The Artist's Touch by E. J. Russell

Author:E. J. Russell [Russell, E. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781626497580
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2018-01-09T05:00:00+00:00

Man, this Scotch was the real shit. It blurred the hard edges in the room, turning it into a chalk drawing, smudged by a careless artist. Blurred the hard edges in Luke’s mind too, blunting all the bullshit worry. So what if Stefan’s hair was overlong and his collarbones stood out like bas-relief ivory? The lamplight burnished his skin and the soft-focus lens of the alcohol allowed Luke to relax and enjoy the view.

“I’ve missed your dinners,” Stefan said, chasing the last of his rice across his plate.

“Only my dinners?”

“Well, lunches too.”

“What about my midnight snacks? My breakfasts?” Luke took another gulp, bared his teeth against the burn, and lifted one of Stefan’s hands. “God, I remember these hands. I can’t count the number of times I tried to draw them. Failed every time.” He traced the square palm, the row of calluses at the base of the long, tapered fingers. Stefan tried to pull away, but Luke tightened his grip. “You ever want something so fucking badly that you’d sacrifice anything to get it?”

Stefan stopped resisting and sucked in a sharp breath. “Yes,” he whispered.

“That’s how I felt about painting.”

“Oh.” Stefan snatched his hand away, but Luke recaptured it.

He fit his own hand over Stefan’s, matching palm to palm, fingers to fingers. “Yeah. I dreamed of being the best damned painter in the twenty-first century.”

“It’s a good dream.” Stefan’s voice wobbled, as unsteady as Luke would be if he tried to walk across the room right now.

“I loved you so much then,” Luke said. “You have no idea. But every time I looked at you, I knew I’d never be the best. You’d always be better.”

“Christ, Luke.” Stefan covered his face with his other hand. No good. Luke needed to see his eyes. He grasped Stefan’s wrist and pulled, caging both Stefan’s hands between his own.

“Yep. Every single time, I’d compare my shit to yours and I knew. That dream was fucking dead.” Funny how that didn’t seem to matter so much now. This Scotch totally rocked.

When Stefan yanked his hands away again, Luke didn’t fight him. Instead, he picked up the bottle and refilled his glass.

Stefan’s mouth tucked in at the corners, the familiar sign he was about to drop a bomb that Luke would rather not deal with. “You should have told me.”

“Why? Not like you could do anything about it. My dream. My problem. If I couldn’t draw something that beautiful and be happy with it, I’d never have been good enough to suit myself. Not willing to settle for second-rate. Second best.” Luke peered at Stefan through his glass. “Second choice.”

Stefan hugged his chest and clamped his hands under his arms as if he was afraid Luke would try to grab them again. “Is that why you left?”

Luke shrugged and swirled the liquid in his glass. Did he really want to admit this? Marius had added another element—jealousy—to his relationship with Stefan. He’d already been both proud of Stefan, yet envious of his talent. If Marius had succeeded in luring Stefan away, Luke would have had nothing left but the envy.

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