Page 16 of Shot Taker

Hot with anger. Not arousal.

I swore I wouldn’t get off to him. It was part of the deal I made myself when I lit his jersey on fire.

No more fantasizing about Clayton Wade.

I didn’t plan on telling him how much he'd hurt me, but there was a flicker of shock and regret on his face when I did.

Well, I’m over it. Clay's used to getting what he wants when he wants it and casting it aside just as fast.

In the past week, I’ve been here early every morning working on the skyline that will form the foundation of the first part of the mural. It feels good to be making progress.

I tug the headphones off and step down for a break when I hear my name.

“Nova.”

I spin, wiping at my brow. “Hi, Mr. Parker.”

“James,” he says. “How is my wall? I need a photo to show stakeholders.”

“Soon,” I say.

James glances at his watch before meeting my eyes again with a smile. “By five?”

My stomach lurches as I realize how quickly I'll have to finish in order for it to be presentable for a photo.

His tone implies that if it's not done by then, there will be consequences for me personally. I read the paperwork as thoroughly as I could, but who knows if he could withhold my paycheck or maybe even fire me and start over with another artist?

“Of course,” I say, trying to sound confident.

My mind spins as I try to calculate how much more time it will take me to finish up this one area of the mural while being careful not to mess with anything else.

My back is already sore from bending and stretching, and I rub my hip absently as I survey what still needs to be done.

Three hours later, I’m still stretched out, my muscles complaining. I haven’t stopped for a bathroom break or anything else in as long as I can remember.

Why the hell did I promise to get this done today?

There’s one spot that’s high enough I might need a new ladder, but facilities hasn’t responded to my call and I don’t have time to go hunting for them.

My headphone batteries die, and I toss them onto my bag at the foot of the ladder. Even Lizzo has quit for the day.

I bend my forehead against the ladder and press my palm to my face.

“The Thinker. It’s a famous statue.”

Clay’s voice has me dragging a raw breath through my lungs.

He's obviously finished practice, wearing a camel Vuitton sweater and jeans. The dark lines trailing out from under the pushed-up sleeves make my thighs clench.

“Didn’t peg you as a Rodin fan.”

“I’ve seen most of his works, but I preferThe Kiss.”

I look up at him, wary. “Because it’s romantic?”

“Because it’s tragic. A noblewoman who fell in love with her husband’s younger brother. In Dante’sInferno, they were condemned to wander hell for their sins.”

Okay, I’m not at all interested in Clay’s knowledge of art.

---