Love You, Baby by Stacey Joy Netzel

Author:Stacey Joy Netzel [Netzel, Stacey Joy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stacey Joy Netzel

Chapter 19

Monday evening, Merit stood in his art studio, glowering at the stark-white canvas before him. After dropping Mae off on Sunday afternoon, he’d gone for a run. He’d worked out. He’d swam fifty laps in his indoor pool, then a hundred, then two hundred.

This morning, first thing he’d thought about when he woke up was how the morning before he’d woken up in her bed. And the night before that, he’d lost himself in her heat enough times to realize he’d never get enough of her.

He’d lain there and missed her. The curve of her lips when she smiled. The narrowing of her eyes when she was annoyed or considering something he’d said, the sound of his name on her lips when he made her come.

Yeah, it was insane how much he wanted to be at her side again, yet just the thought of facing her after everything that had happened at brunch made his stomach knot up. So he’d gone back down to his gym, and put on his running shoes, then come home to dive in the pool. None of it helped, and in the end, he’d sought solace in the one place that was his refuge, only to be mocked by a blank canvas for the past however many hours.

A glance at his phone told him it had been four. A second glance told him he’d gotten a text from Asher, a call from Loyal, and a Snapchat from Shelby. He’d messaged them all yesterday that he was fine, but it didn’t seem they were buying it.

Twirling his dry brush in his fingers, neither was he.

What the fuck was this anyway? Wasn’t anger and frustration and wanting to punch something supposed to fuel an artist? Tortured angst and all that bullshit? Because it sure as fuck wasn’t working for him.

Prior to Mae, he’d scoffed at the term ‘creative block,’ or ‘painter’s block.’ Put a brush in his hand, paint on his palette, and he was good to go, able to lose himself in the seductive, therapeutic swipes of his brushstrokes for hours on end. Lord knew he’d needed it the past couple of years.

But after meeting Mae, especially after discovering Ian was her son, not her lover, he’d gone through a thoroughly frustrating phase where his muse refused to let him create anything but her. The arch of her brow and lush curve of her bottom lip. The sexy wave of her blond hair against the elegant line of her throat. The delicate fan of her lashes against her pale cheek. The myriad of blues that could turn her eyes from laughing to stormy, from shy to needy, all in one heart-stopping blink.

He’d spent hours at his easel, each image so vivid in his mind he could almost reach out and touch her. But doing those beguiling images justice with his brush had proved impossible. The closest he’d come to personal satisfaction had been the day after Asher’s wedding. After the most incredible night of his life, he’d woken up to find her gone.

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