needed. I purposefully fit all my displaced pieces back to where they were supposed to be. I went into the bathroom and smoothed my hair and fixed my makeup.
Leaving the library, I cut across campus toward the commons. I noticed a couple of guys with buckets of white paint by the wall with the graffiti. I slowed my steps and watched as they took giant rollers and started covering the vibrant colors, drowning them with muting neutrality.
I walked closer, feeling sort of sad to see the Compulsion picture disappear. I stopped and stared at the men as they slowly and systematically erased all signs that the artwork had ever been there.
“Hey, Maxx! Where are those drop cloths? I’m getting paint everywhere,” one of the guys called out.
I froze. Maxx? What were the chances?
One of the painters turned to the speaker, and I could see clearly that it was indeed Maxx Demelo. And just because my day couldn’t get any worse, I noticed the pile of cloth by my feet.
I thought seriously about running, because that couldn’t be any more embarrassing than getting caught standing there staring at him like a moron.
Come on, feet, move!
But some masochistic part of me seemed to enjoy the sense of impending mortification.
Maxx turned around and started to walk in my direction. It was obvious he hadn’t noticed me yet. I still had a chance to get away if I wanted to.
But I didn’t. Because I sucked like that.
He was dressed in worn jeans and an old gray Longwood University sweatshirt. His blond hair was sweaty and matted to the sides of his face. He had white paint smeared across his forehead.
He looked gorgeous, and he walked like he knew it.
His arrogance was obvious in his every movement, and it annoyed me. I hated his confidence. I hated that he clearly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. I hated that he seemed to possess every characteristic that I wished for myself.
And then he looked up and met my eyes. His lips quirked up into a self-satisfied grin as though my being there fit into some great plan of his.
“Hi, Aubrey,” he said, stooping down to pick up the pile of drop cloths.
I thought about ignoring him. But that would be rude. And he was in the support group I was co-facilitating. I was supposed to create rapport—which was difficult when he seemed to bring out this primal instinct to scream at him.
“Hi,” I replied shortly. The wind whipped my hair into my face, and I spit strands out of my mouth. Awesome. Way to look cool and collected, Aubrey!
Maxx cocked an eyebrow and regarded me steadily. He didn’t say anything. And neither did I. I started to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutiny. Again I was bothered by a niggling sense of déjà vu. I felt like I should know him, though from where, I had no idea.
Maxx’s lips were curved in a teasing smile, as though my discomfort amused him. And still he said nothing. He acted as though he had all the time in the world to stand there and make me feel awkward.
Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “So you’re painting the wall, huh?” I asked. Just call me Captain Obvious.
Maxx looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s part of my community service,” he said dismissively.
“Community service?” I asked dumbly. Maxx moved to stand next to me. He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. I tried not to stare as he took a drag and blew out the lungful of smoke.
I hated smoking. I thought it was a disgusting habit. So why did I find it sexy to see Max curl his lips around the end of the cigarette? Ugh!
Maxx flicked ash on the ground and then unleashed a weapon most women would have a hard time resisting.
He smiled.
A full-mouthed curve of his lips lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. I think I may have forgotten to breathe.
Because damn, he was dazzling.
“You know, being ordered by the court to pick up other people’s shit, paint walls, and otherwise make the world a better place,” he replied dryly,
Leaving the library, I cut across campus toward the commons. I noticed a couple of guys with buckets of white paint by the wall with the graffiti. I slowed my steps and watched as they took giant rollers and started covering the vibrant colors, drowning them with muting neutrality.
I walked closer, feeling sort of sad to see the Compulsion picture disappear. I stopped and stared at the men as they slowly and systematically erased all signs that the artwork had ever been there.
“Hey, Maxx! Where are those drop cloths? I’m getting paint everywhere,” one of the guys called out.
I froze. Maxx? What were the chances?
One of the painters turned to the speaker, and I could see clearly that it was indeed Maxx Demelo. And just because my day couldn’t get any worse, I noticed the pile of cloth by my feet.
I thought seriously about running, because that couldn’t be any more embarrassing than getting caught standing there staring at him like a moron.
Come on, feet, move!
But some masochistic part of me seemed to enjoy the sense of impending mortification.
Maxx turned around and started to walk in my direction. It was obvious he hadn’t noticed me yet. I still had a chance to get away if I wanted to.
But I didn’t. Because I sucked like that.
He was dressed in worn jeans and an old gray Longwood University sweatshirt. His blond hair was sweaty and matted to the sides of his face. He had white paint smeared across his forehead.
He looked gorgeous, and he walked like he knew it.
His arrogance was obvious in his every movement, and it annoyed me. I hated his confidence. I hated that he clearly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. I hated that he seemed to possess every characteristic that I wished for myself.
And then he looked up and met my eyes. His lips quirked up into a self-satisfied grin as though my being there fit into some great plan of his.
“Hi, Aubrey,” he said, stooping down to pick up the pile of drop cloths.
I thought about ignoring him. But that would be rude. And he was in the support group I was co-facilitating. I was supposed to create rapport—which was difficult when he seemed to bring out this primal instinct to scream at him.
“Hi,” I replied shortly. The wind whipped my hair into my face, and I spit strands out of my mouth. Awesome. Way to look cool and collected, Aubrey!
Maxx cocked an eyebrow and regarded me steadily. He didn’t say anything. And neither did I. I started to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutiny. Again I was bothered by a niggling sense of déjà vu. I felt like I should know him, though from where, I had no idea.
Maxx’s lips were curved in a teasing smile, as though my discomfort amused him. And still he said nothing. He acted as though he had all the time in the world to stand there and make me feel awkward.
Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “So you’re painting the wall, huh?” I asked. Just call me Captain Obvious.
Maxx looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s part of my community service,” he said dismissively.
“Community service?” I asked dumbly. Maxx moved to stand next to me. He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. I tried not to stare as he took a drag and blew out the lungful of smoke.
I hated smoking. I thought it was a disgusting habit. So why did I find it sexy to see Max curl his lips around the end of the cigarette? Ugh!
Maxx flicked ash on the ground and then unleashed a weapon most women would have a hard time resisting.
He smiled.
A full-mouthed curve of his lips lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle. I think I may have forgotten to breathe.
Because damn, he was dazzling.
“You know, being ordered by the court to pick up other people’s shit, paint walls, and otherwise make the world a better place,” he replied dryly,
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