Life In Reverse(50)

“Yeah, sorry.” I lift my index finger to her skin and gently rub the area below her cheekbone. “You’ve got a bit of clay here.” Her breathing changes and she mashes her lips together, drawing my eyes lower. I wonder what her mouth would feel like pressed against mine. Her tongue comes out to wet her lips and my desire grows.

“Okay, well, I can see your eyes now, so….”

She turns and I grab her wrist. “Ember, wait.” The expectant look in her eyes makes me want to be worthy—of what I don’t know. But damn it, that little voice in the recesses of my brain won’t leave me alone, demanding I pay attention to who I am. “Never mind.”

“Okay.” She paints on a smile, unable to hide the edge of disappointment in her voice. Little does she know, the disappointment is f*cking mutual. Only the person I’m disappointed with… is myself.





“WHEW. I DIDN’T realize how exhausting being a model is.” I jump down from the stool, craning my neck in a circular stretch.

“Yes, the energy exertion is over the top.” She flings me a grin. “I’m surprised you can walk.” She carries the sculpture to a three-tier silver shelf. I can’t get over how much it resembles me.

“Holy shit, Ember.” I walk closer for a better view. “This is f*cking fantastic. You are seriously talented. It actually looks… like me.” Yet as I study it more, something is different about my face, my eyes. I’m unable to pinpoint what it is, though.

Pride exudes from her every limb, she glows with it. “I hope so.”

“No, I mean it.” I hold her gaze. “This is definitely your calling.”

“I’d like to have my own gallery someday,” she admits. “Maybe even in New York City.” Her voice is not as confident as I’d expect it to be. Certainly not after seeing her work.

“It sounds more like a question than a statement. Is that what you really want?”

“Yes,” she affirms, insecurity sticking to her tone.

“Then go get it.” And I hope my smile conveys how much I believe in her.

Her eyes follow the path of her finger as she trails it over an elaborate sculpture of a bird. “You make it sound so easy.”

I bend down until she has no choice but to look at me. “Isn’t it?”

“I’m just…,” she drops her gaze, “not used to going after what I want.”

“Well, get used to it. Because you’re going places, Ember Bennett. Trust me on that.”

And I wish I could go with you.

“Thanks, Vance.” Her eyes come back to mine, alight with happiness, and warmth seeps into my chest.

My focus goes to the shelf and her various pieces of artwork. A sculpture catches my attention; two hands reaching out for one another, their fingers barely touching. I lift it carefully, studying the detail. “I really like this one.”

She traces the outline of the hand, a story playing out behind her eyes. “That’s me… reaching for Zack.” She glances up, allowing me to see her. And God, so much is there. Sadness, yes, but mostly sweetness and beauty. Memories of days passed. Suddenly, I’m envious.

Nothing I could say right now would do this piece justice, so I opt for silence. But I do reach for her, stroking the side of her smooth cheek with my fingers. Thick lashes flutter closed and she leans toward my touch, bringing her mouth nearer to mine. It makes me think about how much I want to kiss her. I’m not thinking about a kiss that would lead to me getting into her pants. Maybe it’s something I already knew but refused to admit. It isn’t the same with Ember as it was with other girls. I only want to put my mouth on hers; a soft brush of lips, one kiss. Except I know with her—one kiss would never be enough.

She opens her eyes and catches me staring. Her chest rises and falls at a steady pace, cheeks hold a pink flush. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t push me away if I tried to kiss her. Apprehension tugs at me like a thread waiting to unravel. I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead. It’s not the kiss I want, but it is the one she needs right now.

“This piece is really beautiful,” I whisper, her smile touching my chin. I wonder how this could be bad for me. Isn’t a short burst of happiness better than none at all? Then again, she’ll end up broken—and I’ll end up with nothing. But I can’t deny that I want to be near her. She zaps me with life in a way that I can’t avoid—I’m not sure I want to anymore. I rest my palm against her cheek and pull back to look at her. “Listen, I want to take you somewhere. Are you up for another road trip?”

Mischief lights her smile. “That depends.”

“On….”

“Two things,” she explains, and my brows lift in anticipation. “One, I pick the music. And two, I want to go in the Mustang.”

I tweak her nose and she laughs. “You drive a hard bargain Mickey, but okay.”

“Let me get the rest of this clay off my hands and then I’ll be ready.” She walks off toward the bathroom and I cock my head to the side, staring at the sway of her hips in those cut-off jean shorts. Right before she disappears into the bathroom, she peeks over her shoulder. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Jesus, this girl.

She shuts the door and I rock on my feet until my gaze strays to the book. I wander over to swipe it from the table, smiling more than I probably have a right to. Ember emerges after a minute, drying her hands on a towel. “Okay, I’m ready.” On the way up the stairs, she gives me a curious sideways glance. “Anything I need to bring on this mystery trip?”