Текст книги "Pushing the Limits"
Автор книги: Brooke Cumberland
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
“Go to hell, Ryan. Go to hell and take Jennifer with you. You two deserve each other.”
Remembering those last words to him pulls me back to that moment—a moment I’ll never forget. Ryan tried to get me to talk to him, tell me some bullshit on how it ‘just happened,’ but I was too pissed off to hear any of his excuses. It was over between Jennifer and me, but looking back, I should’ve mended things with him. Should’ve looked past it because we were family—brothers.
I was more than surprised to hear that he granted me guardianship of Natalia in his will. I hadn’t expected that at all.
“Natalia, I’m going to tell you something that I think you need to hear.”
“Okay,” she says softly, her eyes low and wet.
“I’m mad at your dad, too. I’m mad that he died. I’m mad that you lost both of your parents so early. I’m mad that we didn’t get to reunite before he passed away, but it brought me to you. So sometimes when I think about how angry I am, I just think about the positive things instead.”
“Like me?” Her eyelashes rise.
“Yes, like you.” I flash a genuine smile at her. “Even if you hate my cooking.”
“Well…you’ve been improving.”
“Or you’re just adapting.” I wink.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
I chuckle at her honesty.
We arrive at the therapist’s office and for the first time in months, Natalia isn’t pouting the entire time. In fact, Dr. Kingston said she actually answered some of her questions and even talked a little about her anger.
“I finally see some progress with Natalia. She’s opened up a little, but I think she still has a long ways to go. She may even backpedal a little before really coming to terms with what’s happened,” Dr. Kingston reports to me after her session.
“As I expect.” From how Natalia’s handling everything, I’d have to agree with Dr. Kingston.
She nods and leans down in front of Natalia. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Splendid.”
“Nat.” I flash her a warning look.
She shows off a toothy-fake grin. “See you then!” she says with an overly exaggerated sweet tone.
I walk her out and wrap my arm around her shoulders. I know she uses sarcasm and sassy remarks to hide what she’s really feeling, but I want her to know she can be real with me. Know that she can count on me.
“Natalia, you know you can always talk to me if you feel you can’t talk to Dr. Kingston. About anything.”
She looks up through her eyelashes and nods. Her lips barely spread into a smile, but I know she understands.
“So should we grab some food, go home and watch a movie?” I nudge her, lightening up her mood.
She looks up at me and she smiles. “Sure. But I’m not watching Gladiator again.”
I laugh at her scowl and agree. “You’ve got it, Shorty.”
After devouring Chinese takeout and watching Thirteen Going on Thirty, Nat passes out on the couch next to me. I look over at her and reminisce about how she has her whole life ahead of her yet. She’s been dealt some rough cards, but I think we’ll eventually pull each other out of this anger phase—or at least I hope so. Any more school suspensions and she just might get sent to an alternative school.
I carry her to bed and cover her up with the sheets. I know she keeps a ratty old stuffed bear under her pillow. She claims she’s too big to sleep with stuffed animals, but she’s had it since she was a baby.
I grab the bear and stick it underneath her arm before pulling the heavier comforter over her body. I brush my hand gently over her hair and kiss her on the forehead.
My life has sure changed a lot in the past year. Before I moved out here, I was living the bachelor life. No responsibilities besides going to work and paying bills, no one telling me what I could and couldn’t do, no one holding me back.
But if truth be told, it was a lonely lifestyle. Looking back, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Having no one to come home to, no one excited to see you after a long day, or no one checking up on you to make sure everything’s all right. Before I left, I lived for that. I loved being in a relationship and coming home to someone I loved.
But that’s all changed now. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like that again.
CHAPTER SIX
ASPEN
I work at the gallery Thursday morning. I’m at the information desk since Kendall is out sick and Ms. Jones and Christine have a conference meeting. It’s completely mundane since I’m only allowed to answer the phone, but on the bright side, the gallery is gorgeous. I love walking around and looking at all the paintings. They’re all titled, but most of their meanings are up for interpretation.
There’s a story in every piece and most of the time, the artist is the only one who really knows what it is. It’s almost as if each artist speaks their own language. You can appreciate the beauty of the words but never quite catch their meaning. That’s what I love most about art. What one painting means to me could mean something completely different to someone else.
I walk in front of a large abstract painting titled Rain at Dawn. It’s an interesting piece, but it doesn’t really give away much. You have to look at it, study the details to see what the artist is really showing.
The artist focused on the raindrops the most. On one side, a puddle is forming, and on the other, a large raindrop is about to land on the black cement. You can see a house shaded in the background, but it’s blurred out. There’s a light on through the window, but you can’t see inside. The trees are all bare, which means it’s fall or winter. The sky is dark and gloomy except one small part on the right side where the sun is starting to peek out.
It’s actually really beautiful. For me, it feels like peace and happiness. I love the sound of rain. Ariel and I would play in the rain every chance we could or until Mom would yell at us to get back inside. When we were kids, we’d go fishing with our dad in the summer rain or shine. One morning, he woke up before the sunrise. It had been raining, so we sat out on the boat together and watched the sun come up as the rain poured down over the water.
Those days were absolutely perfect.
The longer I stare at it, the more emotional I start to feel. My eyes start to water, and before I know it, small tears are falling down my cheeks.
God, I’m a mess. I never let myself cry.
I head to the back and grab a tissue to dry my face. Just as I’m walking back out, Professor Hampton is standing by the information desk.
“Holy shit,” I gasp. He turns toward me and smiles. He looks absolutely delicious in his form-fitting gray suit and pale white shirt underneath. His hair is styled in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it and…oh my God. My fingers twitch at the thought. I blink, forcing my mind to stop racing long enough to speak. “You have a habit of scaring the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you’d hear me come in.” He points above the door where a bell is hanging. Every time someone comes in or leaves, it rings.
“I was in the back getting something,” I lie, hoping he doesn’t question my bloodshot eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for my aunt. Is she here today?”
“Actually, no. She and the curator had a meeting. Kendall’s out with a cold, so I’m just here manning the door.”
“I see.”
“I can tell her you stopped by.” I dig around for a pen and piece of paper. “You can leave her a note.”
He smiles and steps closer. “Sure.”
He stands across from me at the counter as I hand it to him. “Here.”
“Do you mind writing it? She won’t be able to read it otherwise if I do.”
“Oh, um, sure. What should it say?”
He clears his throat as if he has something really important to say. I smile but keep my head down so he doesn’t notice. “Dear Aunt Mel, I stopped by to discuss a very important matter with you.” I look up at him and see him grinning.
“Continue on…” I purse my lips and shake my head at him.
“Your employee, Aspen Evans, has impeccable talent, and is refusing to show it off at the Spring Art Gala…” I’ve already stopped writing as I look up and glare at him. He notices my hand has stopped and nods his head at the pen. “Keep writing.”
“I’m not writing that.”
“All right. I’ll just call her then.”
I sigh. “You are relentless.”
“Determined,” he counters.
“Why?” His smile fades. “Why’s it so important to you?”
He steps even closer, which hardly seems feasible, but with a counter between us, he can’t possibly get any closer.
His eyes burn into mine as he replies. “I’ve been teaching art classes for five years and have had many students on all different levels. Some have no business being in a college-level art class and some have so much talent, it makes me wonder why I’m the one teaching them. But you…you are the latter.” He pauses, and I suck in my lower lip at the way he’s looking at me. “You’ve completely blown me away.”
I stare up at him, stunned and at a loss for words. I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know what to think. My entire body is on fire, and I can’t keep my eyes off him.
I swallow and try to focus on finding my voice. “You’re really passionate about art,” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, and I want to slap myself for sounding so stupid.
“I was.” He shrugs. “I’ve taken some time off. I haven’t even thought about painting in months—that is until I saw what you’re capable of doing.”
I furrow my brows. “Why’s that? How does an art professor take time off from painting?”
“Actually, it’s really easy,” he says with a laugh. “I hand out the assignments, show a video here and there, and basically, critique everyone else.”
“What made you stop?”
His chest rises and falls slowly before he answers. “I haven’t been in the right state of mind to paint. Everything would look awful and then I’d get even angrier.”
I nod. “I know a thing or two about being angry. That’s actually how I started drawing,” I admit, but immediately wish I could take it back. I don’t want him asking questions that’ll lead to Ariel’s death.
“I like to work when I’m in a happy state of mind, which as of late, hasn’t been often.” I’m surprised by how honest he’s being with me and a bit confused as to why he is in the first place.
“Have you tried?”
“Tried what?”
“To paint when you’re angry?”
“No. I have no desire to,” he states firmly.
I flash a weak smile. “Maybe you should try. You might surprise yourself.”
Before he can respond, the phone rings and makes me jump. Neither of us moves as the phone continues to ring. His eyes are locked on mine and mine remain locked on his. “Don’t you have to get that?”
“Get what?” I blink a couple times, finally focusing. “Oh, right.”
He grins. “You’re O for two.”
“Good thing door watching and phone answering isn’t my major.” I sneer and turn to answer the phone.
It’s Ms. Jones.
“Yes, everything’s fine. No, I haven’t burned it down yet. Yes, I’m watching the door.” I turn and see Professor Hampton smiling wide in amusement. “As a matter of fact, there’s someone here. So I better let you go. Yes, I’ll put my friendly face on. Mmkay, bye bye.”
I hit the ‘end’ button and point at him. “Don’t even say it.”
He’s laughing now. “Say what?”
I’m flustered and can’t think straight. “Anything. Don’t say anything.”
He’s still laughing. “Okay.”
I watch Professor Hampton as he effortlessly explains our next assignment. You’d never guess by how passionately he talks about art and how knowledgeable in the classroom he is that he’d be going through some inner turmoil himself. He has such a strong, confident aura about him, but when you really get to know more about him outside of being a teacher, you realize he could be just as damaged and broken as I am.
We’re working on optical illusion 3D images tonight. I love being able to paint with colors and tell a story, but sometimes drawing is a nice break in between pieces.
I’ve done 3D drawings before, but I’ve never done them outside of class to really get practice. I’ve done simple objects, nothing too over the top, but now we’re stepping it up a notch and adding an illusion factor.
“Think of your favorite character. Disney, anime, hero, whatever. Draw it with a backdrop. You may have to cut parts of the paper out to pull it off, but get creative.”
We each settle into our areas, and as everyone’s pencils are already furiously moving, I stand anxiously and stare at the blank paper.
“What’s wrong?” Ellie asks, noticing my puzzled expression.
“I can’t figure out what to draw…”
“Girl, I’ve been drawing for ten minutes, and I still don’t know what I’m drawing.” I laugh out loud at her confession. “Seriously, just wing it.”
I turn and scowl at her. “You’re so helpful. Thank you,” I say dryly.
“I’ll be here all night.” She grins.
I smile as I think about the Disney movies Ari and I used to watch as kids. We’d always argue over which ones to watch first. She always wanted The Little Mermaid so she could say she was Ariel, the mermaid, and I’d get stuck being Ursula. I preferred The Lion King and 101 Dalmatians, anything with animals, but I probably won that battle once out of every four times.
Sometimes I didn’t mind, though. We’d dress up in princess gowns and dance around the house while singing—or rather shouting—the lyrics we made up.
We were so carefree and happy in those days. It’s bittersweet to think about now. My chest tightens as I think about those memories. Although they’re happy ones, I hate that they’re all I have of her. I miss everything about her, even when she was bossing me around and making me be the villain as we watched Disney movies.
And just like that, I knew exactly what to draw.
I tune everything out and hardly notice Professor Hampton walking around even when he’s watching me. I’m drawing the water, making it look like it’s in the paper and the rock is on top of the paper, just as Ellie leans over my shoulder and gasps.
“I love that!”
She really has no boundaries. “Thanks. I haven’t even drawn the mermaid yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. That fucking rocks.”
I smile just as I look up and see Professor Hampton standing next to us. “What is it?” He tilts his head and furrows his brows.
“Wow, rude much?” I sneer, cracking a smile. “Like I said…” I turn toward Ellie and scowl. “It’s not done yet.”
“It’s not bad,” he says half-impressed.
“Not bad?” Ellie gasps. “Then for the love of all that’s holy, don’t look at mine.”
I laugh, avoiding eye contact with Professor Hampton. “It’s the Little Mermaid,” I explain. “I’m going to draw her body on the rock up here and then cut the paper out around her so it looks like she’s coming right at you.”
He nods, staring intently at the paper. “Try going deeper with the water to exaggerate the rock’s placement. Then widen the rocks surrounding the water so you can really see the depth of it.”
“All right. Thanks.” I flash a small smile.
A faint, amused grin appears on his face as he winks before walking over to another student.
Students begin packing up and heading out as soon as it’s eight o’clock. I’m right in the middle of drawing the mermaid’s tail and failing miserably at it.
“I’ve never seen anyone curse at a Disney character before,” I hear from behind.
“Well, then you haven’t known me long enough. I always verbally abuse my work before I finish.”
“That’s an interesting concept, however…” I hear the sardonic tone in his words. “Let’s try this.”
My heart jumps a beat as I feel him behind me, pressing his chest into my back. He grabs my right hand and wraps his around it with the pencil in between our fingers. The simple action sends a lightning bolt through my fingertips straight to my heart, and for a brief second, I swear I can feel it beating harder, louder, and faster. I close my eyes for a moment, wondering if he feels the intense electricity between us, too.
“The scales on the tail should be angled this way. The illusion should make it look like her tail is wrapped around the rock. So essentially she’s on top of the rock that’s sitting on top of the paper.” He moves our hands to show me where to shade in the scales. “Make sense?”
I can barely comprehend a word he’s saying with him so close to me. My body is humming as I feel his muscles contract against my skin when he brushes the pencil over the paper.
Oh, sweet Jesus…I need to breathe. I don’t think I’ve exhaled since he started talking thirty seconds ago.
“Aspen?” he questions again.
I clear my throat, releasing a breath. “Um…” I blink, trying to think of something smart to say, but nothing is coming to mind. My mind is literally blank.
“Here…” he offers, gripping my hand tighter as his other hand wraps around my waist and squeezes my hip. My eyes widen in a holy shit expression as I try to calm myself down. “Ninety-degree angles…see? Then shade the tail in over here.”
“Okay…” I choke out, gulping. My eyelids feel like they’re taped against my skin as I try to comprehend how close our bodies are together. I inhale and can smell him. And it’s oh so fucking delicious. Christ. I need to focus. “I think I understand. Thank you.”
Our bodies are still fused together, our hands still touching. “You’re welcome.”
The room is so silent I can hear the vent above us blowing out air. His breath tickles my neck. I’m two seconds away from spinning around and slamming my lips against his. Especially since I can feel his distinct bulge against my lower back, confirming he’s struggling with the same forbidden attraction as I am.
Moments later, reality crashes back into my mind, and I know making out with my really hot art professor would be a really bad—but really hot—thing. The only reason I came out to California, besides needing to get away from home, was because I was offered a partial scholarship. My parents offered to pay for my entire education if I went to a college closer to home, but I wanted nothing to do with that idea. I didn’t want their money or any ties to them at all. I don’t know the exact rules of my scholarship, but I’m pretty certain having an affair with your professor is grounds for losing your scholarship and possibly being expelled.
“Well, I’ll continue this next class,” I finally say, breaking the tension. “Thanks again for your help.”
He releases his hand and steps away from me. “No problem. It’s kind of my job.”
“Right.” I turn and smile at him before grabbing the easel and drawing to store away.
He walks to his desk and collects his stuff as I pack up my supplies and start heading out. “Have a nice night, Professor Hampton.”
He looks up, a flustered expression on his face. “You as well, Aspen.”
MORGAN
As soon as my hand slides against her smooth skin, all rational thinking leaves my mind. I know I shouldn’t be crossing the lines with a student, but with Aspen, I can’t help myself.
How is it that a girl with so much talent, so much beauty, is filled with so much pain? I know she hasn’t told me much, but it’s enough to figure out. Her sister died years ago, leaving her feeling empty and bitter. She uses art and solitude as a way to cope, to express her emotions and feelings, but she has this uniqueness about her. Every time I see her, she’s glowing. Her smile, her laugh, her body language. It’s as if she’s strong on the outside, but falling apart on the inside. I can tell because I’ve been doing the same for five years.
Five years too long.
I think about her all day Friday, and once Natalia goes to bed, I head downstairs to where I’ve packed away all of my art supplies for the past six months. My paints, pastels, canvases, and brushes—they are all here, mocking me. I’ve avoided it all this time, unable to connect with anything other than anger.
I used to paint a lot back in Ohio, relieved to have the fresh start. I used that optimistic feeling as a guide to create new inspirations. However, after Ryan’s death, I hadn’t been able to focus on anything at all. I only thought of him. Then I’d see his face in my mind and be absolutely disgusted with myself that I allowed so much time to pass before we could make amends. But now that time was useless. I waited too long, and I hated myself for it.
I get out my old easel that I had tucked away. I set my old brushes and tubes of paint up and stare at the blank canvas in front of me.
Blank canvas.
That’s what being back in California truly represents. That’s what I need to stay focused on.
In fact, it’s what Natalia and I should both be focusing on.
I only hope it’s good enough to actually help her move on—to help us both move on. However, six months wasn’t that long ago, and I know she’ll be hurting and grieving for years, but it’s something we need to work on together.
You should try it sometimes…you might surprise yourself.
Aspen’s words repeat in my head as I look at the canvas. Taking a breath, I close my eyes and search for the courage to paint again. Moments later, I open my eyes to the same blank canvas and no desire to change it.
Frustrated, I throw the brushes down and walk out. I know Aspen’s probably right. If I can get out of my cluttered mind and connect my frustration and anger to that creative side of myself—the part that takes control when the brush is in my hand as if it’s another extension of myself—I could use it as the motivation to paint again, but it’s just not there.
I head back upstairs and undress before getting into the shower. After the day I’ve had, and the intense encounter with Aspen, I need a cold shower. I’ve never had someone affect me the way she does, especially a student. I’ve always been professional and kept my distance, but she’s making it nearly impossible, even though I know I should be making more of an effort.
As I wash my body, thoughts of her in those leopard print fuck me heels and tight painted on jeans surface, and I feel myself getting hard again.
Just as I remind myself that I need to be more careful around her, I find myself lost in thoughts of her. My mind goes blank on what’s right and wrong, and my body happily responds to the image of her.
Her voice, her lips, her soft skin.
It all taunts me as I try to think of anything but her. Unable to erase thoughts of her from my mind, my hand reaches down and grabs my cock, stroking it back to life. I know it’s wrong and that I shouldn’t be fantasizing about her, but fuck it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since the moment I first saw her. Hell, since the moment I started looking through her portfolio. The emotion she pours into her work and the way it captivates me is something I can’t explain.
I rest a hand on the shower wall, letting my head fall forward. I tighten my grip, wrapping my fingers around my cock tighter, feeling the need to punish it. I hear her soft giggle in my head and picture her perfectly curved body as I pump harder, groaning as my body hums to thoughts and images of her. My eyes close tightly as my hips thrust wildly into my hand as I imagine being inside Aspen’s tight pussy instead of my rough palm. Her eyes would look up at me with intense pleasure, begging for more, as I thrust deeper with each solid movement. I wouldn’t stop until she’d cry out my name, screaming in ecstasy as I filled her deep, releasing my own orgasm inside her. I pump faster as I feel my body tighten at the thought of her wet juices covering my cock.
I’d look down at her, pleased with how her body looks flush and sated. Those pert breasts would bounce every time I buried myself deep, my name falling from those cherry red lips again takes me over the edge, and I come powerfully, groaning her name aloud.
Once my breathing is under control, I turn the water to warm and slowly wash myself off again. I wonder what in the fuck I am going to do with this fascination and how the hell I’ll convince her of what I know we both want.
