Chapter 7
BPOV
"Can I see it?"
He squinted in the sun as he looked up from where he sat, his pencil stilling. "See what?"
I sat across from him, leaning back on my elbows, my sunglasses propped on my head. "What you're drawing, can I see it?"
"Um—" He fidgeted in his spot.
There it was. Some days he was so open. He smiled freely and laughed loudly. He'd pinch my waist and make me jump and squeal.
Then, the next day, it was like someone flipped a switch inside of him. He'd be quiet, withdrawn, and keep to himself. So, on those days I'd sit there just as quiet and watch him sketch. I'd never asked to see what he drew, though, until today.
"It's okay, you don't have to. Sorry—"
"I can show you a different one. This one is…it's just not ready." He shrugged.
"Yeah, I'd like that." Something was better than nothing, right? I wanted to know this man—all of him—but I could only take what he'd give me. I'd just have to be thankful for those pieces he shared.
"Come here, then." He nodded to a spot next to him as he carefully flipped through the pages to find the one he wanted to show me.
It was a beautiful abstract drawing of Snow White. I stared at it for a moment before realizing I had seen it somewhere else before. "That's…" I grabbed his arm, twisting and turning it as he laughed until I found it. "Do you draw all your own tattoos? And how the hell do you—never mind. It's really beautiful."
"How the hell do I what?"
"It's a rude question. Don't worry about it."
He shut the book, throwing it onto the grass. He smirked at me. "You should know I live for rude questions. Go ahead, ask me."
"Aren't tattoos like…really expensive? How do you afford them?"
He scowled. "Ah, so you wanna know how the poor boy pays for ink, eh?"
"That's not—this is why I said never mind."
He pushed into my shoulder with his. "I'm just messing with you, Daddy's girl. It's a valid question, I guess."
The nickname should have infuriated me. But instead, it warmed me from the inside out and sent butterflies fluttering like crazy through my belly.
"Esme—that's my sister. She's got a friend, well, I guess a boyfriend now," he grumbled.
"You don't like the guy?"
"Nah, he's good. I've known him forever. It's just weird to see her…you know, in love. Anyway, I help him at his garage, and he pays me in ink."
I nodded. That made sense. "Just how many jobs do you have?"
"Right now, I have three."
He had three jobs at twenty-years old, and I'd yet to have a job. Sometimes I really took for granted the life I'd been given.
"How the hell do you find time to do anything else but work?"
He shrugged. "It keeps me busy, yeah, but sometimes the stars align or whatever and I get some free time. Like today."
"Why are you wasting it on me? Shouldn't you be sleeping or something?"
"This is far from a waste."
"Yeah, okay." I scoffed.
"You know what?" he said, changing the subject. "You should get some ink right here." His fingers lightly traced the skin of my thigh for a moment before they were gone, but they left a trail of fire in their wake. Did he know the desire that he sent coursing through my veins from that one simple touch? Did he feel it too?
"I don't know. What would I get? Shouldn't it be something important to me?"
He shrugged. "That's the way I like to roll, but some people just get something pretty done. You'll figure it out."
"Maybe one day."
—SB—
I didn't know what I was doing anymore.
The Edward who showed up at my apartment wasn't the one I had known. He was angry and demanding, but he was passionate as well.
Then, the Edward who apologized to me…that had taken me by surprise, too. But it was a welcome one. And then every little text he sent stirred up a mix of emotions to rise up inside of me. They'd swirl around in my belly, making me feel like I was going to be sick. It got to the point where I found myself on the floor in front of the toilet a few times, but nothing ever came of it.
I still don't know what caused me to walk into Pins And Needles. Maybe it was because it was on the way to the bank and I saw it every fucking day. Or Maybe it was because Esme told me he wasn't there on Tuesdays.
Maybe it was because I wanted to see him, but I couldn't handle it yet.
Our last conversation ran through my mind, over and over.
How could he tell me he loved me? He wrote me off for two years and then decided now that I was content, he'd swoop back in?
But the fool that I was, I still wanted a piece of him. So I walked into the shop, and when the guy behind the counter asked me if he could help me, I said yes. I asked him if Edward Cullen worked there, and when he said yes, I asked if he had any samples of his work.
He grinned at me. "Hold on, let me grab his book."
It wasn't the same book that I remembered, but I was still in awe as I flipped through the pages, there was so much emotion in his art.
And when I got to the last few pages, my breath caught in my throat.
There I was, staring back at myself.
"The likeness is uncanny." Peter—that was what he told me his name was—smirked at me. "You his girl that he talks about?"
That hit me like a ton of bricks. He talked about me?
I couldn't do this. I slammed the book shut. "No."
Then I turned, and I walked out.
I must have been stupid to think he wouldn't tell Edward. Men gossiped worse than most women, I had learned.
Or maybe that was the reason I went there. To give him a reason to message me, and to give me a reason to answer.
That afternoon, I walked into our apartment, dropping my bag onto the end table. James was sprawled out on the couch, watching some sports show. It was a scene of a happy, in-love couple who were comfortable with each other.
So, I know I blindsided him. But I wasn't being fair to either of us. Edward or no Edward, I didn't love James. And he deserved to be loved.
"Can we talk?"
Well, shes made up her mind finally. Do you think shes doing the right thing?