Page 84 of Don't Bet On It
“Okay.”
“And all that stuff over there?” I pointed to the sculpting supplies. “I bought that for you.”
I didn’t think it was possible for her expression to go any softer, but I was wrong. “You did?”
“I’m dying to see your work.”
She took a step toward me then stopped herself. “I would show you,” she said in a husky voice. “I have a few ideas I’ve been sitting on until I could afford studio space. I have another idea for something we could do now, though.”
I grinned. “Maybe I should get one of those big beanbags up here so we have a piece of furniture to meet on in the middle occasionally?”
Her laughter was full of magic. “Now, see, that there is a great idea.” She raced toward me.
My arms were already open when she arrived, and my mouth was on hers, hot and heavy. Our tongues tangled for what felt like forever, and I was breathless when we pulled back.
“I’ll place the order tomorrow,” I said, my playful tone matching hers.
“Good idea. The floor will work for now, though.”
“Oh, most definitely. The floor is a freaking great idea.”
23
TWENTY-THREE
Working in Ronan’s studio—I couldn’t quite think of it as my studio yet—was the stuff of dreams. Good dreams too. No Freddy Krueger in sight.
The view was amazing, to the point where it was inspiring every time I visited. The central air kept the room chilly enough that it didn’t matter if I worked up a sweat when I was sculpting. On top of that, the supplies he’d gotten for me—I was still dumbfounded as to why he had gone out of his way for me—were better than any other materials I’d ever worked with.
I felt as if I’d fallen into the best dream of my life. I was terrified it would turn into a nightmare. It didn’t take an expert to figure out why I felt that way. At times when I was growing up, Sharon appeared to be getting it together. When I was younger, I didn’t know any better, so I’d believed that she was finally moving past her selfishness. Each and every time, she disappointed me.
When I’d reached the age of fourteen, I gave up believing that her good spurts would turn permanent. I learned to ride the wave to get everything I could from her before she reverted.Then, by the time I was sixteen, I’d learned to ignore them outright.
I was afraid this would go away too. Ronan didn’t act as if he was bored. He assured me that even if things fell apart on the personal front—we were still calling this a temporary arrangement—working together would be fine. I had no reason not to believe him. He’d never been anything but upfront with me. Even the hurt I’d felt about being stood up for prom had withered away. I knew him better now. He would’ve never stood me up. That was all Becky. And, yes, I was still hoping for karma to take another big bite out of her ass. I refused to allow myself to dwell on it.
At work, Ronan and I did our best to avoid one another. We talked when it was appropriate and flirted when it was inappropriate. Every shift, I went in determined to stop the flirting—it was only a matter of time until Kyla discovered what we were up to—but I couldn’t stay away from him. We were like magnets. There was no avoiding one another.
I bolstered myself with the notion that flirting wasn’t against the rules. As long as Kyla believed we were only flirting—nothing more—that was all that mattered. She was never around when we left the casino well after midnight. As far as I could tell, she didn’t have friends in the lounge, so nobody was reporting us. Still, we were careful not to tell anybody about our … thing. I didn’t even know what to call it.
We spent every night together. Each and every night. We hadn’t missed a single one since agreeing to be friends with benefits. To me, that suggested we were more than friends. I couldn’t think on it too long without getting a stomachache, however. I was uncomfortable just thinking about it.
We had dinner—early dinners, mostly because of our hours, but dinners all the same—at restaurants I hadn’t even known existed. I’d grown up in Vegas and was convinced nobody knewit better, yet Ronan surprised me with a magical find every week. He’d mentioned trying to plan a trip to the Grand Canyon—something I was secretly thrilled about—but I’d managed to put him off on that, at least for the time being. If we did something that big, we would have to admit that we were more than … what we were. Even though I wasn’t as opposed to that idea as I had been at one time, I wasn’t ready to throw the playbook out the window. I need to think things through for a change. Being impulsive would get me nowhere.
Still—still—spending time with Ronan wasn’t just the highlight of my day. It was the highlight of my life. I hadn’t expected it—not ever—but I was feeling it.
“What are you thinking?” Ronan asked, drawing me out of my reverie.
I’d been toiling on a new sculpture and hadn’t even realized that I’d lost myself to thoughts instead of work. I cleared my throat. “I was debating if I wanted rough or smooth edges,” I lied.
He smirked. He had started a new painting, and even though it was far too early to tell what it was, his smile told me he was happy with how things were going. “I like rough edges. You do you, though.”
The double meaning of his words wasn’t lost on me. He’d told me more than once that my edges were rough. “I think I’ll go smooth,” I supplied, opting to be contrary for the fun of it.
“Why am I not surprised?” He went back to looking at his painting. “I’m done for the day. I can’t do anything more until it dries. I don’t want to blend the next layer.”
I glanced over at his canvas. “It looks cool. What is it?”
His lips quirked. “It’s a surprise.”
