The Finished Masterpiece Boxed Set - Pepper Winters Page 0,73

Ms Tallup sent pins and needles racing into my fists. It would feel so nice to hurt her like she was hurting my future.

“Why are you doing this?” I did my best to speak normally, but it came out like a snarl.

Her eyebrows shot into her mousy hairline. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m merely a concerned—”

“You’re not. You want something. Something from me.”

How the fuck didn’t I see it before?

The thought was a lightning bolt. Hot and scary and lethal as hell. My head cocked, staying arrogant but quickly sliding into terror. “Tell me. What do you want?”

For the first time, a flicker of truth showed in her steely gaze. She wasn’t old—pushing mid-thirties—but a vindictive streak in her said she hated teenagers.

Especially me.

I’d never done anything to her. I was always punctual, polite, hard-working.

But no matter what I did, nothing was ever good enough.

“What makes you think I want something from you, Mr. Clark?”

I leaned toward her, not caring if anyone saw. “I don’t think. I know. Call it instinct.”

She cocked her head with a gleam in her gaze. “Well, your instincts are wrong.”

“They’re never wrong.”

Backing away, making it seem like she needed to put the marker back on the whiteboard, she said, “I’m merely advising you not to spend so much time chasing after Olin Moss. Now run along, Mr. Clark. Best behave yourself if you want to finish school sometime this century.”

I wanted to kill her.

Honest to God murder her with my bare hands around her evil throat.

Instead, I nodded, and with tightly leashed fury, muttered, “Thank you, Ms Tallup.”

It took everything I had to stalk from the classroom, bolt down the corridor, and suck in a breath as green grass and late afternoon sunshine welcomed me.

Olin.

I needed Olin.

I needed the one girl who made my world bearable even while making it that much harder.

Chapter Seventeen

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

“SO...” GIL SHOVED his hands into his jeans pockets as we stood beneath the faded stars outside his warehouse.

“So.” I licked my lips, smoothing down my skirt, very aware that I hadn’t rinsed off and a combination of him and me made my thighs sticky.

His face shadowed with night and emotional darkness. Only one street light existed this far down the warehouse precinct, and its light was futile at chasing back the gloom. The moon was no help, tucked into bed behind wispy clouds where only brave stars peeked from behind.

He sighed as if struggling with what to say.

How did we discuss what happened in there? How did we walk away?

I slung my handbag over my shoulder and leaped into conversation for him. “What just happened, Gil....It was—”

“A mistake.” He dragged a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know how I could let that happen.”

Temper heated me. “It wasn’t just you, you know.”

He glowered at the ground.

“And how dare you call it a mistake.” I tried to curb my frustration. “It was amazing. Exactly like I knew it would be between us. It—”

“Won’t happen again.”

My heart fell. I’d stupidly thought we’d gotten past whatever was keeping us apart. I’d hoped...

I’d stupidly hoped things would magically fix themselves just because we had sex.

I’m an idiot.

“We can discuss this another day.” I shrugged, wincing as my hair tugged under my handbag strap. “When you’re not so...”

His gaze met mine, narrowed and guarded. “Not so drunk?”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up, but yes. You’re drunk and dealing with things that you refuse to tell me.” I crossed my arms. “You asked me to be your canvas tonight, but instead of finding a professional painter, I found you intoxicated.”

“You were late.”

My chin flew up. “You were somewhere else.”

“How the fuck do you know where I’ve been?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning under his breath. “Sorry. I just...shit.” He shook his head as if doing his best to dispel the tainting liquor.

“Where have you been, Gil?” My question was as quiet as the silver moon peeking from the wisps. My gaze travelled to the paint splatter on his hands and the combination of grass and dirt on his clothes.

Maybe Justin was right to be worried about him. Maybe he needed more help than I could provide.

What made him turn to a bottle today?

Why didn’t he turn to me?

“Why were you drinking? You said you’d never be like—”

“Don’t.” He held up his hand. “Don’t ask questions I can’t answer.”

Guilt squeezed that I hadn’t been there for him. Hadn’t been able to find him sooner.

He wasn’t my responsibility. He’d knocked