I didn't know how long I'd brooded and thought and pondered. It seemed like no matter how hard I fought or tried to get into p
ositive space, my doubts roared over me like a monster hiding under the bed.
I finally decided to do the only thing that made sense. Work. I quickly texted Quinn I'd be at the studio till late and offered her breakfast in bed, then headed back. Maybe if I immersed myself into the only world that ever made sense, I'd find the answer to this world. Scoffing at my philosophical thoughts, I decided to go for oils, setting up a brilliant white canvas before me. I stared at the blank space, relishing that first moment of competition, the stare-down between artist and canvas, the challenge on who would win. My blood warmed and my head cleared, and I attacked, letting all the mess flow through my brush and out.
I worked like a demon, losing myself, without any idea how much time had passed. Eventually, I began to surface, splatters of paint on my shirt, my hand cramped, and I blinked, coming to.
"Not bad."
I jumped, whirling around. Ava stood behind me, studying the swirl of bold colors and jagged lines that made out a couple kissing, wrapped up in each other, pressed against the wall. I'd used colors rather than blacks and whites, and sketchy, rough figures rather than fleshed-out people, giving it an almost crazy, Picasso-like image I'd never experimented with before. It was weird, but arresting, forcing you to try to figure things out. I wasn't even sure what I was trying to say with the piece, but it didn't matter.
Anger shot through me, but I was still a bit weak from the burst of creative work. "What are you doing here?"
"Needed to catch up on some work. See, this is more structured with the lines here." She brushed her finger over air, following the curves of the woman's body and hidden face. "Yet you got messy and real. You're fucked-up in the head right now, huh?"
I stared at this demon creature who somehow managed to beat me up in the same statement she gave me a compliment. I studied her for a while, trying to figure her out. She wore another of her favorite black pantsuits, but it was tight, hugging every part of her body, and the red tank underneath her jacket showed an impressive amount of cleavage. Her hair was scraped back from her face again. I couldn't decide if she was wildly attractive or just plain scary, with the slight sneer on her too-full bloodred lips, white skin, and sharp features.
"Are you proud of yourself?" I asked. "You're the one who fucked up my head. Why did you put me in the show?"
She laughed, shaking her head slowly. "Isn't that what you wanted? What you've been fighting for since day one? If you don't want the slot, let me know now, and I'll give it to another student."
I seethed with frustration, aching to shake her until she dealt with me on a straight level. "Of course I want it! You said in your office I wouldn't get it."
She arched a brow. "No, I never said that. I wanted to find out if you'd be committed and figure out your true intentions. Now, I know. I'm taking a chance on you, Mr. Hunt. But you better make sure you show me this." She jerked a thumb toward my painting. "And not some of that boring crap you tried to pass off as real art. Enjoy your night."
She walked away without a backward glance.
The stress of the past weeks finally broke. My confusion and worry over Quinn. The doubts about myself. And the way my safe place--my art--had suddenly turned into a mind-game explosion due to one raging bitch who wanted to screw with me.
Tendrils of rage licked at my nerve endings, driving me forward. I threw down my brush and followed her into the office, my fists clenched. She looked up from a pile of papers as if I was a minor annoyance. "Yes?"
"I've had enough," I ground out. "How am I expected to work with you? Let you mentor me when I don't trust you? When I know you're just waiting to tie me up in knots because you think I work better when I'm miserable?"
Ava rose from her chair in one graceful motion. Locking my gaze on hers, she strode toward me with slow, deliberate paces. "I'll use anything at my disposal if it makes you better," she drawled. "But let's be honest. You didn't come into this office to talk, did you?"
Shock left me speechless. Not even realizing what I was doing, I backed up until I hit the wall, staring at her in growing discomfort. Holy hell, she thought I wanted to sleep with her. Was I giving off that impression? Sure, she reeked of sex and drama. Back in the day, I would've devoured her whole, not giving a shit because I had a feeling Ava was the mistress of all sex and mind games. We would've happily torn each other apart until we finally parted, exhausted and shattered into tiny pieces.
In that one moment, I had a decision to make. I could choose Quinn and fight for what we had. Or I could slip back into my old shit. Ava would push me further and harder than I ever could imagine. She'd probably make me a star. I'd never have to hide the raw, primitive side of me I tried so desperately to keep in check for Quinn, sweet, sexy, giving Quinn. My brain clicked furiously, trying to choose, while she moved closer until she paused before me, her husky laugh raking across my ears.
I gathered the last of my rage and frustration and battled for the woman I loved. "Fuck you."
Her eyes filled with the challenge, and I knew she relished my fight. I was only a pawn to her in a lifelong game I no longer wanted to play.
"Why don't you fuck me instead?"
I should've pushed her away, because I knew right then, I'd choose Quinn every time.
But I didn't.
Her mouth pressed against mine, and those few seconds in my world were to be the ones that destroyed me. I registered her scent, the tip of her tongue ready to plunge, the way her tits pressed up against my chest. But my body cried for Quinn, my mind locking into place, and I was about to shake her off when a low, guttural cry broke through the air.
Ava turned. My gaze lifted.
Shocked brown eyes stared into mine.
Quinn.
"Quinn!" My lips formed her name, horror washing over me in waves as I realized what she saw and believed. My horror increased when I realized that in those few seconds I'd hesitated, I lost the only choice that kept me alive.
My love for Quinn.
I shoved Ava away and went after Quinn.
"Don't--j-just don't!" She turned, and I quickly closed the distance, reaching out to grab her arm. "Leave me alone!" she screamed. I stopped in my tracks, and then she was sobbing and running away from me, and I watched my life shatter into pieces around me.
Chapter Sixteen
QUINN
I knew he'd come after me. I also knew he'd break down the door, and even though I hated him, I had to hear his story. Why he'd betrayed me. What I'd done wrong to place my trust in him when he'd been lying the whole time.
I didn't know how much time had passed. I sobbed and rocked myself, and then finally, the anger hit, so deep and hard, it shook my body like a storm, and I could barely hang on.
He knocked on the door. "Quinn? Please open up. Please."
He had his key, but allowed me the dignity of decision. I swiped at my swollen eyes, got up from the floor, and flung open the door.
Oh, he reeked of guilt. From his distressed, grief-stricken expression to the dim light in his eyes. I almost lost it again, but I was too mad. "How long have you been fucking her?" I finally asked, feeling the bitter words hurt my tongue.
"I'm not. I never was. I'm here to tell you everything."
"How kind of you." I watched him walk in, shut the door, then shove his hands in his jeans pockets. Those burnished waves I'd slid my fingers through tumbled over his brow. His jacket couldn't hide the bulk of his muscles or the lean thighs encased in worn, faded jeans I loved to pull off him as he tumbled me onto the bed. Raw pain sizzled through me, making me want to double over in agony, but I held my position and glared at him with all the loathing I had. "I thought you hated her. I had no idea that was how you hated someone."
He dragged in a breath and met my gaze. Those sky-blue eyes held an array of pain and guilt, but remained drilled on mine, refusing to look away. "Yes. I need to tell you the story from the beginning, Quinn. Everything I said was true. She ripped me apart in class, disparaged my work, and I never thoug
ht I'd get into the expo. One day, she asked to see me after class. I walked into her office and found her blowing the nude model we had in class. It was so fucked-up. I was pissed at her, and I didn't know what she was doing."
"And you didn't go to administration?" I challenged.
He shook his head. "No. I didn't know what to tell them at first. I was afraid they'd think I was making shit up to get into the expo. I finally confronted her, and she gave me this bullshit excuse about needing to push me in order for me to be a better artist."
The ridiculous explanation made no sense. "What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice going higher. I wrapped my arms around my body in an attempt to keep my sanity. "Giving another guy a blow job helps strengthen your art?"
He dragged a hand through his hair. "No. Well, kind of. She said when she pushed me to get in touch with my darker emotions, it was reflected in my work. She said if she picked me for the expo, she'd make sure I succeeded, but I had to push my limits. Said my relationship with you was making me play it safe, and I wasn't built for calm, committed relationships."
My head spun. I began pacing, trying to make sense of all the bullshit being spouted at me by the man I loved. "I'm having a hard time understanding this. She was coming on to you, wasn't she? Saying I was holding you back, and giving you ridiculous excuses so you'd sleep with her. And you bought it, hook, line, and sinker. Why didn't you tell me any of this? Did you want to sleep with her the whole time?"
"No! I never wanted to sleep with her, Quinn, I swear to God. I got confused, and was trying to figure out her game. I'd decided to go to administration the day you told me you got the job, but I didn't want to ruin your good news, and then a few days later, my name was on the list and I found out I got into the expo."