CHAPTER 9 #3
Even more horrifying—had Jamie ever noticed the resemblance to him and Kit?
No, of course not. It wasn’t like he’d seen much of my sketches before, honestly.
I rarely worked in my realism style with other people around—the dark feelings that normally spurred my realism only came out when I was alone—and I didn’t go around flaunting my notebook.
Nellie hadn’t thought they’d looked similar, and Jamie was her twin. Maybe it was just me—and Beck.
Jamie slowly stepped into the game room. “Did you draw something dirty?”
“Jeez, no.” He was getting too close for comfort. I slid my sketchbook off the table and pressed it to my chest. “H-How was book club?”
“Fine.”
“What, uh—what book are you reading?” Jamie took another step, and I scrambled. “You started a new one, right? Since it’s June?”
“A thriller. You wouldn’t recognize the title.” He was still zeroed in on my sketchbook.
The one time Jamie wouldn’t talk bookish with me. Granted, I’d never reacted so strongly before, and had never hidden my notebook from view. It was suspicious, and he wasn’t letting it go. I straightened my shoulders. “I kind of encouraged them to leave. I… I wanted to apologize.”
That did the trick. Jamie’s gaze lifted from my sketchbook to me, clearly caught off guard. “Apologize for what?”
“Monday. I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have snapped.” I quirked my lips to the side. “Best friends don’t snap.”
“Best friends are allowed to snap sometimes.” The tension in his shoulders relaxed a bit as he took another step forward, teeth worrying at the corner of his bottom lip.
“I shouldn’t have told Dalton about our graphic novel dream.
That should’ve stayed between us. All of it…
” He came close enough to press his palm to the table, five fingers splayed wide.
His gaze was quiet. “I went off-script.”
“Why did you?” I arched a brow. “Why did you invent a whole backstory of loving me since freshman year? You just wanted to flex your creative writing muscles?”
“I’m not a writer,” Jamie said, and then added, “Your shoelace is untied.”
I blinked at the suddenness. I leaned forward, peering down at my shoes—my slip-on sandals. “I don’t even have shoelaces—”
Before I could finish, Jamie latched onto my sketchbook and yanked it out of my hands.
“Hey!” I all but launched out of my seat as he took several steps back from the table, getting out of reach before I could try to lunge at him. Panic bolted through me as he turned on his heel and faced the windows, holding it out of reach. “Jamie, give it back!”
“I just—” He grunted as I wrapped my arms around him. “I just want to see what you’ve been drawing.”
I jumped up, and my fingers just barely brushed the hard surface of my sketchbook before Jamie lifted it higher. His arm wasn’t even fully extended. Jerk. “None of your business!”
He barely juggled his things as he tried to flip the cover open. “What indecent thing were you working on in the walls of the esteemed Alderton-Du Ponte, Daisy Carmichael? In public? How scandalous.”
I reached around him, but he lifted the book up out of my reach again, still flipping the pages.
His book club book dropped to the ground, but he barely batted an eye.
He’d find Kit with glasses, and he’d have to know he was looking at his spitting image.
And then it’d be—awkward. There was no other word for it.
Horrifying, maybe. Mortifying. Definitely awkward.
So I jerked my arms back and said the first thing that came to mind. “I was drawing—Dalton.”
As soon as it was out there, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. For many reasons, but mostly because I was supposed to be convincing Nellie and Jamie that I was over Dalton, and confessing that I’d been secretly drawing him would not help that case. It’d do just the opposite.
Jamie froze immediately. When he slowly lowered my sketchbook, his expression was completely different than it’d been moments ago. The glee that’d lit through his eyes was gone now, replaced with something harder. “You don’t draw people you know.” He almost sounded accusatory.
I couldn’t look him in the eye, regretting that I’d said it instantly. “I—I draw him. Sometimes.” I don’t, I thought. I apparently only draw you.
Jamie wordlessly handed my sketchbook back. He almost looked sick, but I felt sick. Now Jamie could barely look at me, and he’d go home and tell Nellie about it. All the work I’d done to convince them I was over Dalton went out the window with a simple, stupid lie.
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell Jamie the truth. It was just too weird.
Jamie cleared his throat. “Where’s Nellie?”
“She left with Beck.”
“Did you drive here?”
I hugged my sketchbook to my chest, swiped up my iced coffee, and nodded. “I parked with the valet.”
In silence, we left the game room, heading down the hallway toward the front of Alderton-Du Ponte’s lobby.
It’s no big deal, I practiced in my head, trying to think of a way to break the tension. I wasn’t drawing him because I liked him. I drew him… with an arrow through his chest. Dead. Yeah, I drew him dying, how I always draw people dying. It’s fine.
I thought of all the times I’d drawn Kit dying. Had Kit looked like Jamie in those drawings? Had I been unknowingly drawing Jamie dying this entire time? Another stronger reason I couldn’t tell Jamie—what if it offended him?
When we got outside, I handed my little paper to the valet, and he hurried off to retrieve the car, leaving us standing alone under the awning in silence. Jamie waited with me, despite having parked in the self-park lot.
“He’s in there,” Jamie whispered suddenly.
I jumped. “Huh? Who is?”
“Dalton.”