He shakes his head a few more times with one of his hands clasped to the back of his neck. “How do you propose we teach her how perfect she is?”

“Assurances like that, and one other idea I’m going to see if I can work out.”

Slowly, he lifts his eyes, narrowed with curiosity. Then slides his lips together, processing thoughts and stealing my attention. “This isn’t how I pictured tonight,” he admits, regret heavy on his words. “I’m sorry I distracted you. You were obviously feeling it.”

I shrug dismissively and shift to my right foot. My left ankle still isn’t fully recovered, even if I refrain from admitting it aloud. “She’s more important.”

“You’re important too. Your thoughts, your work, they all matter.”

I swipe my brush through a shade of turquoise I’ve created because the intense stare paired with his words prevents me from being able to hold his gaze.

“Lo.” King’s voice is a commanding plea to look back at him, one that seems far harder to oblige than it should. “You matter. You’re important, and not just to me.”

I swallow because I don’t have a reply. Have I ever felt like I’ve really mattered to someone, let alone be told in such a confirming way that I do? My eyes slide over his shoulder, my unease growing.

No, I haven’t.

I force my attention back on King and feign being comfortable with a smile. “Mercedes threatened me today that I have to start riding again or she’s going to start hiding my sketch pads at the house. I think her exact advice was: I need to grow some balls.”

The intensity marring his face slips away, replaced by a genuine smile that makes my own lips turn up higher, which only causes his to follow suit. King takes slow, deliberate steps toward me and then runs his hand from my shoulder down to my elbow. “Are you ready to get back in the saddle?”

I know he means the bike, yet the way his hand is lingering on my arm and the energy that’s apparent in his eyes make my heart jump nearly as high as my eyebrows.

King tilts his head back and releases a loud and throaty laugh, making my blush increase. He drops his chin forward, and a quiet rumble confirms he’s trying to hide his amusement. “I like where your mind goes, Crosby.” The shimmer of humor and lust makes King’s eyes resemble waxed and polished ebony wood, with strains of lighter and nearly black hues winding together into a beautiful maze. “Speaking of Saturday…” My favorite smile spreads across his face before I can even give him the sarcastic reaction he’s expecting, and he continues, “You told me the only thing you don’t care for is seafood. Is that really all?”

“That’s it.” I shrug. “I’m pretty easy.” My casual expression falls and my eyes squint with embarrassment. The heat that had just started to dissipate returns with a vengeance as King’s tongue wets his bottom lip, working to fight a smile he loses to.

“I’m going to stop talking and get back to work now.”

He nods a couple of times, still battling with his laughter, then presses a kiss to my mouth that makes me lean into him.

I CRANE my neck to the side, feeling a tightness that usually comes only after several hours of focus. It feels as though I’ve only been here moments, but looking over the amount of paint I’ve spread tonight, I know it’s been longer. My head snaps to the overhead clock on the wall nearby, and my eyes widen with disbelief. I intended to paint only until the paint on my palette was gone, but I felt inspired by an energy that was absent for so much of the year. I still feel nearly drunk off it when it returns in these strong doses. It’s past 10:00 p.m. The restaurant is going to close any minute. I’ve wasted our entire evening!

“I’m so sorry, King! I didn’t realize … I get in these … zones, and I just lose track of … well, everything sometimes…”

“Why are you apologizing? I get it. You need to get this done.” King’s shoulders lift and he stands from his seat. I don’t think he moved at all while he waited. We didn’t exchange words, only a few glances when my energy started to wane and I needed a new hit.

“I know, but we talked about spending tonight together.”

“We are together.”

“Yeah, but not in a way that we’re getting to know each other any better,” I argue.

“We’re communicating on a level we both understand best.”

“Silence?”

“I think I could lose myself watching you discover yourself.”

I think I’ve already lost myself, at least the part of me that knows how to be an artist, and that’s always been the side of myself I’m most familiar with, and the easiest for me to identify myself by.

“HEY. HAVE you seen Mercedes? I can’t find her anywhere.” Last night, King drove me home, where he hopped into the backseat, his hand encircling the feather bangle and pulling me back with him. The bench seat in the back made it much easier than the bucket seats up front to test the theory of making out in a car and whether it really fogs up the windows.

It did.

After leaving a dragged handprint on the back window as an ode to Jack and Rose, King walked me to the door of my apartment, my nerves growing. I questioned if I had remembered to shave that morning, what sheets were on my bed, how I would introduce King if Kenzie was home; if Kenzie wasn’t home, the first two questions became far more important.

I appreciated that he walked me to my front door. It reminded me a little bit of home because there, if you didn’t escort your date safely inside, you weren’t looked at as being hip and cool but as a lazy jackhole. Small-town life does have a few perks.

King didn’t give me the option of inviting him inside; instead, he pulled me against his chest, his back against the doorjamb, and kissed me until I forgot what I had been worrying about. My mind was made up when we parted; he was coming inside, even if my bed was made with old Minion printed sheets. But as soon as I unlocked the door and turned to face him, King smiled and told me to have a good night and asked to text him my schedule so he could come get me from class tomorrow.

A dozen oppositions were lining up in an orchestrated procession, beginning with those I hoped would be the most convincing to stay. I was ready to voice them, inhibitions aside, but he waved and picked up his speed.

King’s desk chair swivels toward my impartial greeting, a hesitant smile on his face where his eyes are shadowed by the bill of his hat. I think he knows how disoriented I still feel about our relationship and my employment. Seeing him, I want to kiss him just as badly as I did last night, yet there’s a trace of doubt with him having left that mixes with my unease of where we’re at.

“Allie might be my favorite person,” he says, looking at my shoes and distracting my nerves.

“She’s lucky to have one person still in her corner.” I jut my hip out slightly, and without thought, I’m striking a pose that I’ve been practicing each Friday in model practice. For the first time I feel sexy, in control of my body, confident even.

King’s eyes don’t miss my posture. He scoots his chair back and stands. “When we’re done, we’re going to meet Mercedes and Summer.”

“Where?” My question should be when we’re done with what?

His eyes follow his hand as it rests on my protruding hip, and then slowly climb to my face. The longing in his eyes makes me want to pump my fist into the air. I’ve never seen King so distracted and at such a loss. “You have a little drool. Right here,” I tease, pointing to the corner of his mouth.

Unexpectedly, he turns and gently bites my accusing finger. It’s shocking, sexual, erotic even—all things that are King. His dark eyes hold mine, making the act far more sensual than it would be if I tried to describe it to Charleigh or Allie later.