Page 101 of A Little Jaded

Oh, yeah, Fin. You’re in trouble.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

RAINE

If days could be labeled as perfect, this one would have the title. We spent the day outside in the snow before sharing a steamy hot shower. He insisted it was two degrees shy of Hell but stopped complaining after I grabbed his erection and turned the heat up until we were both coming. Afterward, we made chicken noodle soup. Now, he’s giving me a foot massage while I draw in my notebook as an NHL game plays on the television.

See?Perfect.

As my pencil scratches against the paper in a long, thin stroke, I feel Everett’s stare and stop moving. When my eyes flick over to him, I ask, “Is there a problem?”

“You move your lips when you draw.”

I frown. “I do?”

He nods gently. “Yeah. It’s cute as shit.”

I roll my eyes and start drawing again, but he squeezes my foot, demanding my attention.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Can I look?”

“You’ve looked before,” I remind him.

“Can I look again?”

Instead of offering him the notebook, I close the cover and hug it to my chest. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On why you want to look.”

“Someone’s protective of their work,” he notes.

Part of me feels like I should point out I’m only protective when I care about the person’s opinion, but I cough up the notebook anyway and offer it to him.

Gently, he takes it from me and carefully flips through the pages while I keep my feet in his lap and study the side of his face. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. The sharp edge I sit on whenever someone sees my work. The way I prepare myself for criticism or compliments, unsure which one I’ll receive. That’s the thing about art. How differently it can be taken. And putting something down on paper to open yourself up to criticism? It’s terrifying. But bottling it up isn’t any better. So, where does it leave me? On pins and needles, that’s where.

“Hmm,” Everett hums. The sound is low and throaty and makes me want to scoot closer as his gaze flits across the paper. “I like this one.”

“Which one?” I ask.

“The hawk.”

Relief shoots through me. “Of course, you like the hawk,” I tease. “LAU through and through, right?”

“It’s in my blood,” he agrees.

“Want to know something about him?”

He shifts the notebook a bit to the left, changing the angle as he continues staring at the hawk. “What?”

“I drew it the night we met.”

His gaze snaps to me. “No shit?”

I laugh. “It was during the game. You managed to grab my attention even then, Everett Taylor.”