care. He’s not a bad person, and I doubt he’s done anything detrimental, but the not knowing is starting to get to me. Is that why I can’t sleep?

I check the time on my phone again. 5 a.m. Exactly forty minutes since I last checked it.

If I had my sketchbook and colored pens, I’d draw. There has to be something around here I can use.

The kittens are asleep in a pile of blankets in the box. Riley and I emptied it and tucked them in for bed. It helps with having to search for stray kittens. I also ordered a playpen like Linda had so we can leave them now and then without worrying.

I tiptoe to a desk near the kitchen and check the drawers. Ah-ha! A notepad and pen will work for now.

I sit on the chair, close my eyes, and search my brain for inspiration. Soon, a dress comes to mind. I start sketching but keep messing up, which requires starting over on a new piece of paper because I don’t have an erasable pen.

Each time I flip a page and tear one out, I cringe and glance at the kittens and Riley’s bedroom. He left the door open in case I need his help. He’s so damn sweet. It’s hard to imagine a guy can be hot, cool,andthoughtful. I’ve yet to know a guy who encompasses all three traits—before Riley, I mean.

“Third time’s a charm,” so goes the saying. For me, the sixth time or six sketch is. The dress is unique. It looks like a pair of overalls or a jumper but with a skirt. Instead of the skirt being fitted, the bottom flows and falls to the knees. The material should be soft. A cotton blend, made to look like light-washed denim. I have it paired with a white cropped tank top, a black leather Gucci belt, and heeled ankle boots. It’s funky and fun. I love it so much I decide to take Gigi up on her offer to have it made. I’ll dress it up with necklaces and bracelets and a crossbody black Gucci bag. No, a red or fuchsia purse for a pop of color. Yes. I love the idea and wish I had colored pencils to bring the vision to life instead of imagining it in my mind. I’ll have to draw another one in color before giving the final sketch to Gigi to be made.

Excitement fills me, along with something else—pride. Gigi is right. I am talented and I forgot how much I love to draw. I flip to a blank page and sketch another outfit before the idea leaves me. This is a suit with wide pant legs, high heels, and a tailored jacket that would need double-sided tape to stay in place because it doesn’t require a shirt. It should be left open, showing cleavage, and decorated with a single necklace that hangs between the breasts. It’ll be black, of course, but I also like the idea of one in cream.

This will also need to be made. I think the cream one, so I can wear it now during the spring. But wait. Where would I wear it? I promised myself I’d keep a low profile for at least a month. Longer if necessary. However much time it takes for the world to forget I was ever tied to Justice.

Who am I kidding? That will never happen. Someone somewhere will remember and I’ll make social media headlines like I am now.

Ugh.

“What’s with the heavy sigh?” Riley’s voice sounds from behind me.

“Shh.” I turn around and stare at the box that holds the kittens, but I’m too low to see inside.

Riley grins, like my shushing him is cute, and scratches his bare chest.

Geez.Does he not wear a shirt on purpose because he knows how much I like it? No. He was sleeping, and most guys sleep without a shirt.He’s being casual. We’re friends.I need to keep reminding myself of that.

He walks over to the box. “They’re stirring, probably for food.”

“What time is it?” My phone is by the couch.

Riley glances at the kitchen, probably reading the clock on the microwave. I can’t see it from here.

“Almost 8:00,” he says.

“I’ve been drawing for two hours?” I think out loud.

“What are you drawing?” Riley strolls over in his navy cotton pajama pants that sit low on his waist, showing off his sculpted hip bones.

Good gawd.

I focus on the desk and let out another deep breath.

“Tired or frustrated?” he asks.

Frustrated and horny. “Tired.”

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