Chapter 18 #2
Stepping back, I took in the whole piece for the first time. Twenty-four by thirty-six inches. It was him, the moment when his eyes had glazed over, experiencing something he’d never felt. And it was me, unafraid, my heart his for the taking.
It was the truest thing I’d ever made, and in an hour, I was showing it to the one person who might hate me for it.
The Grind was half-empty. I’d picked the same back corner table where Evan and I had sat not so long ago, when I’d first asked to draw him.
Hunter arrived first, my emotional support human, sliding into the chair beside me with two iced coffees and a grin already forming. “Today’s the day?”
“Today’s the day.” I set the portfolio case flat on the table, my hands resting on top of it. My palms were damp.
Hunter leaned back, stretching his long legs under the table. “You look like you’re about to die.”
“Because it’s his face. And my face. And what’s between us, on paper, for other people to judge.”
The bell above the door chimed, and a cold weight dropped through my gut, pulling all the air with it.
Evan walked in wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans, his hair still damp from a post-practice shower. His eyes found me immediately, and he crossed the café without ordering, pulling out the chair across from me and dropping into it.
“Hey.” His gaze found mine, then slid to Hunter with a nod that was less dismissive than usual. “Campbell.”
“Brock.” Hunter raised his coffee, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Good to see you in the wild.”
Evan’s gaze dropped to the portfolio case. His jaw worked once, a subtle shift I’d learned to read. He leaned forward an inch, his eyes fixed on the zipper. “That it?”
I unzipped the case, my fingers steady despite the hammering in my chest. I slid the glassine-covered piece out and laid it flat on the table between us, then peeled back the protective sheet.
Nobody spoke as Evan leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his face six inches from the paper. He studied it in silence, his eyes moving over every line. His lips parted slightly, and his throat worked as he swallowed.
Hunter shifted beside me, craning his neck for a better angle. His eyebrows shot up, and he let out a low whistle. “Holy shit, Tommy.”
Hunter’s reaction was noise. I watched Evan, searching his face for the tell that would say I’d gone too far, that I’d broken the one rule that mattered.
Evan’s hand came up, hovering over the drawing without touching it. His index finger traced the air above the line of my jaw, then moved to his own rendered face, following the curve of a face stripped of its usual armor.
Hunter leaned back. “Dude. This is—okay, I’m going to say it. This is genuinely, viscerally hot. I want a copy.”
“You can’t have a copy.” The words spilled out before I could think.
“Why not? Seriously, I’d frame it. Put it right over my bed for inspiration.”
“Hunter.”
“Fine, fine.” He held up both hands. “But I’m serious. This is the best thing you’ve ever made, hands down.”
Evan hadn’t moved, his eyes still locked on the drawing. I saw the signs no one else would: the faint softening around his mouth, the wet shine in his eyes he would kill me for mentioning.
“Evan?” I croaked.
His blue eyes carried the same weight they’d held in that hotel room. He was over the table before my brain caught up, his hand landing warm and solid against the side of my face. He tilted my head, leaned in, and kissed me.
My hands came up on instinct—one gripping the front of his shirt, the other landing on his forearm. I kissed him back with all I had.
I heard Hunter’s sharp intake of breath beside me, but I couldn’t be bothered to stop. All that existed was Evan’s mouth and a feeling like sunlight breaking through clouds in the middle of the room. This was what I’d been longing for.
Evan pulled back first. His hand stayed on my face, his thumb making one more pass over my cheekbone. His eyes were inches from mine, and they held a calm, settled certainty. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
He sat back in his seat. His hand shook slightly as he ran it through his hair.
Hunter’s mouth was hanging open. His iced coffee was suspended halfway between the table and his lips, forgotten. “Did that just—” He set his coffee down carefully. “Am I hallucinating? Did Evan Brock kiss you in public?”
Evan lowered his brow in a silent dare. “You got a problem with that, Campbell?”
“A problem?” Hunter’s voice pitched up. “I’ve been waiting for this since Tommy told me about rooming with you. I have zero problems.” He turned to me, gripping my arm. “Tommy. He kissed you. In public.”
“I was there, Hunter.”
“In public.”
My face burned even as my lips tingled. Evan was watching me with that private smile—the one I’d only ever seen in hotel rooms after midnight. Except now, it was here with witnesses.
“What about the team? Your draft stock?”
Evan’s gaze dropped to the drawing between us.
He leaned forward again, placing his forearms on the table.
“I’ve come to realize that I’ve been protecting some future that isn’t even real.
Some version of my career that requires me to pretend I don’t want…
this.” He gestured to the drawing, to me.
“I thought hiding behind hotel room doors was the only way. I’m done with that. ”
“What now?” I asked.
Evan shrugged, but the gesture was lax, unburdened. “I kissed you in a coffee shop, and the world didn’t end.” He took in his surroundings. The barista was wiping the counter. A girl by the window was on her phone. “Nobody cares. And even if they did, I’m starting to think I don’t.”
I glanced down at the drawing. All my fear had been about what I might be taking from him. It never occurred to me that he might be giving it freely.
Hunter broke the silence. “I still want a copy.”
“Shut up, Hunter,” I said at the exact moment Evan kicked him under the table.
Hunter grinned, wide and shameless, and raised his iced coffee. “To you two. And to that ridiculously hot drawing.”