I WAS WAITING FOR Pepper the following morning. It was close to nine when I heard her enter next door. I bumped the partially open adjoining door with my hip. She and Reece sat near her desk, sorting through a bag of bagels.
She looked up. “Hey. Em!” Reece gave me a wave.
She must have read something in my expression. Pepper approached me, holding half a bagel in her hand, her eyes bright with worry. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She slid an uncertain look to Reece. “Well, last night Logan saw you and was a little worried that maybe you were in over your head—”
“Logan? Reece’s man-whore brother? He was worried I was in over my head?” I pressed a hand to my chest.
“Yes!” Pepper’s eyes flashed. “If Logan thought the situation was bad, then the situation was bad.”
“Uh, hello?” Reece waved his bagel, his expression grim. “I’m right here. Can you not call my brother a whore anymore?”
“Sorry, baby.” Pepper smoothed a hand over his shoulder.
“I just would like to know why you thought it was a good idea to text Shaw?” I tossed my arms out wide on either side of me. “Why? Is there something I should know?”
Pepper glanced at me and then looked at Reece searchingly.
Reece looked at me, his stare unflinching. “Is it that hard to figure out? The guy is into you.”
“So that is supposed to mean—”
“He gives a shit about you, Em,” he said, clearly having no trouble being direct with me. “Maybe that should mean something. He’s a helluva lot better for you than those other losers you waste your time—”
“Emerson.” Pepper’s voice cut in, which was a good thing. I was about to go off on her boyfriend for lecturing me about what kind of guy I chose to spend time with. Pepper continued. “I know you like Shaw. I’ve seen you with him. He’s . . . different. You’re different when you’re around him.”
I wrenched my gaze off Reece’s hard-eyed stare. He looked at me like I was the bad one here. Like I was screwing his friend over. What did they want from me? I couldn’t be like Pepper. I couldn’t just have a boyfriend and fall in love.
I stared levelly at Pepper. “I love you, girl, but you gotta stop this matchmaking business. Both of you.” I glanced at Reece and then back at her. “It’s not going to work.”
She gave a single nod, but she still had that worried look. “Okay.”
Okay. Good. I nodded, but the sense of relief I wanted didn’t come. No relief or satisfaction or whatever. The hollow feeling inside me only yawned deeper. “Thanks.” I waved at them both. “I’ll leave you alone now. Carry on.”
Pepper glanced at her clock. “I thought we were going to walk to class together.”
“No, I’m going in early to work on my stuff for the showcase.”
Pepper’s eyes brightened. “That’s right. That’s coming up. When is it?”
“Next Friday.”
Pepper glanced at Reece. “It’s a big university art show that Em’s in.” She looked back at me. “Are you ready for it?”
“I think so.” My mind drifted to the painting of Shaw and I fidgeted. Professor Martinelli made it clear she expected to see it in the exhibit. It was hard enough putting anything I created on display, but that painting? It would feel like I was baring myself up there on that wall. Like I was on display. But Martinelli had made it clear my grade would suffer if I left it out.
“What time?” Pepper asked. “Georgia and I want to go.”
“Yeah. I’d like to see your work.” Reece nodded. “Maybe I can take the night off.”
“Um.” I bit my lip. “It’s not a big deal. You guys don’t have to come.”
They exchanged glances before looking back at me. “Why not? Georgia and I went last year—”
“I know,” I cut in. “It’s just not a big deal. You saw that last year.”
“I thought it was awesome. I loved that painting you did of the dog waiting outside the Java Hut.”
I smiled in memory. That was one of my favorites, too. I’d snapped the picture on my phone of a dog wearing a jaunty little neck scarf outside the coffeehouse.
“Why don’t we meet outside afterward?” I suggested. The last thing I wanted was for them to see the painting of Shaw. Even though it was just his eyes, they would probably recognize him and that was just too mortifying to contemplate. “Really,” I insisted. “It’s no big deal. You went last year. It’s just more of the same.”
“I want to go. I would like to see what you’ve been working on. And don’t you want someone there?” The instant the words were out there I could see the apprehension in Pepper’s eyes. Fear that she had somehow hurt me with the reminder that I had no one to attend on my behalf. No family that cared enough to come out and support me. Last year family members had crowded the exhibit, all there to support their loved one.
“No. I’m fine. Really.” I was accustomed to the lack of family in my life.
“If you’re sure,” Pepper said, but she still sounded unconvinced. “I really would like to go though.”
“Pepper,” I chided. “I’m sure you can think of a lot more entertaining things to do. Like tie this hot boyfriend of yours up to a bed or something.”
Reece laughed.
“Em!” Pepper looked shocked even though I knew there wasn’t much that could shock her these days. Not since she and Reece had hooked up. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I was surprised they ever left the bedroom.
“Just let us know if you change your mind,” Reece said, rubbing Pepper’s back. “We want to be there for you.”
I nodded, but I knew I wouldn’t change my mind. There was no way anyone could see that painting.
ON MONDAY NIGHT, SHAW came to my room. It was a little after eight. I had just gotten home from study group. On top of Friday’s showcase, I had a test coming up in my Medieval Art class. To make matters worse, Mom was calling again. I answered her calls, worried that if I didn’t talk to her she would just show up in my dorm again. So I endured her recriminations. She went back and forth from accusations to pleas. She even tried bribing me with a trip to Europe.
I had enough on my plate without Shaw showing up. I stared at him through the peephole as he knocked. Three steady knocks. He waited, glancing left and right down the hall, one arm braced along the wall near the door. Holding my breath, I appreciated the square cut of his jaw, the strong line of his nose. The well-carved lips that haunted me still. Everything inside me lurched and responded to the sight of him. Sexy as hell. I bit my lip.
“Emerson, you in there?”
I held silent. Compressing my lips, I watched him until he turned away. The sound of his tread faded. In the distance, I heard the ding of the elevator. Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I collapsed against the door, sliding down its length until I was sitting on the floor. At least Georgia wasn’t here. I didn’t need her witnessing me coming apart over a guy. Especially Shaw. Shaw with his eyes always on me, watching and intent, devouring. Shaw with his shirt off, his body hard, muscles rippling under his tanned skin. He was beautiful. The most beautiful guy I’d ever seen, and it wasn’t just his looks. He’d be beautiful twenty years from now. It was a quality he had. A confidence. It was in his voice when he talked about Adam. When he showed me his bikes. When he told me I needed to pursue my art and screw a desk job. And it was in his eyes when he looked at me. In his hands when they touched me.
I swallowed. I’d clearly let it go too far if I was feeling this way.
Lying in bed that night, I was almost asleep when my phone buzzed beside me. I reached for it on the shelf that edged the bed and stared at the lit screen in the dark.
Shaw: Hey. I stopped by to see you
I bit my lip and stroked the screen with my thumb, almost like I was touching him.
I stared at his words, debating replying or just letting his text go unanswered.
It was as if I could hear the deep purr of his voice. I clutched the phone in both hands and held it close to my chest, at war with myself. I wanted to reply. I wanted to pick up the phone and tell him to come over. But I resisted. After a few minutes, the phone vibrated in my hands. I glanced down anxiously, feeling like a thirteen-year-old girl with her first call from a boy.
Shaw: Good-night, Emerson
BY WEDNESDAY SHAW QUIT texting me altogether, and something in me died a little because I knew he wouldn’t anymore. He’d given up. And why shouldn’t he? I’d put up all my walls so that he would do just that.
I went to class, spent every free moment I had at the studio. Ate. Slept. Staying busy helped. Until my mind strayed to him. At night it was impossible not to think of him. Alone in my bed, staring into the dark, I should have dropped into a dead sleep. Instead I thought about him. I thought about how I couldn’t stop thinking about him and how that had never happened to me before.
Jeff from the Java Hut texted me. At eleven thirty on Thursday night. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what he wanted. I read between his simple words and knew he was looking for a hookup.
It would have been easy. Undemanding and straightforward. He was attractive. We’d hooked up before, but now all I could see was Shaw in my mind. Was this how other girls felt when they got themselves all worked up and desperate over a boy? When they let themselves get used and trampled on? No thanks.
On Friday morning, I was walking to the campus bookstore, which happened to be located across the street from the Grapevine. I stared at the restaurant for a moment before moving to the crosswalk. Before I could even consider what I was doing, I was hurrying across the street and diving inside. The delicious aroma of fresh-baked bread greeted me, but I wasn’t interested in food.
To my relief, Beth’s was the first face I spotted, standing behind the hostess’s podium.
“Emerson,” she greeted, her manner as stilted as the last time . . . once I had made it known I was friends with Shaw. “Good to see you again. How many in your party—”
I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I came here to talk to you.”
She blinked, and then glanced around uneasily as if she might call for backup.
“Just hear me out.” I inhaled, determined to do this. I had to do this. For Shaw. “I know you don’t know me, but I—Shaw and I—” Hell, what was I supposed to say? “Shaw’s my friend.” Forget the fact that he had stopped texting and calling me. Shaw was special. He deserved . . . hell, he deserved everything. He deserved better than me. He deserved to have his family in his life.
I could see it all stretching ahead. Beth inviting him to her wedding. Embracing him back into the fold. Maybe he’d fall in love with one of her bridesmaids. A girl named Amy who liked to fish. She’d bait her own hook and they would fish off the dock at his lake. A year from now, he wouldn’t even remember the color of my eyes.
God, I hated Amy.
I swallowed and shoved this imaginary girl from my mind. Moistening my lips, I said in a firm voice, “I care about Shaw.”
It was like a shutter fell over her eyes. “Did he send you—”
“No. No, he would never do that, and if you really knew him, then you would know that.” Something flickered in her eyes. I stepped closer, softening my voice. “I think you do know that. In fact, he’d probably be pissed if he knew I was talking to you.”
She ducked her head and sighed. When she looked back up, moisture glimmered in her eyes. “What do you want from me?”
I’d come this far. I couldn’t stop now. “I can’t even begin to know what you’ve gone through. What you and your family have gone through, but Shaw . . . Shaw’s your family, too. You’re not the only one who lost Adam. Shaw lost him, too. And he blames himself. He feels responsible for Adam being there. You not talking to him, cutting him out of your life . . . he thinks he deserves that. He thinks he deserves to be alone. And you know he doesn’t.”
Beth stared at me, saying nothing.
I stepped back, wiping my damp palm against my thigh. “And that’s all I needed to say.”
I turned and headed for the door.
“Emerson.”
I stopped and looked over my shoulder. Beth took one step after me, her gaze sharp and penetrating. “He’s not alone anymore. Is he? He has you.”
I stared at her for a moment, waiting for the denial to come hard and swift. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t deny her words.
“You care about him,” she added.
Emotion rose up in my throat, making speech impossible. Even if I wanted to respond. Even if I could.
Turning, I pushed through the door and stepped out into the cold.
BY THE TIME FRIDAY night arrived, I was a wreck. I couldn’t stop thinking about Shaw. Seeing Beth had only made it worse. I ached when I remembered his mouth on mine. The way his eyes looked at me. I thought about when he showed me the bike he was building. Because he thought I would appreciate it. Because he cared about my opinion. Every once in a while I pulled out my phone and read the last text from him.
It didn’t help that I spent all my free time putting the finishing touches on his painting, concentrating on the memory of his face. I named it A Winter’s Morning.
The showcase was held in the Student Memorial Center the same as last year. Lots of wall space and room for easels. It was probably more crowded than the year before, which only made sense. We had more students in the art program this year.
I smiled and made nice as Gretchen introduced me to her parents and grandparents. They’d traveled all the way from Colorado to be here. I mingled, but stayed near my work. Professor Martinelli stressed the importance of being available for discussion.
A Winter’s Morning elicited a great deal of attention. This was both gratifying and troubling. It felt like me hanging up there. It wasn’t me, I knew. No, it was worse than that. It was Shaw. How I saw him. How he affected me.
“I’m very proud of you, Emerson.” My face warmed as Professor Martinelli stopped to stand beside me. “Outstanding work. If you don’t mind . . . I have a friend who owns a gallery in Boston. I’d like to show her some of your work.” She pointed at my canvas. “Especially this one.”
“Really?”
She nodded, studying the canvas thoughtfully. “If you keep this up, I think you have quite the career ahead of you.” Winking, she moved away, her bangle bracelets clinking.
I was floating, elated from her praise until I realized she wanted me to produce more work like A Winter’s Morning. Work that ripped me open and came from someplace inside that I really didn’t want to keep visiting. I didn’t know if I could keep this up. If I could do it again. I’d shut myself off from emotions for so long, from anything that felt too raw.
My smile felt pained and brittle after that. I maintained my composure, smiling and talking. I accepted compliments and answered questions.
And then I saw him across the crowded room.
Not twenty yards away. He was leaning against the wall, wearing his leather biker jacket, a thin dusting of snow on his shoulders. He was so much darkness against the white wall. A black T-shirt peeped out from his dark jacket. His dark hair. And those eyes.
He gaze was intent. But not on me. On the painting. The painting of him.
Bile surged in my throat and I felt like I was going to be sick. When his gaze jumped from the painting to me I was positive I was going to be sick. Those eyes blazed right through me.
“E-excuse me,” I mumbled to the people I’d been talking to. Wrenching my gaze off Shaw, I commanded my feet to move. I just couldn’t stand facing him with A Winter’s Morning hovering over us. The idea of making small talk with him as he stared at the shadow of his face on canvas made my stomach turn inside out. I couldn’t do it.
It was too much to bear . . . knowing he saw that painting. I might as well have been standing naked in front of him with a sign around my neck that said: I LOVE SHAW.
I pushed through the crowd, my heels clacking furiously over the marble floor. I hoped he wouldn’t follow, but somehow knew he would. He didn’t come here to stare at me from afar. And now. Now he had seen the painting.
It was a challenge navigating the room. There were so many people mingling throughout the long gallerylike space. Not to mention waiters walking around with trays.
I probably looked like a madwoman pushing through people as if a guy in a ski mask was after me. I was almost to the front door. From there I could run for my dorm—take the shortcut behind the engineering building. He wasn’t a student here. He wouldn’t know it. As I came up on the coat-check desk, I didn’t even worry about collecting mine. I just kept going.
I was two steps from the double glass doors, ready to push them open, almost free, when a hand clamped down on my wrist.
“Hey, Emerson. I thought that was you. What are you doing here?”
I blinked. It took me a moment to process the barrista from the Java Hut, the very guy who’d texted me the other night.
“H-hello, Jeff. How are you,” I said as he pulled me into a close hug, his hands stroking up and down my back.
“Great. My roommate’s girlfriend has an exhibit here and I told her I’d come. What about you?” Before I could answer, he draped an arm around me and talked close, into my ear. “I texted you the other night. Thought maybe we can get—”
Before he could even finish his suggestion, Shaw was there, eyes still blazing. He trained his gaze on me. It was like Jeff wasn’t even there—or was beneath his notice.
“Emerson,” he said tightly, his hand claiming mine. “Let’s go.”
Jeff’s arms tightened around my shoulders. “Hey, buddy—”
Shaw’s gaze swung to him, finally giving him his attention. “I’m not your fucking buddy. Now get your arm off her.”
Jeff made no move, but I felt his uncertainty in the slight tremble of his body against me.
I opened my mouth to speak but no words arrived.
A muscle ticked in Shaw’s jaw. He inhaled and the motion only drew attention to his broad chest. His eyes were hard and dark as they stared at Jeff. In that moment, maybe more than ever, I saw the Marine in him. “You can take your arm off her or I will.”
The words had their desired effect. Jeff immediately dropped his arm, holding his hands up in front of him. “Jeez, man, okay. I didn’t know she was with you.”
Shaw didn’t respond. He was finished with him. Unfortunately he was just beginning with me though.
I barely managed a squeak before he hauled me past the coat counter, past a wide-eyed coed. His long legs covered the ground quickly, leading us past the bathroom and around the corner. We passed a few numbered doors. Offices, I guessed. I’d never been in this part of the Student Memorial Center before. The voices of the party were faint and faraway. He spun me around and pressed me against the wall, presumably satisfied we were alone.
He stared down at me, fury glittering in his eyes, his chest a rock-solid wall against me. I didn’t know what I expected to see in his face, but it wasn’t anger. What did he have to be angry about? Did I need his permission to paint him? I’m the one who should be angry for him showing up uninvited. I suppose feeling anger was better though than what I had felt moments ago—when I’d seen him standing there, his gaze glued to my painting of him. Fear, I hated. Fear, I couldn’t allow. Anger, I would gladly take.
“That was totally unnecessary,” I hissed. “You embarrassed me.”
“I’m done watching other guys paw you, Emerson.”
I moistened my lips, thinking that I was done with that, too. I had been. Ever since I met him. His were the only hands I wanted on me, but I wasn’t about to admit that. I’d endured enough mortification for one day, thank you very much.
“I almost didn’t come to this tonight, you know. You don’t answer your door or respond to my texts. You made it pretty clear that you don’t want to see me anymore.”
I closed my eyes in a long, pained blink. “Why did you come then?” I whispered. “How did you even know about this?”
“Pepper mentioned it.”
“Of course she did,” I snapped, not having very kind thoughts of my roommate just then. She was supposed to be on my side.
“You almost had me convinced, you know.”
A small shiver ran through me as I searched his face, so unbearably close I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. Our breaths panted, mingling between us. Even though a whisper inside me warned that I should just let the subject drop, I demanded, “Convinced of what?”
“That I should quit. That I should give up on you. That’s what you wanted me to do.” He paused, letting the words sink in the thick air between us. “But now I’ve seen your painting and I know better.”
I shook my head, a protest forming on my lips, but the words never made it out.
His mouth crushed mine, slanting over my lips and robbing me of any coherent thought.
My world spun. He was everything then. His lips hot and consuming. His tongue tangled with mine. My arms looped around his neck. He leaned into me, pressing the hard length of himself against my body. His hands were everywhere. My face, my neck. They skimmed down my body to my hips, clutching the black fabric of my dress in his fists and holding me there.
He dragged his mouth down my throat and, honest to God, I saw spots. My head dropped back and lolled against the wall. I felt as limp as a rag doll, my blood molten, my muscles like Jell-O. His hands cupped my bottom, pulling me harder against him, grinding his erection into me and I moaned.
He lifted his head and looked down at me with eyes that were as deep and dark as a bottomless well. “Let’s get out of here.”
I nodded dumbly.
Grabbing my hand, he led me back the way we had come and straight out the front doors. My adrenaline pumped hard and fast through me as we hurried the few blocks to my building. I trembled as the cold bit into me.
“Fuck, you’re cold,” he said, stopping. He shrugged off his jacket and put it around me. I slid my arms through the too big sleeves, immediately enveloped in his heat, in the clean, musky scent of him.
He grabbed my hand again and we continued. I was waiting for the voice. The one in my head that had always stopped me from going too far before. It never came. There was just this blood-pounding need, this hunger—and him, pulling me along like we were racing for our lives.
He caught the outside door as someone was leaving and held it open for me. The twenty-second wait for the elevator was excruciating. The simple contact of his hand, his strong fingers laced with my fingers, the throb of his pulse bleeding into me was enough to keep the blood roaring in my ears and my feet shifting in place.
The fire still burned in his eyes. It scalded me. The elevator doors opened with a swoosh and we stepped inside. The doors had barely shut before he hauled me in his arms again, lifting me off my feet and kissing me until my lips felt numb. I kissed him back. Kissing and gasping, mouth parting for the invasion of his tongue.
I didn’t even register the ding of the elevator telling us we’d reached our floor. He tore his lips from mine and pulled me after him to my room. I fished my key out of the small purse dangling from my wrist and unlocked the door.
I stepped inside my room alongside Shaw and froze, my chest heaving as though I had just run a marathon and wasn’t the most turned on I’d ever been in my life.
“Hey, Em, how’d it go?” Georgia’s greeting served as a slap in the face.
“H-hi, Georgia. Good. It was good.” Did that breathy, throaty voice belong to me? “I-uh, bumped into Shaw.” I motioned to him with a weak wave of my hand. He still held my hand and did not appear inclined to let go. In fact, his jaw was locked and he looked rather incapable of speech.
“Hi,” he managed to get out. Twin brackets edged his tight-looking mouth. “How’s it going?” His voice actually sounded like it was in pain. I shot him a helpless look. Maybe this was a sign? Maybe we just needed to take a minute and—
He shook his head swiftly at me as though he could read the direction of my thoughts, his eyes searing and intent.
“Well. I-uh, was just on my way out.”
At this statement my attention whipped back to Georgia. “You’re leaving?” My heart picked up speed again.
“Yeah. I’m uh, going to study at Harris’s place. You two can hang out here.” Bending over in her chair, she quickly stuffed her feet into her tennis shoes. Rising, she crammed her books and a notebook into her backpack. Shaw and I stood awkwardly, tension swimming in the air around us. I’m sure Georgia could feel it, too.
It was clear she was leaving so we could be alone. I knew it. Shaw knew it. She knew we knew it. Considering that, it felt silly to pretend otherwise, but we did.
At the door, she grabbed her coat off its hook. “Well, night. Good seeing you again, Shaw.”
He gave her a distracted smile. “You, too.”
“Bye, Em.”
With that parting farewell, the door clicked shut after her. And we were all alone.