Pushing the Limits(27)

Perhaps she lied.

As I round the corner toward the staircase, I hear one of the guys yell  out Shane's name. "You're in so much shit, dude." One laughs.

"Ms. Jones is going to skin your ass and hang it up on display." The other joins in.         

     



 

I turn around just in time to hear his response. "Fuck you, guys. Ms. Jones should order her own shit then."

My jaw ticks at the sound of his disrespectful tone toward my aunt. I'm  tempted to turn around and beat the guy's face in when I spot Kendall  coming up the stairs toward me. "Hey! Did you see where Aspen went?"

I brush a hand through my hair to calm my nerves. "Uh, no. She mentioned getting a drink or something."

"Oh, okay. Probably went to go straighten Shane's ass out then." She  laughs and my fists tighten. "If you see her before I do, let her know  I'm leaving early."

"Sure, will do." She walks past me and heads up the stairs.

My head is a mess, but I know I have to get my shit together. Aspen  isn't mine, and technically, she's off-limits. Ever since the first  tour, Aunt Mel hasn't stopped talking to me about her. About how she's  like a daughter to her. How she's come from a rough past. How she's one  of the hardest working employees she's had and how she feels protective  over her well-being.

I exhale a frustrated breath as I walk back toward the front of the gallery.

"Oh, hey!" Aspen calls out as soon as she sees me walk in. "I think  we're almost done with organizing in here. We just need to reposition  the lighting above yet."

"Sure," I mutter out a short response. "I'm surprised you're back already."

"Oh, yeah. I just grabbed a quick bottle of water from the vending  machine. I'll eat when I get home. I have some studying to do anyway."

"I figured you'd be with your boyfriend," I blurt out, trying to make my  voice sound as casual as possible. "You could've taken a longer break. I  wouldn't have minded," I lie but sound completely genuine.

She tilts her head at me and frowns. "He's not my boyfriend." She shifts  her eyes back down to the table and grabs another piece. "Not even  close."

"Really?" I raise my brows.

"I don't have a boyfriend, remember?"

"I do. I just haven't figured out why not."

She gives me a stunned look. "I just don't." She shrugs, but I know there's more to it-much more.

I want to press for more, but given the fact that we're surrounded by  gallery employees and anyone could be listening in, I don't.

But that doesn't stop me from thinking of every possible way to bring it up later.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ASPEN



Working side by side with Professor Hampton has felt intoxicating. I've  felt high most of the day. In fact, I feel that way every time I'm near  him. He just … he makes me feel so nervous and giddy. It's like a  combination of a six-year-old just finding out she's going to Disney  World and going to an interview for your dream job.

It's a pile of mixed emotions, but there's also the fear.

I don't date for that very reason. I chose not to get too close to guys  to keep from getting attached, but I haven't even kissed him, and I  already feel attached.

"So what made you choose CSLA?" he casually asks as we fold the tables down.

"It was as far away from home as I could possibly get," I reply a bit  too honestly. He tilts his head up and looks at me as if he's trying to  read me. "I'm from Illinois originally. I didn't want to stick around  after high school."

"That's understandable. I think most kids your age like to get away for college."

Most kids? I brush it off and ask him the same. "What about you? Where'd you come from?"

"From here originally. Then I moved to Ohio for a job."

"And?" I probe as we move the tables off to the side.

"And what?"

I suspect he's not telling me the whole story although I can't really  blame him. It doesn't stop me from trying to get it out of him, however.  "And why are you now back in California? Where'd you teach before that?  Why'd you move? Give me something … "

"I got my heart broken and needed to get out of town. I taught part-time  at Ohio University but had some things here I needed to take care of so  I came back and found a job at CSLA."

"Add in a dog custody battle and you've got yourself a country song."

He snorts.

"So what made you want to major in art history?"

"Wanted to incorporate something I'm passionate about into a future  career," I say, reciting my usual generic response I give to anyone who  asks about my major.

He stops what he's doing and stares at me. "That's the biggest piece of bullshit I've ever heard."         

     



 

I glare at him. "It's not bullshit. It's the truth."

"You know how I know it's bullshit?" he asks, and I flash him a bemused expression.

"Please tell."

"Your left eye twitches. That's a dead giveaway."

I'm suddenly hyper-aware of my eyes, wondering if it really does twitch.  "Maybe I just have a twitching problem." I fold my arms over my chest.  "I'm actually quite sensitive about it."

"Is that so?"

"It is," I say matter-of-factly.

"Well, then I apologize for my rudeness." I can tell he's mocking me,  but I'm not about to give in to the fact that he caught me lying.

"Thank you." I can feel the tension in the air between us getting  thicker and thicker. My pussy clenches at the thought of his full lips  on mine … kissing, licking, sucking.

I blink the fantasy away.

He smirks, obviously not buying any of the shit I'm feeding him.  However, I'm not about to go down memory lane with a guy I hardly know. A  guy who's my professor nonetheless.

"What did you major in?" I find myself asking to fill in the silence as  we walk out of the room. "Something in philosophy?" I guess, knowing  most students majoring in philosophy end up in a completely different  career.

The corner of his lip curls up in amusement. "Biology."

"Biology?" I ask in surprise. "How'd that happen?"

He glances over with a shrug. "I was making a political statement."

"Ah … defiance against your parents."

"Exactly."

"So, how'd that pan out for you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I dropped out in my third year." I raise a  brow, urging him to explain more. "I told my parents I needed to take a  year off to ‘self-reflect.'"

"Ah … self-reflection. The best excuse to take off from college."

"It was." He smiles. "I did a little of everything. I started reading  and writing for fun. Eventually, I branched out into drawing and  painting. Then I tried learning the guitar."

"So what made you stick with drawing and painting?" I ask as we slow down to a halt, facing each other chest to chest.

"Ended up being the only thing I was good at."

I burst out in laughter.

"You think that's funny?" he challenges, taking a step and closing the gap between us.

"No … I … " I place a hand over my mouth, trying to conceal the laughter  bubbling up in my throat. "It's actually pretty pathetic. Sad even."

He rubs his fingers along his square jawline, a wicked grin forming on  his lips. "I'm going to let that one pass," he states. I focus on his  hands and his lips, at the same time, wondering how they'd feel on  me … his lips soft and sweet, and his hands greedy and firm.

"You know, it's probably not too late to reconsider putting one of your pieces in the student section."

I blink. "Huh?"

"For the gala. Are you scared?" He takes a step, and I walk side by side with him again.

"No."

"C'mon. Just one piece. It could be a canvas of a gorilla even." He flashes me a teasing grin.

"I don't paint gorillas."

"Dogs?"

"No."

"Sunsets?"

"Nope."

"Landscapes? Trees? Trees are a popular choice. You could do a full,  green leafed tree, or fall colors like reds and yellows, or could even  add a brook streaming nearby. Add in a sunset and you're golden."

I really wish he'd stop talking. The moment he mentions trees, my body tightens, and I hold my breath.

"Or we could always make a bet. I win, you have to put something in, you  win-" He pauses briefly. "Aspen?" He tilts his head and steps closer.  "Are you okay? You aren't blinking."

"No, I just need a moment."

"What's wrong? You're pale."

"I'll be okay, just need a moment," I repeat while trying to focus on getting my senses back.

"You're not okay. Are you having an anxiety attack?"

Yes. "No."

"Yes, you are. Sit down."

I comply and sit on the chair he grabs for me. I close my eyes and focus  on my breathing. Good air in, bad air out. I imagine my whole body  relaxing, starting with my toes and working my way to my head. By the  time I get to my hips, my heart rate has lowered and my breaths are less  labored. I continue through the breathing technique, more so that I  have an excuse to avoid the questions I know Morgan is going to have  once I feel normal.