Page 17 of Shot Taker

I try once more to stretch and reach, but I can’t. I screech in frustration and drop back to my heels.

“What’s wrong?”

“With us?” I’m incredulous.

“No, I mean right now.”

I want to tell him to get out of here, but I’m intimidated by the owner’s demand and frazzled about how best to comply.

I nod toward the wall. “James wants this done today so he can show some board members the progress. I need to finish that part.” I point toward the top corner. “And I already chipped two nails trying, which sucks because Brooke and I only got them done yesterday.”

I hold out my hand as if the broken nails are proof of something broken in me.

Clay looks between me and the wall. “Come here.”

I stiffen.

“If you don’t get down from there"—he nods toward the ladder—"I can’t get up.”

What?

He means…

Oh.

“You can’t,” I say plainly. “You don’t have the right technique.”

“I’m good with my hands.”

Now, I’m remembering the feel of him touching me. What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten up and run out?

I shove the thoughts down.

“You don’t listen,” I contend. “You do things your own way, and if you don’t do them my way, you’ll ruin it.”

“It’s sky. How bad can I fuck that up? And if I do, you paint over it.”

Okay, technically he’s not wrong.

I cut him a look. “I’m surprised you’re admitting it’s possible for you to fuck up.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I fuck up plenty, Nova.”

It’s not an apology, but there’s a hint of humility in the words.

Clay gaze lowers to the airbrush in my hands. “We’ll do this your way. Talk me through it.”

I don’t want him to be part of my art, forever part of this installation that’s mine.

But the other option is not completing this milestone for the owner.

So, I step down carefully, moving to the side and holding out the airbrush. Our fingers brush as he takes it. Clay takes three steps up the ladder, then another two without pausing. He’s already taller than I was.

“Your knee—” I start.

“I can play basketball, I can stand on a ladder.”

He leans toward the corner in question, and my heart leaps into my throat. This was a bad idea. He could still ruin this. Or fall and hurt himself and be useless to the team.

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