What happens when the star baseball player hits a home run into the art studio window?
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All Sadie Lane Garner needed to make herself happy was a canvas and paintbrush.
With copious projects due and little studio time, she volunteers to clean t...
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I SLEPT WITH the number twenty-one on my back.
I may have told Elijah I wouldn't think about him when I fell asleep, but I lied. He was the only person on my mind last night. The moment I took his sweatshirt off this morning, I told myself to rid the thoughts.
"My head," Reva groaned and Penelope made a sound, both of them spooning on the couch, the living room curtains pulled tautly.
"Do you want me to grab breakfast?"
"If I eat, I'll throw up. How are you not hungover, Sade?"
I chuckled. "I didn't mix dark and light liquor, and I'm surprised you did."
"That was my fault," Penelope mumbled into Reva's hair.
"Well, text me if you need anything. I'm going to paint," I said, and left the apartment.
It was already noon, and a beautiful day for once. The sun poured through my windshield, heating my chest just like Elijah had last night. My fingers tentatively grazed my elbow, where a budding brush burn formed from being pressed against the brick wall. I gripped the steering wheel harder. No one had touched me with that much need.
It was going to take a lot of willpower today to stay focused.
How would it feel to be touched again? I conjured all the images I could and soon enough, my car jerked to a halt in the art studio lot and I hiked my bag over my shoulder and walked to the building.
I had been slacking on starting my final project and emailed my professor to ask for extra studio time. She let me back into the art building—probably in obligation—because she felt bad about the department revoking the internship, which I was still annoyed over.
Though, the thoughts slipped away when I stepped into the studio. I hadn't realized how much I missed it until I tied my apron around my waist and sat on my stool.
Our final project was conceptual and meant to encompass all the units we studied this semester. I wrote ideas, sketched, and picked my color palette, completely engrossed in the process until...
"Come on! Move faster!" a male voice bellowed, followed by a mixture of muffled shouts and grunts. My concentration broke, my attention directed at the window as I watched the baseball team field balls as their coach clapped.
I hurried closer to the window, scanning the field for Elijah. I spotted him by third base and pulled out my phone and texted that I could see him, even though I knew he wouldn't have his phone on him.
Grinning, I continued sketching.
Hours later, when the sun illuminated the opposite side of the room, the door creaked open and Elijah leaned against the door frame. My heart lurched and my brushstrokes came to a stop. Pulling out my headphones, I smiled coyly at him.
