What happens when the star baseball player hits a home run into the art studio window?
*****
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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
─── • ───
FRIDAY CAME FASTER than expected, but I wasn't complaining. Not only had I made great progress on my project, but I also successfully avoided Elijah all week. I'd discovered if I went to the studio in the early afternoon he would be at practice, which I could watch from the window.
I had the perfect view. Throw, swing, hit, run. Thatwas their pattern.
As I mixed paint, I waited for the team to emerge from the dugout, but they never did. Maybe they didn't have practice today? I swore they always had practice in the afternoon. Either way, I didn't care because that was one less distraction, and today was not the day to be distracted. I had to get home in time to help Reva prepare for her date tonight.
It took a lot of contemplating, but she finally agreed to go and I'm beyond happy. I understand how hard getting out of your head can be, however, I think the combo of Taki's, wine, and ice cream did the trick.
With my fine brush, I dotted highlights along the white parts of the eye, swaying slightly to my music. I leaned closer than backward to inspect my work when someone tapped my shoulder.
I turned to find Mr. Tight-Pants standing behind me.
"You've been avoiding me." Elijah stared down, deadpan.
"What the fu—" I didn't throw any paintbrushes this time, but a squeak came out of me like someone had stepped on a dog toy. Ripping my headphones from my ears, I studied him. He wore his baseball jersey, the number twenty-one plastered on the front and back. It hugged him in all the right places, those biceps—
"Aren't you supposed to be out there?" I asked.
He yanked a stool from a neighboring easel like it was weightless and sat beside me. I refrained from looking at his legs that straddled the seat; instead, I stared at the woman on my canvas.
"We don't practice on game days. Anyway, you stopped coming," he said.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I see you up here during our practices." The hairs on my arms stood, and I must've made a face because he added, "You didn't know I could see you painting from on the field?"
On the outside, I was emotionless, but on the inside, I was ablaze.
"I didn't know you were looking."
He stayed silent, which ultimately caused me to peer over to find his gaze fixated on me and his hands gripping his thighs, the veins in his hands emerged. I tried looking away, but it took me a minute to collect my thoughts. Those eyes, his sweet smell, that tiny dimple that appears next to his right upper lip... A tension I hadn't noticed before sizzled between us, and I fought the feeling by turning around and picking up my brush.
