Page 34 of The Art of Loving Ellie
“I know about your situation with Alex,” he says quietly, and my eyes go wide. Rubbing the back of his neck, I can tell he’s uncomfortable. “Before you get upset, I want you to know that he only told me because he cares about you, deeply, and he just wants to see you succeed, Ellie.”
I lean back in the seat, breaking eye contact with him, and stare at the roof of the car.How could he?I close my eyes tightly, angry that Alex would tell Tyler something so personal to me. It smacks of betrayal. “When did he tell you?”
“At the gallery,” he supplies, and I curse Alex and his loose, drunken tongue.
“It wasn’t his place to tell you of my shortcomings.” My voice sounds unusually harsh and taking a page out of Gramps’ book, I make a mental note to put a rubber snake in Alex’s drawer at work.
He shakes his head. “Every artist—whether they are a musician, a model, or a painter, will hit a roadblock at least once in their lifetime.” He touches his thumb to my cheek, but I can’t get myself to look at him. “The greats aren’t great because their ideas came naturally to them, Ellie. They’re great because they persevered through the times when they didn’t.”
I’m silent, letting his words sink in.
“Your demons don’t scare me, Princess.” His words are confident, sure, and final. He isn’t going to be letting me go so easily, no matter how hard I try to get away. Those whiskey eyes bore into me fully ready to take on a new challenge.
I stare back at him fighting with my stubbornness. Something is happening in the space between us, and I want to crack the window, gulping up the fresh air as I feel fate’s cold presence knocking at the door in my mind. I remember Gramps’ earlier words and ask myself,do I dare deny her?
“Do you want to come inside?” I ask him quietly, and I’m shocked at my bold invitation. I can’t say the same for Tyler. There’s not an ounce of uncertainty in his voice when he answers me with an unwavering, “Yes.”
“Okay,” I manage to whisper, and we get out of Helga, locking her up for the night.
There are hardly any people in the apartment lobby, and my skin is burning with anticipation when Tyler holds the elevator door open, gesturing for me to get in first. We stand side by side with our backs pressed firmly against the back wall, and only a fraction of an inch separates us. I watch nervously as the numbers at the top of the elevator climb one by one.
We’re quiet, and I’m begging to know what’s going on inside his head. Is he excited, frustrated, or uneasy? No, never uneasy. Tyler knows what he wants, and as the elevator dings, alerting us that we’ve reached my floor, I know he’s going to get exactly that.
Chapter Eleven
Entering my cozy little apartment with another human being feels so strange. I haven’t had a visitor the entire time I’ve lived here, and I’m suddenly self-conscious of my space. Tyler looks around my living area exposing my personality as his eyes travel from the brightly decorated kitchen to the living room where my retro red couch and glass coffee table sit, before finally settling his gaze on my makeshift art studio.
I hook my thumb toward the dark hallway behind us. “I’m um, going to go change so feel free to make yourself at home. I think I have some snacks in the pantry if you want some. Do you like Twinkies? You look like you’ve never eaten sugar in your life honestly. Do you eat sugar?” Amusement graces his handsome face at my ramblings. “Okay um, I—I'll leave you to it.” I begin nervously wringing my hands when I turn and walk toward my bedroom.
Shutting the door behind me, I lean against it and take a deep breath. What the hell I was I thinking inviting him up here? I can barely function when I’m around him as is, but now I’m supposed to entertain him for the evening? I rummage through my drawers in an attempt to find pajamas that don’t have any cartoon pictures of animals on them.
Crap. I reach under my shirt and remember that I’m wearing an old sports bra and full coverage granny panties with little black cats on them.Not exactly sexy, Ellie.In the event that things escalate, I donotwant to be wearing cartoon underwear. I hurry and change into my only black bra and a matching black pair of cheekies before grabbing a pair of yoga tights and a tank top out of the drawer.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I point at my reflection right in the center of my chest and proceed to give myself a classic Ellie pep talk. “You will not be awkward. You will be funny, and flirty. Oh,andsexy! Dammit, Ellie, do not screw this up!” At that moment, I hear the sound of the thick canvas covering being removed from what I know is my stargazer painting from a few nights ago. Panicking, I rush down the hall to the living room to see Tyler with a glass of what appears to be apple juice in his hand, and he’s staring at my painting thoughtfully.
I’m out of breath from a mixture of running and panic. “What are you doing?” My eyes dart from him to the painting, and back to him.
He takes a sip of his drink, lazily looking over at me as if I’m interrupting his inspection of my work. “I’m admiring your painting, what areyoudoing?”
I almost laugh at him standing there with a bright pink cup, tilting his head to the side in curiosity of my red-faced and breathless form.
I stomp over to him, irritated and embarrassed by his intrusiveness, and snatch the covering out of his hand. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as I scold him. “This area is the graveyard for my hopes and dreams, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t start uncovering all of my things, thank you.” I bend down in an attempt to close up the bag that holds all of my paints.
“Wait.” He reaches down and grabs my hand, stopping me from closing it, then bends down and grabs a long slender brush and some black paint.
He sets his cup down and nods toward the canvas, asking permission to mark on it, and I sit back on my butt with a huff. “Go ahead. It was one big mistake anyway.”
I watch closely as he takes the cap off of the bottle of paint, and dips the brush in. Putting the brush to the canvas he takes his time spelling outTylerin the top right corner of the canvas. Satisfied with his addition to the piece, he turns back to me and says, “There. What do you think?”
I shake my head, looking up at him with the same defeat I felt in this very spot the night I painted it. “This isn’t a joke, Tyler,” I whisper, embarrassed. “I don’t appreciate you making fun of my disaster.”
“I’m not making fun of you.” He squats down next to me, commanding my attention by lifting my chin so I’m forced to meet his eyes. “It’s beautiful, Ellie. And if this is your idea of a disappointment, then I’m excited to see the real deal.” I blush at his double entendre.
Giving a tiny black spot on the floor my attention as he stands, I gasp when he abruptly pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the ground next to me. I sit glued to the spot I’m in, unable to look away from the half-naked man in front of me. The tan skin of his chest and abdomen showcase muscles that are sculpted to perfection, just as I figured from the night we danced together.
“Let’s play a game.” I cringe at his words, remembering when we people-watched at Charlie’s, and I know I’m about to be forced out of my comfort zone—yet again.
His warm chuckle makes my body tingle as he reaches down for me, bringing me to my feet. Picking up my wooden palette, he starts to squirt different colored dollops of paint onto it and holds it with his thumb through the open hole.
