I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(50)

Nonetheless, I agree to her terms, a deal is a deal. Besides, I am so going to win this bet, there’s really no doubt about it. We shake on it to make it official, and since it’s getting late I suggest we go back inside to get started with a movie.

Once we’re back down in the living room, I turn the TV on and hand Kay the holy grail—also known as the remote. But first I show her how to work it.

“Go ahead and pick something,” I suggest when she pulls up the on-demand menu. “I’m game for anything. I’ll go grab us something to drink, okay?”

Kay mock-rolls her eyes. “Sure, as long as it’s nothing lemon-lime flavored.”

She may sound all disgusted, but there’s a teasing twinkle in her eyes.

I put my hand on my chest and back up a few steps, pretending to be wounded. “Hating on the lemon-lime? That’s just plain wrong, Kay, blasphemous even.” I point at her. “Admit it, you tried one last week and loved it. You know that shit is awesome.”

“Okay, okay, it was good,” she admits, letting out a laugh. “I don’t know about awesome though…” She trails off and I frown. “Oh, quit looking at me like that. Fine, lemon-lime it is.”

I tell her I’m just kidding and if she really wants something different I also have iced tea and beer, but she insists on the lemon-lime. Maybe Kay wants to help me get the sodas, or maybe she wants to keep talking, but, in any case, she puts the remote down and follows me to the kitchen.

She doesn’t come in all the way. She just kind of lingers in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room while I get the drinks. I can see her over the door of the refrigerator and it’s apparent something in the dining room has caught her attention. She takes a step back, grabs whatever it is, and holds it up. It’s my sketchbook.

She arches an eyebrow at me. “You said I could see this when we were upstairs, remember? Do you mind?”

I close the refrigerator door and give her a one-shoulder shrug. What the hell, I did say she could see it. I try to think of everything that’s in there. Since the book is new, the sketches are recent, which means it contains just shit I’ve sketched around here. Various views from the back porch, sunsets from the roof—like the one we were just viewing. I think and I think, recalling all that I’ve drawn as of late.

There are sketches of fields and farmland, a detailed tree branch with apple blossoms I did in oil pastels, and a charcoal of the empty barn at the back of my property. Yeah, it should be fine, I finally conclude, there’s nothing in that book that could potentially embarrass me. Except…

Fuck, too late. Kay is already looking down at a loose page, one torn from the book, one with a fold in the center. I know exactly what she’s found—the sketch I did of her the day we met. The one I folded and tucked in the back, the one I couldn’t bear to throw away.

Well, that decision just bit me in the ass.

“Ah, Kay,” I mumble, cringing.

“You drew me,” she says softly as she gazes down at the sketch. She doesn’t sound angry or offended, like I fully expect her to. Nope. Instead, she sounds kind of awed and…pleased.

I run my fingers through my hair, press my lips together. I decide to just be honest, more or less.

“The night I drew the flyer for the apartment, uh, after I was finished…I kept picturing you in my head. It was the same day we’d met in the parking lot. So, I sketched you the way I remembered…” I nod to the drawing, still in her hands “…the sweater, the dress, it’s what you were wearing that Sunday.”

“I remember perfectly,” she whispers. She looks at me, then at the sketch, then at me again. “And is this how you saw me that day? How you see me in general?”

I take a breath. Hmm, this could go either way. True, she looks very, very pretty in the drawing, but she also looks very f*cking sexual. But I drew it, I need to own it.

I say, “Yeah, it’s how I see you, Kay.”

I wait for the fallout, but it never comes.

Sure, her cheeks pink. That makes me smile, though, knowing I caused it. This reaction doesn’t seem bad, no, not at all. Kay seems happy.

“But,” she begins, astonishment in her tone. “I look so…sexy, maybe…and kind of beautiful.”

She says the last word like she can’t believe I’d see her like that.

Shit, what should I do?

This is where I should take a step toward her, but I can’t. If I do I will kiss her, I’ll shower her with words, tell her how sexy and beautiful she is, and how I want her so badly that it f*cking hurts.

If I do even one of those things, I know it will lead to more, much more. And I’ve made a promise—to myself, to Father Maridale. Fuck. All the stuff I thought I had so under control, I apparently so do not.

So, like an idiot, I try to blow it off. I flippantly say, “Of course you look good, Kay. You’re pretty.” It’s a cop-out, a scaled-back response.

I don’t go to her, like I should, like my heart tells me to. I don’t take her in my arms, don’t cover her in kisses. Nope, I just stand there near the doorway, two lemon-lime sodas in my hands, saying lame-ass shit that doesn’t even come close to expressing the depth of my feelings for this beautiful, sexy woman. What an ass I am.

Surprisingly, Kay doesn’t seem too upset. In fact, my girl is f*cking beaming, staring down at the sketch, like something she’s been curious about has just been answered, and in the way she was hoping.