Not Your Average Joe (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective Book 2) Page 7

  Chapter 10

  "What happened?" Drake asked when I got back to my seat.

  "Nothing," I replied.

  "Nothing? Did you talk to him?"

  I nodded.

  "Did you get the picture?"

  I shook my head.

  "Did you give him the money back?"

  I shook my head as I opened the magazine pages, revealing the cash.

  "So what'd he say? Did he let you look at it?"

  I nodded, feeling shaken at the memory of the picture.

  "I'll just print another one," Drake said.

  "I think it's funny," Emily said. "I wonder why he wanted it."

  "Because he likes Lu," Drake said.

  "He does not," I said, whispering so they would be quiet.

  "He might if he just gave you three-hundred-dollars for that picture," Emily added in disbelief.

  "Technically, it was two for the picture, and one for the drawing," Drake said.

  His statement made me hand him one of the hundreds, but he pushed my hand away, regarding me like he thought I might be crazy.

  "I don't want it," he said. "I was just reminding Emily that he bought your drawing, too, technically."

  "I knew that, I'm just saying, I can't believe he gave y'all three hundred period."

  I attempted again to hand Drake one of the bills, but he made a face at me that said he wasn't going to take it no matter how many times I tried. I knew the impassive expression for what it was, so I slipped the folded bills into my pocket.

  I only had it put away for a few seconds before I took it out again. I peeled one of the bills from the outside of the stack and extended it to Drake.

  "Seriously," he said, looking at me.

  "No, it's for the pictures."

  I dropped the cash on his leg and grabbed the stack of photographs that were wedged between his leg and the seat. "Is it a fair deal for me to take these, or do you need more money than that?"

  He stared at me in utter confusion. "Those haven't even been edited," he said. "I just printed them out so we would have something to look at on the plane. I wasn't even planning on hanging onto them."

  "So you won't mind if I take them?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "No. I mean, I still have a lot of edits to do on some of these, so don't go posting them or passing them out or anything."

  I smiled. "I won't, I promise."

  I happened to have a ponytail holder around my wrist, and I placed it around the stack of pictures before stashing them in my bag. The remainder of the flight went quickly. Emily asked me a bunch of questions about my art and going to live at S&S.

  She asked me if the documentary was something I wanted to do, which surprisingly, no one had ever asked before. Everyone just assumed I was thrilled. The producers would only be following a select few, and it was a miracle that I was the new person at S&S at exactly the right time. It would mean tremendous exposure, which was, in the long run, what I wanted.

  So, yes, I was extremely thankful for the opportunity, and I knew it would benefit me, but that wasn't her question. Her question was whether or not the documentary was something I wanted to do, and the answer to that (in my heart, at least) was no. The fact of the matter was that I was scared to death at the prospect of doing it. Mortified. I felt like I might choke under the pressure and not be able to make art anymore.

  I remembered what Mr. Steiner was saying to me about winging it, and it was with a smile on my face that I told Emily how much I was looking forward to doing the documentary. There's a difference between lying to yourself and simply denying certain unhealthy feelings, and I hoped I was managing the later.

  Drake slept for the rest of the trip, but I had a fine time talking with Emily, and just like that, the flight was over. Landing and baggage claim happened so quickly that before I knew it, I was in a cab on my way home from the airport.

  The Spicers had offered to have their driver take me to my place after he dropped them and Eli and Rebecca off, but since I knew it would take forever, I opted to take a cab.

  Joe had his own ride and left before the rest of us since he didn't have any checked baggage. He came up behind me at baggage claim and casually offered to wait for me if I wanted a ride, but I could tell he was in a little bit of a hurry and just being nice, so I told him I already had plans to share a cab. I mentioned giving his money back, but he refused again, saying he'd be in touch. He had a lot going on with his family trying to talk to him and say goodbye, so I just stayed out of the way.

  It was 6pm New York time by the time I made it to Sarah's apartment and plopped onto the couch. I had left Ireland just before 2pm that day, and with the time change and everything, I made it all the way back home by 6. I propped my feet onto the coffee table, feeling spent when I first came in the door, but there were some things I needed to do before I could fully relax, so I didn't stay there long.

  I completely unpacked before taking a long shower where I washed my hair and shaved my legs. Traveling seemed to leave a layer of some unknown, unseen substance on me, and it always felt great to wash it off.

  I was at home in Sarah's apartment—a beautiful one bedroom with a well-lit nook that she used as a studio. We both kept our art supplies in there, so it was wall-to-wall with paper and clay. Sarah was a potter, so her stuff took up a lot more room than mine did, but I had my own little corner of the room, and I was really grateful for her generosity. I lived in the dorms while I was in college, but I had been staying with Sarah since graduation, and she had never once complained or asked me for anything.

  As much as I was excited to get the spot at S&S, and as nice a place as it was, it would definitely be a downgrade in living conditions for me. Sarah's apartment was swank, and I knew how fortunate I had been to live there as long as I had.

  Sarah would be in Ireland for the next week, so I would have the place all to myself. I smiled and sighed as I plopped onto the oversized sofa that I called home. Sarah told me I could use her bed while she was out of town, but I wouldn't take her up on it. I was comfortable on the couch, anyway.

  I stayed on it for the remainder of the evening, only getting up to pay the delivery guy for my Chinese takeout and use the restroom when necessary. I was so glad I had the foresight to buy those wedding pictures from Drake. I looked at them what must have been ten times that night, spreading them out around me and on the coffee table at one point so I could look down and see them all at once. I even pulled out the thorn in it's little baggy and placed it on the coffee table so I could have all my Ireland memories right there in front of me. I wished I had that picture from the pub, but I loved that Joe wanted it, so I was happier with it where it was.

  There were still a few pictures scattered about when I fell asleep, but I had picked most of them up and stashed them in a pile on the coffee table. There were several good ones of Joe in the bunch, but I purposefully had those on the bottom. I knew if I just sat there and stared at them I would only sink deeper into my infatuation with him.

  Boy, was it a good thing those photos were on the bottom of that pile because the next morning, before I even had the chance to open my eyes, none other than Joe himself, came walking in the door. He must have just unlocked it and let himself in because one second, I was sleeping, and the next, I was staring at Joe's face.

  I blinked in confusion, and he smiled at me, only it took me a second to realize who he was, where we were, and why he was smiling. Actually, I had no idea why he was smiling.

  "What happened?" I asked, sitting up when I realized I wasn't dreaming.

  Joe Spicer was standing there, staring down at me.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  He smiled and crossed to the kitchen. "Nothing," he said. "Other than the fact that you sleep like a rock."

  He took out the orange juice and poured two glasses. I watched him doing it, but it still all seemed like a dream. I groggily adjusted to sit cross-legged, leaning against the back of the couch.

  "What are yo
u doing here?" I asked as he headed back toward me holding the juice.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "I live here," I said.

  "You do?" he asked, looking genuinely surprised, which I knew was an act.

  I grimaced at him. "It's too early," I said.

  He handed me the small glass of juice, which I took gratefully. I took a sip of the cold, sweet liquid before leaning over to look at the time on the cable box. 8:46.

  "I can't stay," he said.

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  He came to sit on the couch next to me—although he was on the edge of it. "I came by to check on my sister's place while she's out of town," he said.

  "Oh, you did? Because I live here," I said. "I'm pretty much checking on it all the time."

  "Huh," he said, like he thought that was interesting. He finished the last half of his drink in one swig, and set the glass on a magazine that was sitting on the coffee table. "Looks like you ended up with the rest of the pictures," he said as he glanced at them.

  "Drake brought them over," I said, implying that Drake had been there. I looked around the couch and then over my shoulder toward the bathroom. "He must be up already," I added.

  Joe got to his feet, facing the bathroom in an alert stance that made me laugh. I threw a small pillow him as I giggled, and Joe put it together that I had only been kidding about Drake spending the night or having been there at all.

  "Is he? Does he spend the night here?"

  "No," I said, laughing. "We're just friends. I didn't think you'd take me seriously."

  "I didn't," Joe said, even though he totally had.

  I bit my lip to keep from smiling as he sat on the edge of the couch again. He stared at the ground beneath his feet for a second before looking at me. Again, I was struck by the ringed pattern of his eyes.

  "I know you live here," he said.

  "You do?"

  "Yep," he said.

  "But I didn't know you'd be on the couch when I came in. I did try to knock first."

  "I sleep really heavy."

  "I see that. It took me a few tries to wake you up."

  I took the last sip of my orange juice. I set the empty glass on the table, pausing the white noise that was coming from my phone—the one that sounded like a thunderstorm mixed with a box fan. "Plus, I use this thing," I added.

  "I was wondering what that sound was." He gave my phone a quick, curious glance before focusing on me again. "Are you up?"

  "What do you mean, up?"

  "Awake. Do you feel awake?"

  "Why?"

  "Because I really do have to leave. I'm running late, and I need to go."

  Chapter 11

  I stared at Joe, wondering why in the world he had come over to wake me up only to inform me that he had to rush off.

  "Why'd you wake me up only to tell me you're in a hurry?" I asked.

  He leaned forward, resting his forehead on his fingertips before shifting to look at me. "I have that picture from the pub," he said.

  "I know."

  "I was looking at it."

  "You were?"

  "Yep."

  "And what?" I asked.

  "And it makes me mad at myself for not kissing you while we were there."

  I pulled back to stare at him since that was the absolute last thing I expected him to say. "You did the right thing by not doing that," I said. "You can't do that when you're talking to another girl." It made me cringe while at the same time gave me some sense of power to mention the other girl.

  "Well, I took care of that situation, and now I'm here to remedy the whole not-kissing-you thing."

  My heart was about to beat out of my chest. I wanted to kiss him more than anything in the world—I had imagined it countless times. But for whatever reason, I felt like being a little stubborn about it.

  "Well, too bad, cause I'm not doing that right now," I said, crossing my arms.

  He pulled back, regarding me with his fist over his smiling mouth. He was the epitome of handsomeness, and I shook my head at the fact that I was right in the middle of turning him down—that I was even attempting to do it.

  "Don't smile at me like that, Joseph. You can't come over here and wake me up with a glass of orange juice and just expect that I'll want to jump right into kissing you before you run off to…" I paused to look him over, noticing his athletic clothes and shoes. "The gym or wherever you're going."

  "I'm going to play basketball, and yes, Lu, I did think I would come over here and jump right into kissing you. The way I imagined it, you would want me to."

  I stared at him for a couple of seconds before giving him a narrow-eyed smile. "I do want you to, but I'm still not gonna let you."

  He leaned a little closer to me, staring at me in the same way he did at the pub.

  "Why not?" he asked.

  "Because I just woke up, and I look terrible," I said. "I’m not prepared to try to be impressive right now."

  He stretched a little closer, inspecting my face with adorable innocence as if he was truly noticing me for the first time.

  I giggled under his scrutiny.

  "Lu, you are absolutely beautiful right now." He sat up, taking in my little area on the couch. He sighed and shot me a sweet, reluctant smile. "I really have to go," he said, slapping a hand to his knee. He stood up and leaned in to hug me, turning his face away as a means of assuring me he wasn’t going to kiss me.

  "I'm sorry I woke you up," he said, with that non-committal contact.

  I reached up to hug him back, wrapping my arms around his neck. He tried to let go of me after only a quick squeeze, but I held him there.

  "I'm sorry I said 'no' when you asked me," I whispered since his ear was fairly close to my mouth.

  One of his hands came out, resting on the back of the couch so he could brace his weight. "Sorry you said 'no' to what?" he asked, staring down at me.

  I looked away shyly. "To why you came over here."

  He was quiet until I looked at him again, and when I did, I saw that he was regarding me with a patient, half-smile. "What are you saying, Lu?"

  "You know," I said.

  He smiled. "What?"

  My eyes widened, and his smile grew.

  "Are you giving me permission to kiss you right now?"

  He put his lips so close to mine as he whispered that he was practically kissing me already. His mouth touched mine when he spoke, leaving me breathless by the time he asked his question. Wait, what was his question?

  "What?"

  "You heard me," he whispered, still torturing me with his closeness.

  "I actually didn't."

  "I already know the answer to my question, anyway," he said, holding his perfect mouth torturously close to mine.

  "What was your question?" I asked.

  "It was something about…" he hesitated, letting his lips linger only millimeters from mine.

  Finally, and with devastatingly carefulness, he let our lips connect. He did it again, this time, drawing my upper lip into his mouth just a little.

  "I can't remember," he whispered, finishing his statement as he broke away. I couldn't stand it. I tugged at him with my grip around his neck, and stretched up, forcing our lips to touch again. This time, I pulled his lip into mine, causing him to slowly smile.

  "What?" I asked, lips still almost touching.

  "You," he said.

  "What about me?"

  "You're kissing me."

  I squinted at him. "You're kissing me, too."

  "Yes, I sure am, but you're kissing me back."

  "Well, you're the one who came over here."

  He smiled. "You're right, and I need to go. I'm gonna be late."

  "For your basketball game?"

  "Yep, for my basketball game."

  "I can't believe you know enough guys to make a whole game at 9am in the middle of the week."

  I really didn't care about the basketball game; I just wanted to keep whispering to h
im.

  He pinched my side gently. "I can't believe you're making me late," he said.

  I smiled. "I'm not. You're free to go whenever you like." I said the words, but I kept my arms wrapped around his neck like I wasn't letting him go anywhere.

  "I'm glad I came over here," he said, still whispering.

  "Me too, but you have to go, so bye," I said. I gave him one last quick kiss on the mouth and let go of my grip around his neck, patting him on the shoulder as I looked away. "I hope you play good," I said as a farewell.

  He stood up, pulling me up with him. "I thought you might want to come with me to a thing I have this weekend."

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "Some charity thing. You'll have to wear a dress." He stopped when we came to stand near the door, turning to face me.

  "No," I said.

  "Just like that? Refusal, rejection?"

  I smiled. "I don't know anything about those things, and I don't have anything to wear."

  "Just look in Sarah's closet. I'm sure she has something."

  "Girls don't all wear the same size, you know."

  He let his eye roam over me. "You have to be close, though, huh?"

  "That's not the point. It's that I don't go to those things."

  "You better get some culture and charity in your life if you're about to get famous in some documentary and sell your art for boatloads of money."

  I smiled even though that type of statement came with self-inflicted pressure.

  "I need to show up with a date, and you kind of owe it to me since I'd have a date if it weren't for you."

  I stared at him, knowing exactly what he was getting at, and feeling breathless because of it. I didn't have enough confidence for any of this—not for making and selling art, or going on a documentary, and certainly not for going to fancy charity functions with Joe Spicer.

  I turned him by the shoulders before reaching down to open the door, literally pushing him out (in a sweet, playful way). "Just text me later if that still feels like something you want to do."

  "It is something I want," he said. "That's why I'm asking you." He let me push him out since he knew he had to leave. "So please locate a dress. Something formal. Just text my mom and ask her what you should wear. She'll help you. She's the one who has me going to it in the first place. If she can't come up with something for you to wear, I'll buy you something."