Curvy Girls Can't Date Quarterbacks - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,48
much easier to be around him without the oppressive weight of our parents.
His foot nudged mine again, demanding my attention, and I looked up into his sparkling eyes. Barely hiding a smile, I pressed the toe of my sandal against his shoe.
“You know,” Mr. Langley said to my dad, “I may need some of your services for my clients in the future. Do you have some time to talk confidentially?”
Dad’s shoulders straightened, all business now. “Join me in my office?”
They excused themselves from the table, and Mom said, “Aiden, help me with the dishes. Rory, you should show Beckett your studio.”
“I’d love that,” Beckett said quickly.
I threw a glare at Mom so Beckett couldn’t see. Really? My studio was private. I’d shown Beckett the painting of us, but that had been a single piece. Showing him all of my work was like baring a part of myself to him that hardly anyone knew.
Mom painted a smile on her lips. “You two go up; we’ll take care of the cleanup.”
Right in front of my mom and my brother, Beckett took my hand and stepped so he was inches from me. “I’d like to see it.”
How could I say no with him overwhelming my senses in every single way?
“Let’s go,” I breathed.
We walked toward the stairs, and I started up first, acutely aware of the view Beckett had from behind me. I tried not to be too self-conscious, but I still kept my gaze forward as I walked past my room toward the studio.
Beckett’s footsteps went silent behind me, and I turned to see him stalled by my bedroom, looking at the pictures on the door.
I had it decorated with my name and a long strip of pink fabric that had clothespins holding photos.
His fingers brushed the corners of one I’d taken with Anna.
“I read chapter books with her,” I said. “To help with her dyslexia.”
He glanced up from the photo. “I know.”
My eyebrows came together. “What do you mean?”
“I had Anna for Christmas Pairs last year.”
Every year, a high school student paired with a grade schooler and spent the day with them, reading, playing games in the gym, and watching a movie with the rest of the school.
“That’s right,” I said. I’d almost forgotten he’d been partnered with her.
His lips turned up at the corners. “What do you mean ‘that’s right’?”
Busted. “Um.” My cheeks reddened as I stared at the floor. “I meant, that’s right, we-uh-have partners.”
His finger brushed under my chin, turning my gaze toward him. “You’re a terrible liar.”
I laughed. “Well, it’s not fair. You were way too adorable with her.”
“Yeah, except for when she wouldn’t stop talking about how her tutor makes the cute voices and acts out the story! I couldn’t compete with that.”
My smile grew wider with each word.
He brushed my forearm and trailed his fingers to link with mine before turning back to the pictures. There was one of me and Aiden together, before a cross-country meet, before I’d started wearing makeup and dressing in clothes that actually fit me.
“This is a pretty one of you,” he said.
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. “Are we looking at the same picture?”
“What are you trying to say?” he asked. His fingers left the photo, and he tugged me closer. When he was just inches away, the heat from his body radiating toward me, it was impossible to think.
I pressed my lips together, wanting nothing more than him to still my words with his kiss. But he was waiting, watching. “I—that’s not a good picture of me,” I finished lamely.
He brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped my braid, the tips of his fingers trailing over my cheek and leaving a path of sparks. “I disagree.”
He was tall enough I had to look up at him, and man, I could have taken in this sight all day. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a bad angle.”
He smiled and feathered his lips over my cheek. “Neither do you.” He laced his fingers through mine. “Now, show me your studio.”
“Okay,” I said softly and led him farther down the hall, my hand in his. I did my best to breathe and pretend that I had myself together, but the butterflies tickling my insides didn’t help the breathing problem.
As we neared the door to my studio, the splash of soft watercolors on a stretched canvas came into view. It hung from an ornamental hook on the door with the words “Rory’s Studio” written in black