Janie started at the sound of Dave’s voice. The door opened.

“Oh shit, no!” She barreled into it, trying to keep him from entering. “Get out! I’ve got it. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Wait… Janie, please, I don’t want to hurt you by forcing my way in. Move.”

“Then don’t force your way in.” She pushed with everything she had.

“Is that a painting of me?”

The door slowly made ground against her. Her feet slid. Her knuckles whitened as she pushed against it helplessly.

“Nope. It isn’t a painting of you. It is a random painting of a random man I saw at a strip show.”

The door continued to push her toward the wall before it came to a sudden stop.

She knew why.

From his line of sight, he would be able to see the nude painting of himself. She’d kept it on an easel so it would always be in her line of sight. It turned her on while also moving that deep place within her. With it there, she didn’t get the urge to see him. She didn’t miss him as much.

Something she didn’t want to explain to him.

Not that an explanation would lessen the creepiness of entering a room to see a large nude painting of oneself. That would ruin his day.

She would never live this down.

“It is me,” Dave said.

“That’s circumstantial.” What was this, a crime show?

He walked forward, his eyes roaming the canvas, his hands limp at his sides. He stared at his own face.

It was probably the most awkward thing Janie had ever experienced in her whole life.

Maybe owning it would make it less horrible.

“Sorry?” she tried.

He didn’t seem to hear her.

His gaze drifted to the side. To one of two paintings she had been thinking of taking downstairs.

His gaze dropped to the ground. To the paintings lining the base of the wall, three or four deep. The piece that had made Madison feel like a voyeur was out front. Another, also inspired by Dave, showed a woman experiencing a soul-clenching orgasm. One of Dave himself, stripping off his clothes as he walked into the apartment after a night of whoring.

He picked through them, emerging with one inspired by their first meeting. He’d swooped her up into his arms after she was man-handled by her ex-boyfriend. She’d titled that piece Safety.

His hands shook as he put the piece down. His face was closed down in consternation. He was probably thinking: restraining order.

The newer pieces got the next wave of notice. He checked out the other painting she’d thought of showing, also on the blander side. Nothing that really told people much about herself. That was good enough for Martha. The one simply titled Love made him pause for the longest. He couldn’t seem to stop staring.

Did extra-strength restraining orders exist? Because Dave would probably ask for that type.

After the longest impromptu and unwanted art show in the history of the world, he walked toward the door and grabbed the handle.

Janie thought he’d walk out without comment. It probably would’ve been the kindest approach. Afterward, she’d have to cut off all her hair, dye it black, and run away in shame, but still the kindest approach.

Instead, he closed the door with a soft click and turned, leaning his back against it.

Now she was trapped in a small room with a giant, extremely muscled man and no weapons. Talk about all time worst situations…

“Janie.” His voice was pained.

“Okay, check it out. I have a really good explanation…” She racked her brain, because no, she didn’t. Assuming I’m creepy wasn’t an acceptable defense. “This isn’t what it seems. I mean, a million girls are drawn to your looks. What’s one more? But guess what? I’m totally over it. I mean, the bathroom thing aside—because that’s your fault for daring me, let’s be honest—I’m totally over your hotness. Seriously. I look at you now and I just see a lump of man meat.” She frowned. “That sounded wrong. That isn’t what I meant.”

It was exactly what she’d meant. Hot, sexy man meat.

Wow. She had a screw loose.

“But anyway, all this”—she motioned around the room—“was just my approach in getting over it. So you see, this is a testament to how crazy I am not. I had planned to burn most of them. Especially the nude one. You weren’t supposed to see that one. And before you ask, yes, that is the only one. There aren’t any more hiding. Well, not really.”

He held up his hand to stop her, clearly not realizing that she had nothing else to add. She’d never been very good at babbling for long periods of time.

“Truth,” he said. It was a statement. As though she’d asked truth or dare.

“No, thank you. Just fill it out on the restraining order. I’ll read it after I’m served the papers.”

His awestruck gaze turned her way. He studied her for a while, saying nothing. She would’ve prodded him along, but his back was still to the door, and she didn’t trust his ability to stay rational in the face of such over-the-top creepy.

“I’m the obsession.”

She grimaced. “No. It’s not an obsession. Basically, it is a situation where you are extremely hot, and now I am forced to live with you. Again, whose fault is that? Yours. In a roundabout way, you are to blame for all of this. So, that was kind of a dick move on your part. But I really will burn it, don’t worry. I’ll clean up your mess.”

He huffed out a laugh and looked to the side. An uncomfortable expression crossed his face, and his gaze went back to the Love painting.

Thankfully she didn’t use words in her work. If he accused her of having super-deep feelings for his prying ass, she could easily claim he was a delusional egomaniac.

“I’m not sure how to feel,” he said, finally.

“Flattered. I’d go with flattered. Certainly not scared for your life, as some might suggest you should be. I’d also advise you to forget you saw any of this. Because seriously, I am honestly over it.”

“It’s just…” He shifted and leaned against the wall. “Look, truth—”

“Please stop playing that game with me.”

“—I can’t quit BD while my mother has issues. Without BD, I can’t afford her habits. Her trailer is paid off, but she still needs help every week. Something to live on. Then there are the hospital and rehab bills…her monthly medical premiums. If I quit whoring, I won’t have the money to help her. I’ll lose her. You know enough to see that, Janie. As much as I would like to properly date someone, my situation with Betty has to change first. That, or I have to get a job that pays enough to quit BD. In all honesty, probably both, which isn’t likely. I’m trapped in my current situation. I can’t…” He hung his head and braced his hands on his hips. “I just don’t see any other options right now.”

She held up her hands in surrender as her heart shriveled. She knew all that, and Madison had just reiterated it downstairs, but it still hurt to hear the words from his mouth. But she couldn’t let him see her pain. She shouldn’t even be feeling pain in the first place. She should’ve driven that bus off a cliff the second she’d recognized the feelings for what they were. The second she’d painted that portrait of him on her canvas.

“Dude, I know,” she said in an unaffected tone. “I get it. I indulged in my fancy, and I’ve moved on.” She nodded at one of the dull paintings. “Do you see your face on that?”

He pointed at that damned Love painting. “When did you paint that?”

“Oh…” She blew up her bangs and pretended to think. “Like, a bit ago? I can’t be sure. But that’s not about you. That’s just general.”

“What’s it called?”

Why was he suddenly such an art guru, knowing that paintings were titled and everything?

She hesitated, then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Stuff.”

His brow furrowed. “Stuff?”

“I don’t know, I’m bad at titling. I’ll figure something out later. Anyway.” She grabbed the two paintings she’d chosen to show the others. “Can we just forget about it? We’re friends, right? That’s it. Friends with an occasional pump and grind.”

“Yeah.” He turned and put his hand on the doorway to keep it closed, his eyes delving into hers. “That should probably stop, though. The sex. I don’t want to hurt you, Janie. I don’t want to get this situation confused.”

Her shrug was stilted. “I’m good, seriously. But yes, we should probably close down the sex bit. I’d rather not explain our situation to guys I date. Better not to have a situation at all.”

His jaw clenched and his eyes flashed, but none of that emotion came out when he spoke. “I’m sorry about initiating.” Then he nodded—nodded—and stepped back from the door.

“I’m not. You gave me the best orgasms of my life.” She flashed him a smile she didn’t feel and wiggled her hand, trying to indicate he should open the door.

He ignored her and turned back to the collection. “I don’t want you burning the ones you painted of… The ones you painted before you moved on.”

“Of you. Of my obsession—you can say it,” she said. He chuckled softly. “But yes, I really should destroy those. It’s embarrassing.”

“I’ll go with flattering. They are flattering. You can sell them, cock and all. It’s not like they’ll know it’s me.”

“Not to pat myself on the back, or anything, but they look exactly like you. Everyone will know.”

“Nah.” He started to organize the paintings, moving things around. The voyeurism and the orgasm ones got easels. The dull ones she had planned to take downstairs didn’t even get leaned against the wall properly. Which she fixed. They weren’t terrible, after all.

“There is a journey, here.” He pointed at a couple. “The attraction…” Another couple. “The push and pull… Fear… Hope.” His gaze landed on Love.

Damn it.

What a mess. All of this. Him seeing these, her painting them in the first place, and, of course, her actually feeling the emotions he was pointing out.

The question was, would strangers pick up the feelings as well?

“Yes. Easily. Or something similar. I can see the journey.”

The Love painting would be hidden from there on out. If she didn’t like it so much, she would’ve knifed it right then. He clearly thought it was the crux of the collection. And, annoyingly, it was.

Double damn it. She really had a way of derailing her life when it came to men. Which Madison had so helpfully pointed out early on.

“Right. Well, we’ll see.” Her face flamed. “Anyway, let’s get a couple of these downstairs.”

He walked the room, reorganizing the paintings again. “I can’t believe how many you’ve painted in such a short time.”

“Yeah.”

He stood back, looking at the ones he’d pulled out. Another reorganization, and he grabbed two paintings, one of a woman standing in the wind with a smile, the other an abstract she’d painted when her conflicting feelings for him were at an all-time high.

“Take those down.” He nodded at two others, a desert landscape that reminded her of his aggressive but funny interactions with the stoners and a woman thinking about her love. About Dave.

As she watched him survey her art, it occurred to her that while he wasn’t physically in the paintings he’d selected, his essence surely was. Just like it was in every single painting in this room. He’d dominated her thoughts and her canvases. She’d lied to Madison. Even to herself. She hadn’t moved on. She’d progressed into her love theme because she’d progressed to loving her obsession. What was the point in denying it?

But it wasn’t meant to be. She could only hope he didn’t see his influence in those that weren’t obviously about him. Because then obsession wouldn’t begin to cover it, and the restraining order surely would ensue.

She paused in front of the last two he’d chosen. “All of these?” Her insides quailed. “Let’s just do two. Two is plenty.”

“Yes, Janie. All of those. It’s time for you to face your fears.”