31. Sloan
SLOAN
“Hey,” a deep male voice said from behind Sloan.
She turned as she was loosening her smock and found herself staring at a handsome man, maybe a few years older than her, with dark hair and hazel eyes. “Oh, did you forget something?” she asked, looking around the studio.
Most of the other painters from the class that night had already taken their paintings and gone, though a few women lingered on the sidewalk laughing and talking. This man had been with someone else, and she’d assumed on a date.
“No, I just was curious.” He smiled and held up his painting of a night sky and trees.
He clearly doesn’t paint often.
“About the painting?” She frowned at him.
“About you. Are you single?”
She almost choked, her eyes darting to the bar where Delilah was still cleaning up. Thank goodness she’s here.
Sloan glanced back at the man. “Um—”
What could she say?
Yes?
Because that was the truth.
Also true . . . she currently lived with her ex-boyfriend, whom she’d gotten into an unspoken routine of crawling into bed with every night for the last three weeks. The first few times, she’d invited him.
Now he just came and got into bed from the start of the night.
But that was also it. No sex. No almost kisses. No light touches.
Nothing.
If there’d ever been any longing on Kyle’s part, he certainly found a good way to hide it permanently.
During the day, they never even talked about their sleeping arrangement, even though the thought of it had sent her more than once into the shower with her vibrator.
“I take it that’s a no,” the man said, slicing through her thoughts.
Her face flushed and her gaze whirled back to him. “Oh, sorry. Um, no, actually, I am single.”
He smiled. A perfectly straight example of fine orthodontics, which might be nice on another guy who wasn’t actively seeking a date with her after possibly being on one.
“Can I give you my number? I’d love to take you out sometime.
” He held out a scrap of paper with the name Victor written across it and a Tennessee phone number.
She stared at it. Maybe she had been mistaken? He could have been out with his sister or something. You shouldn’t be so judgy.
She took it hesitantly. “Thanks,” she said, stuffing it in the pocket of her jeans. “I’m not really dating much right now, but I appreciate it.”
“If you decide you want to, let me know.” He waved the painting. “Thanks for the class.”
As he let himself out, Sloan headed back toward the bar, shaking her head. “That’s what? The third guy this week?” Delilah asked, shoving a stopper back into a wine bottle.
“I don’t even know.” Sloan rolled her eyes. “Do you think that guy was here on a date? I didn’t want to call him out because I didn’t know for sure but . . .”
“Yeah, it looked like a date to me. He must have left her at her car and then come back,” Delilah said with a shake of her head, then poured out some of a mostly empty Riesling into a plastic cup. “Want to finish this one?”
Sloan accepted it gratefully, swallowing back the wine. Perks of the job. After she was done cleaning up all the paint and brushes, she and Delilah usually sat at the bar together, finishing any open bottle of wine that wasn’t “worth keeping.”
“So, you know you don’t have to tell them that you’re single and not dating,” Delilah said, pouring the remainders of some red blend into Sloan’s empty cup. “Just tell them you’re taken.”
“I’ve just never been good at being hit on,” Sloan said, settling into the stool at the bar.
Delilah cackled. “Somehow, I doubt that.” She poured out a Pinot Noir for herself. “Anyway, you are taken—you’re not emotionally available on account of being in love with Kyle Winnick.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Sloan said, rolling her shoulders back. “It’s just a crush.”
Lies, lies, and more lies.
Delilah pursed her lips. “Sloan, that guy hitting on you is a crush. He looked at you, thought you were cute, and decided to shoot his shot. Moving from the West Coast, buying a house, looking up your ex-boyfriend, and then inviting him to live with you is something else entirely.”
All right, fine. Delilah can see through the lies.
Sloan wrinkled her nose. “I never should have told you all that.”
Sucking the wine in through her teeth, Delilah gave her a red-tinted smile that looked just as devilish as she’d intended.
“Ugh.” Sloan pushed her glass toward Delilah, then laid her head down on the bar top, squeezing her eyes shut. “I know. I sound insane.”
“No, it’s perfectly sane . . . if you’re in love with someone.
” The sound of Delilah pouring out another bottle filled Sloan’s ears.
“Which you are. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.
But it only took one week of being your friend for you to tell me about Kyle, this, and Kyle, that.
And I’m making this for dinner with Kyle tonight. ”
Sloan cracked an eye open. “Is it that obvious?”
“Apparently not to him, or you’d have gotten laid by now.”
“Delilah . . .” Sloan whimpered.
“Have you thought about good old-fashioned seduction? Maybe go to bed naked tonight.”
Why had she told Delilah all of these personal details? Sloan lifted the glass of wine. “I’m beginning to think you ply me with wine at the end of the night to get me to spill all my secrets.”
Delilah smirked. “It’s what good friends do.” She chuckled. “Look, I’m just saying. You know he’s not gay, and he clearly cares about you, so maybe he’s just not getting it.”
“Maybe.” Sloan exhaled slowly, examining the paint on her fingers. Or he really just isn’t into me anymore.
Focus, Sloan. It’s smarter not to cross that line anyway.
“I think you should make a statement.”
“He’s busy right now. I don’t want to mess with things and ruin what we do have.” And both statements were true.
Kyle was busy. After their heart-to-heart a few weeks ago, things had been better between them.
More . . . real. He’d also decided to revamp a YouTube show and was pouring most of his energy into that during the day.
When he wasn’t doing that, he was fixing things around the house from the never-ending to-do list of updates Sloan needed to make to it. How could I not love that man?
“Girl,” Delilah said with a shake of her head. She started to put a cork in a mostly full bottle, then stopped. “I think you might need this tonight. You’re a mess.”
Sloan groaned. “God, I am a mess, aren’t I? This was supposed to be my big foray into independence, into finding myself . . . doing life . . . without a man, and what did I do? Made a beeline for Kyle Winnick.”
“Okay, stop. Don’t spiral. I think you’re doing great.”
In some sense, she was right. Sloan had a job, she owned her own house, and she was living with a man yet not beholden to him.
She felt free. And yes, if Kyle told me he wanted to move things forward as an “us,” I would say yes.
He’d proven over and over what a good man he was.
He was the best man she knew. And she was smitten, even if that felt wrong.
Delilah poured Sloan a full glass of wine. “Now, take a sip.”
Begrudgingly, Sloan lifted the glass to her lips and did as instructed.
“Okay, now breathe. Deep in and outs.”
Sloan drew a breath in through her nose, then released it, her chest still just as tight.
“Now, look at me—straight at me—and tell me one thing you’ve always wanted to do but never let loose enough to do.”
“With Kyle?”
“No, girl, in general. With your life. That’s what you want to reclaim, right? I mean, I know you want to reclaim him too, but that can come later.”
Sloan sighed, this time letting herself relax into the feeling of it through her lungs. She swallowed more wine, her gaze flickering over Delilah and an intricate design of ivy wrapped around her bicep.
“A tattoo,” she said in a low voice that surprised even herself.
Delilah quirked a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah, actually. I always thought it would be fun. Especially to get something for my mom, like in her handwriting or something.”
“Well, let’s do it, then. Not the mom thing, because we can’t do that tonight, but something else. And we’ll save the mom one for your second tattoo.”
Sloan balked, her brain spinning at the concept. “What?”
“Let’s go. Let’s get you that tattoo. I can even sketch some ideas for you before we leave.”
“I can’t get a tattoo,” Sloan gasped.
“Why not?”
“Because . . .”
Delilah gave her a hard stare. “Don’t say because you don’t want one. Unless you were lying.”
“I know, but they hurt.”
Delilah slid the bottle of wine closer. “That’s what this is for.” She grinned.
Sloan set her hands on the bar top, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t do this. It would be crazy. Impulsive. And she didn’t do impulsive, or at least, not well. Impulsive landed her with Kyle.
“Text Kyle that you’ll be back late tonight and not to wait up. Lucky for you, I know exactly where to take you for a great tat.”
Sloan glanced from the wine bottle to Delilah’s arms and back to her own paint-smudged fingers. A faint, lighthearted feeling rippled through her. If anyone had asked her a year ago if she’d be here—in Tennessee, working at paint n’ sip—friends with Delilah Bloom—she would have laughed.
But back then, she’d been busy shoehorning herself into the type of woman Evan Tipton wanted.
Evan, who would have had a heart attack if she came home with a tattoo.
Her mouth twitched. She didn’t want to do this to get back at Evan. She was far beyond the point of caring about what he wanted.
But she did want to do this for the woman he’d hurt. For the person she’d never allowed herself to be while she was with him. For the time she’d lost—that he’d stolen from her.
Not because of him. Or any other man.
Because she wanted this. And she was the only person in her own way now.
“All right,” she said, meeting Delilah’s eyes. “I’ll do it.”