Darksoul (7 page)

I groaned and
tried to smooth down my hair, sparing a quick glance at Slade—Hunter—through the mirror. He was at the front speaking to old Marco, who looked delighted to have him over, as if he’d known him from before. Picking off the tiny piece of chocolate off my chin, I watched the guy, tilting my head to the side. Ignore his mouth. Ignore the fact that he couldn’t go two minutes without getting under my skin.

But Hunter was…damn. He was a sight to behold. The blonde hair, those grayish eyes, that perfect, chiseled jawline. Like Ash, he was more than good-looking. Not beautiful
, because he wasn’t. If anything, it was a hard, icy beauty, something that I’d love to photograph and pin in my collage. Maybe, in the distant future, when he and I became friends—really, he looked like he’d be an awesome friend, if he’d take the pole out of his ass—I could ask him to let me take a picture of him. That truly was a face worthy of the lens.

I finished fixing myself up and, taking out a bobby pin from my back pocket, pushed
my bangs back and pinned them in place. My eyes drifted to him and latched onto his hair. Tousled. Unkempt. Such a light blonde that it almost looked white…

No.

It almost looked…silver.

Right at that moment, a tuft of light kissed my nose, and I jumped back.
It winked out of sight, fluttered across my neck and caressed my cheek. I reached up to slap it away. Nothing. Frowning, I glanced at Hunter’s reflection, only to pause when I saw that he was already looking at me. After holding my gaze for a moment too long, he turned away as if to hide a smile.

Yeah. Okay. To each their damn own.

And then I saw him.

Through the storefront window, I had a complete view of the street, the sidewalks, and everything in between. Shay’s Shakes stood in front of Marco’s, and when I saw who walked out of
its doors, hand-in-hand with a tall, slender beauty, I stopped on my tracks.

Ash. None other than damn Ash.

Like an idiot, I ducked in the aisle and watched them over a paintbrush display. They both held milkshakes and were laughing at something, though Ash was watching her laugh more than he was laughing himself. His eyes were warm. Soft. Something inside me broke.
A lung,
I thought, tightening my mouth. Nothing more.

Grudgingly, I inspected her. Wit
h long, dark hair and a model-like frame, she looked as if she would be from Korea or Vietnam. Her almond-shaped eyes were outlined with liquid kohl. Lots of blush, a light sweep of lip gloss, and tight clothes. She had a bombshell body, so her outfit was a total win. Her make-up looked a little caked on. The only imperfection. She was still gorgeous.

I didn’t understand. I’d seen him. I’d sworn he was that boy. And yet he was sitting here as if nothing—
No. I should forget that. Right now, I was a girl with mundane problems. Like an unrequited crush. It was perfect. It helped me get it off my mind, whatever the hell happened thirty minutes ago.

And then I realized.

My bike. My damn bike. It was across the street, locked to the pole that stood in front of the bench. The damn bench. The damn bench Pretty Asian Girl pointed to. The damn bench Ash and P-A-G proceeded to sit on, still holding hands.

Someone please kill me now.

Nerves standing on end, I walked down the aisle, keeping an eye on them through the window. Ash didn’t notice my bike. In fact, he was looking at her, and only at her. Good. And not so good. He wouldn’t know I was nearby. But he also seemed to be engrossed in what she was saying, and that was more than enough to break my other lung. Tear it apart. Rip it to shreds—
“She’s quite attractive,” a cool voice said behind me.

Right at that moment, something whispered,
He likes you.

I turned toward
Hunter, stiff. “What?” What?

He
came to stand beside me, propping his elbows on the low aisle. The side of his tattooed arm was level with my eyes. “I’m assuming the object of interest is across the street, if the way you keep blushing and looking at them is any indication.”

“I’m not blushing
.”

A slow sideways glance. I was getting
real
tired of those. “Mmm,” he murmured. “Look in the mirror. You’ll see otherwise.”

“Shut up.”

He regarded them through hooded eyes. “You can’t blame him, though. She’s hot.”

Again
. He likes you, silly.

“Unlike me,” I said, feeling annoyed all of a sudden. “Thank you, Slade. Moving the hell on.”

“So you like him.”

“Oh, you couldn’t tell? I thought my tomato-potato face was more than enou
gh evidence.”

“It
is, but it’s always fun to see girls getting flustered and shit. Gives me little thrills.”

“Thanks for the information. I’ll try to be a straight-faced bitch from now on.” I crossed my arms and grumbled, “No thrills for you.”

Faint amusement tugged up one corner of his lips. It was a nice thing to see him almost smile, but I couldn’t linger on it for too long. Feeling my spirits plummet, I watched Ash and his girl, my hands clenching at my sides. The friend zone was a real thing. And I was eternally stuck in it.

“Before I forget,” said Hunter. “Here.”

Blinking, I turned.

“I use
these for most of my paintings,” he said, holding up two paintbrushes and a box of pastels. “And these pastels are great. Blend easily. If you break them in half—which you seem to be a pro at—you can crush one of the parts, add water, and turn that into watercolor.” He handed them to me and then reached for something on the shelf. “Let’s see…For this project, some rives paper would be fine, I think—”

“You sound like
an old artist or something,” I said, and then deepened my voice, pairing it with a silly French accent. “‘Let’s see…some rives paper would be—’”

“Do you want my help or not?”

“I don’t need your help.” Lie. “You’re not the expert.” Also a lie.

He
continued searching the paper stacks. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

I couldn’t not believe him. His awesomeness with the paintbrush was undeniable. “So…why are you taking a beginner’s class, then?”

A pause. Then: “Because I thought it’d be fun.”

“You
keep getting funnier by the second. Really. You sit in the back giving everyone the stink eye—or the expressionless eye, if we’re talking about you—and you expect me to believe that you think it’s fun? Right. And I’m secretly a man-eating carrot.”

“And as always, Hazel, you misinterpret shit.” He rolled up the paper and handed it to me, meeting my eyes with
steady gray orbs. “I said I took it because I thought it’d be fun. Do I think it’s fun now?”

“Yeah.” I raised my eyebrows
. “Do you think it’s fun now?”

He stared down at me, his lips
set in an unreadable line.

“Are you enjoying the class?” I
said, getting the feeling that this whole conversation was grating on his nerves. Oh, the joy. “Would you recommend this course for another student, young man? Why don’t you tell Betsy all about it, now.”

“If Betsy would shut the fuck up, then maybe.”

“Aaaand there we have it, folks. He hates it. Which is just ridiculous, because with the unbelievable amount of talent he has in his bastardly right hand, he could’ve gotten into the Advanced Placement course, or better yet, applied to take a super exclusive art class at the university. Can we say missed opportunity? Or should we call it…stupidity?”

It was at thi
s point that I realized it’d be impossible to get a rise out of him. In the depths of the depths of his eyes I could see that I’d gotten on his nerves—and, boy, did that have me bouncing on my toes—but his facial expression remained even, and when he spoke again, his voice was cool and impassive.

“I’m left-handed,” he said.

Before I could respond, he shoved past me, nearly making my stuff fall out of my arms.

I stood there, feeling reasonably surprised. Left-handed. Like Ash? I mean, I had no problem with left-handedness, but really? Two idiots on my turf, and they both turned out to be lefties?

Kind of impossible. Kind of adorable. Kind of cool, in a weird way.

I
looked out the window and was relieved when I saw that Ash and his girl were gone. I wasn’t in the mood to put on my girl-best-friend act—the one where I teased him about being an idiot when all I wanted to do was do something dirty to that mouth of his.

Hunter came back with two empty bags and
one that contained a box of charcoal and some fancy ink pens. Without a word, he grabbed my stuff and bagged them, then held them out to me.

“What?” I scrunched up my eyebrows, but took them
anyway. “We can’t leave. I have to pay.”

“I already paid.”

That made me stop on my tracks. Then, after a moment, a slow smile spread across my face. “Oh, man. Your niceness levels today are
completely
off the charts.”

“Enjoy it. It’s not going to last.”

Ha. “Admit it,” I said, and nudged him
with the end of the rolled paper. “
You
want to be friends with me.”

“That’s the funniest and possibly stupidest conclusion I’ve ever heard.”

“You”—and I nudged him again, following him to the door—“you
like
me. Admit it. You, Hunter Slade, Mr. I-carry-Butterfingers-around-even-though-I-hate-them—you
like
me.”

“Cocky little mouse. I made it crystal clear. Your A-c
ups aren’t enough. Even if they were C-cups they wouldn’t be enough. Do you know what a hairbrush is? I’m sure that’s a word foreign to you. And—”

“Shut up. I don’t mean it like that.” I bit
back a smile as we crossed the street. “I mean that you like me. As—wait for it—a
person
.”

“Well, yes. Yes, indeed. You’re a person.”

“Stop fighting it. We were paired up for a reason. This, you, us—our friendship—the angels wanted it to be. Don’t fight it,” I repeated, attaining a mellow tone. “Go with the flow.”

Once again, he looked as if he were trying not to smile. “You’re—really something.”

“Arigato.”

“That reminds me.”

“Sounds awfully like pink hair. And yes.” As I reached my bike and unlocked it from the pole, I gave him a solemn look. “Your application’s been accepted and is currently under review.”

“Ah.”

“There’s a point system, you should know. Right now, you’re at plus twelve.”

“Twelve,” he echoed.

“You act like a twelve-year-old,” I said. “Generous, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“That’s minus five points.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Minus two.” I smiled sweetly. “Keep going, and you might just roll into the negatives in your first day.”

“I’ll try to keep my mouth shut,” he promised, reaching into his back pocket and taking out a cigarette. When he saw me staring at him, he said, “What?”

I held back the urge to rip it away from him.
“I’m trying to decide whether I should deduct five hundred points or crumple your application and shove it up your ass. You’re not coming anywhere near my Sumi with your damn secondhand smoke. I forgot to mention that.”

He ducked his head to
light up. “Oh?”

“I hope your hair catches on fire. And yes,
oh
.” I stuffed my art supplies into my bag and zipped it shut. “I don’t want her to be with you if that means she would get lung cancer or something. You can go ahead and die alone, and leave my Sumi as she is.”

Looking unimpressed by my cancer-threat, he let out a puff of smoke.
I was about to add something to my oh-so-clever rant when a puppy ran up to him and, letting out a happy bark, got up on its hind legs, pressed its paws against his jeans. Its tail wagged wildly from side to side and it woofed again. Hunter stared down at it. I could’ve sworn his cool eyes softened.

“Cooper!”
A middle-aged lady ran up, but stopped on her tracks when she saw who her pet was getting chummy with. “Oh…I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes lingering on Hunter’s cigarette, on his tattoos. She tried to smile at him. “Boy’s a little rowdy, that’s all. I’ll go ahead and…”

She
bended down to get the little dog, but it was practically hugging Hunter’s leg. Ever so lazily, he leaned down, picked it up with, I noticed, the gentleness that teddy bears were made of, and held it out to her.

“Yes, thank you.” She gave us a tight smile and turned to go.
Halfway down the sidewalk, she brushed off the puppy, as if she thought Hunter had dirtied it.

“So,” I said, turning back
to him with a barely-suppressed smile. “Animal lover?”

“No.”

“Right,” I said, climbing onto my bike. “So, anyway. I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”