Brush with Love by Lisa McKendrick

Author:Lisa McKendrick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cedar Fort Publishing
Published: 2017-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Sketching takes focus, so does regret, and, so far, regret was winning. That night, after my conversation with Walt, I lay awake, my hands pressed to my face, as the things I’d said to Walt paraded through my mind, frustration flying at me like tennis balls served rapid-fire from a machine. I should have handled things better, not gotten upset when he peered into my soul and declared it a cliché. I still felt hurt at the thought. Probably not a good sign.

What was it about Walt that robbed me of sleep? I’d never lost sleep over a guy before, but then again, I’d never tried with a guy before. It’s easy to stay detached when you don’t return a guy’s calls. If I hadn’t been, as Ingrid put it, such an artful dodger, maybe I would have endured restless nights over someone else. It was possible, but I doubted it. I tried to pinpoint what it was about him that I found so irresistible. In truth, it wasn’t just one, but a combination of things: his loyalty, his goodness, that he had served a mission and could speak (sort of) Russian. And it didn’t hurt that he was as fit as Captain America.

My stomach growled. I looked at the clock; it was almost six. Most likely, Walt would soon be leaving for work. I felt a ping of sadness knowing he wouldn’t be down the hall. It was a silly ping, but the truth was, I liked when he was near, even after the way I’d handled things last night. I cringed at the memory. Frustration with myself pressed in on me, and, so discomfited, I sat up in bed.

I took a deep breath. The adult thing to do would be to go to the kitchen, and talk to him. I swung my feet onto the floor where they stayed, as if trapped by the shag carpet. Why was this hard for me? I’d smoothed things over after disagreements before. I did it all the time with Ingrid. It was easy, so what was holding me back? The truth stung like the stern woman’s slap, and made me feel foolish. There was no reason why he should have known that his casually guessing at my past would bother me, and yet a part of me was frustrated he hadn’t. We’d only known each other a few days and yet I felt connected to him. I shook my head. It was stupid. I was stupid! But still, I felt connected to him.

I dug my toes into the carpet’s thick pile. Go talk to him, I told myself, but still, I resisted. What was I waiting for? I wiggled my toes. I wanted things to feel right between us, and that wasn’t going to happen while I sat on this bed. Me continuing to sit was emblematic of my entire approach to guys—I avoided, stayed on the sideline, did nothing. It would be just like me to lay low the

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