Page 27 of The Truth of Loving You

“Nah, I’m looking forward to that one.” My brush worked its way across the canvas.

“Cool.” Alec stood and sauntered over. “You’re painting a portrait?”

“It’s not a real person. I’m just painting.” My brush stroked the canvas lightly.

Alec watched silently as I worked. He broke the silence after about fifteen minutes. “You know that’s Shane, right?”

“No,” I barked, studying my work.

Fucking hell. My pretty boy’s stunning bedroom eyes stared back at me.

Maybe Shane was right. Maybe I did need to figure out what I wanted from him. He was in my dreams, my thoughts, and now my painting. The part of my mind that I kept trying to shut out was banging for attention.

I had to do it without hurting Shane. I couldn’t be responsible for letting another man down. One was enough.

Chapter fourteen

Shane

Myapartmentfeltclaustrophobictoday. I’d rented a one bedroom because I never entertained, and I refused to pay more for unused space. Sitting on the couch, I felt crammed between the window and the kitchen island.

My office at Branson Financial had become the place I tried to fix everyone else’s problems rather than do my actual job, so I set up my laptop with a secure link.

A position at Branson Financial had sounded like the dream job. A fast-track to a C-suite position before I turned twenty-five. My ultimate goal. But reality lacked glamor and prestige. I didn’t have a grasp of whether Branson Financials’ unwillingness to innovate and update was a symptom of the company or a wider problem in the industry.

I desperately wanted a corporate culture comparison, and even wished I’d kept in touch with a few of my classmates. I’d never made lasting friendships, so there was no one to complain to about my very high paying position.

They’d hate me even more.

I opened my spreadsheet but had trouble accessing the database to verify the accounts. For some reason, this report wasn’t balancing, and every time I worked on it, something else more pressing popped up at work.

And I was entirely too distracted with thoughts of Cole. Therapy had taught me to set boundaries and not entertain regret when I made decisions in my best interest. My mind would not get on board with putting Cole in my rearview mirror. I couldn’t take responsibility for his emotions. After five years of grieving, he seemed stuck in the anger phase. I understood, but I had my own issues.

The fire in his eyes when I’d been on my knees got me instantly hard. No one had ever looked at me with such intense lust and possession. I wasn’t blind; I was good-looking, but my quirks usually turned women off before sex.

I was a reformed people pleaser, but sex was different. I’d tried so hard to please that it became analytical and unemotional. My only long-term girlfriend had told me that she’d stayed with me for so long because of the orgasms, but she needed to find someone emotionally available. I’d thought we’d had an emotional connection. My therapist said I’d held back.

Dating wasn’t worth my time and energy.

Cole made me rethink my priorities. If it were possible to find someone whose desire for me lit us both on fire, I’d make time. I’d put in the effort.

Unfortunately, Cole was the only one who’d triggered carnal thoughts in me. Being with Cole was akin to running my own Fortune 500 company, and I feared any other man would be like settling for a job as a small-town financial planner. If I put my other sexual experiences on a sliding scale, they were a three at best, but Cole blew the number so far off, the scale had become useless.

I couldn’t blame myself for being slightly obsessed, but I wouldn’t act on it. I had to get over Cole Branson.

A knock on my door jolted me back to reality. My computer read 10 p.m. This was the second time I’d regretted renting in a building without a doorman. The first was when I saw Cole pounding on my door. As if I’d conjured him up from some erotic nightmare, through the peephole I saw Cole standing on the other side of my door.

“I can hear you, Shane.”

He’d heard my involuntary gasp. I wasn’t prepared for whatever brought him to my door, but sending him away would haunt my every thought. My head clunked on the door.

“I feel the same,” said Cole, and I heard the same clunk on the other side.

If only we weren’t so wrong for each other, we’d be amazing together.

“I’m opening the door,” I announced, so Cole wouldn’t fall into my apartment.

‘Hi,” he said with trepidation.

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