Anything Between Us (Starving Artists Book 3)

by Mila Ferrera

  “Obviously, Nate is still learning how to speak to civilians,” Daniel says dryly. “Especially pretty ones. I’m trying to support his reintegration into society.”

  Nate’s jaw clenches.

  “Well, thank you for your service and welcome home,” I say, as breezily as I can manage, even though what I wanted to hear was that Nate would be headed back to Fort Wherever in a few days, which is far, far away from here. I turn to head back into my studio. “It was nice to meet you, Nate. I’d better get back to work.”

  Daniel grabs Nate by the shoulders and playfully yanks him into his studio. I duck into my own stall and out of sight, then I plop to the floor and cover my mouth to stifle the idiotic, helpless laugh trying to force its way from my throat.

  There’s a reason I drive all the way to Grand Rapids for my once-a-year flings—they’re totally separate from my life. For that one night, I’m someone else. An anonymous, horny girl in search of a dirty, hard fuck. It might not be enough, but it’s all I give myself. And the beauty of it? It’s a clean getaway, and that night and the rest of my life do not overlap.

  Until now.

  Except as stunned as he looked, Nate seemed to realize that what happened is nobody else’s business. He looked as gobsmacked as I felt, but he didn’t say anything stupid. Not about what happened between us, anyway. Hopefully he and Daniel won’t be laughing about it later, though I guess I should brace for that. The last thing I need is to become a chew toy for the gossips in this town.

  I go quiet and listen to see if I can make out the conversation coming from Daniel’s stall, my ears pricked for my own name.

  “—and this one’s going to be a danish floating along in a blood vessel along with the other red blood cells,” Daniel is saying.

  “Hmmm,” Nate replies.

  Daniel groans. “What? You don’t think it’s good?”

  “No, it’s great,” Nate says. “But if it’s going to hang on the wall of a bakery, are you sure you want to evoke thoughts of clogged arteries? Doesn’t seem great for business.”

  I snort, and then clap my hand over my mouth again as I hear Daniel, sounding somewhat deflated, reply, “I see your point.”

  “How about flying saucers?” Nate suggests. “The danish could be participating in a planetary invasion of deliciousness.”

  “That’ll work!” crows Daniel, sounding more like his usual cheerful self.

  I smile as I listen to the two brothers discuss the rest of Daniel’s works-in-progress. It’s not only kind of adorable; it’s also a huge relief. Nate is acting normal. Crisis averted.

  Except now I’m thinking about him. My fingers drift up to the spot on the ridge of my shoulder where his teeth left their marks. That wild feeling, that crazy painful pleasure, was what sent me over the edge. I don’t know if he realized or noticed that he made me come. I don’t know if he even cared; at that point he was so close himself. I close my eyes at the forceful memory of him pulsing inside me and the low, desperate sound he made.

  And then the slow, lingering way he kissed me before lowering me to the floor. The way he steadied me. The way he stroked his fingers down my cheek and leaned his forehead against mine. I had a feeling he was about to ask for my name and number, and if he had, I probably would have offered him both.

  Instead, I bolted out of there before he could say anything at all, leaving him to clean himself up as I ducked out the back. Lee, the bartender last night who also happens to own the place, is the only one who knows about my annual custom. His only demand is that I make sure he knows if anyone plays too rough so he can kick the guy’s ass and permanently ban him from the bar. He’s never let me down or given me away. Sometimes it pays to be really nice to the unpopular kids in high school, even if your only goal is to simply be a decent human.

  Trying to pull my thoughts away from last night, I get up and wander over to Nora’s space. It’s always interesting when a new artist moves in. “How’s the set up going?” I ask her.

  She heaves a box up onto her card table. “I have to build a chair now. Why didn’t I buy something preassembled? I’m good with my hands, I thought. It’s cheaper, I thought.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes I’m an idiot.”

  “Need some help?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” She leans out of her stall and peeks over to Daniel’s, where he and Nate are still deep in conversation. “No one told me this place was stocked with absolute hotties,” she whispers, drawing back with her green eyes wide. “Dear Lord, how do you concentrate?”

  “Most of them are already taken,” I tell her, though I’m thinking Nate isn’t. But for some reason, I don’t feel like splitting that hair.

  She bites her lip. “I guess that’s probably better. Professionalism and all that. Productivity.”

  “That’s pretty much my philosophy.” I gesture at the box containing her new chair. “Good luck with that. And welcome.”

  I scoot back to my own stall—I need to pack up two more boxes of mugs and teapots to take over to the boutique before I head home to Dad. The shop is only half a mile away at most, but given how long each of these pieces took to make and how much Yelena is paying for each, I’m packing each like a precious heirloom. Forcing myself not to eavesdrop on Daniel and Nate yet again, I insert my ear buds, pull up my Ani DiFranco playlist, and crank the volume until I can’t hear anything but her. I use my packaging tape to assemble two boxes, and then I wrap each piece in thick paper and bubble wrap before carefully loading them one by one into a box. It’s mindless but absorbing, especially as I mentally tally what Yelena’s going to pay me.

  When I finally finish, I silence my tunes and stand up, stretching. I’m sore in places I didn’t even know I could be, but that’s not from packing my artwork into boxes. It’s from having my legs wrapped around Nate’s lean hips, my arms wrapped around his muscular shoulders, every part of me alive with tension and need.

  Movement in my periphery catches my eye, and I see that Caleb has arrived with Romy and Stella. They’re chatting with Nora, making introductions. I watch them for a moment before they see me—Caleb has that lanky build I love on a guy, with his long hair pulled back as usual. Romy and Stella are so different: Romy’s tiny and wears her hair in a pixie cut, but she has this wise, gentle aura that makes you want to tell her all your secrets. Stella’s willowy and tall, but she also seems younger, a little less certain of herself. She’s a sweetheart, though, always thinking about what would make others happy. I mentioned that I liked shortbread a few months ago and the next day she left a plate of cookies in my studio, iced with adorable pastel flowers. I had to force myself to save a few to take home to Dad.

  I grin and wave as they finish talking with Nora. Though Romy sometimes paints in Caleb’s studio, neither she nor Stella are professional artists. However, both hang out here more than some of the folks who rent stalls in this space, which is fine because I also like them more than some of those folks.

  Romy gestures at my boxes. “Is this the big order for the boutique?”

  “Yep,” I say. “Hopefully they’ll sell. Otherwise I’m back to relying on craft fairs and Etsy.” And lots and lots of classes—teaching is easily half my income, but it’s not quite enough.

  “They’ll sell,” Stella says, tugging her long ponytail over her shoulder as she eyes the pieces still on my shelf. “I might buy one of them, if I can scrape together the cash.”

  “You can buy directly from me, silly,” I say. “I’d give you a big discount.”

  Stella shakes her head. “Yelena wants to see the pieces flying off her shelves.”

  She’s got a point there. “Maybe I should bribe all my friends and family to go there this week?” And that would total approximately five people, sadly.

  Caleb puts an arm around Romy’s shoulders. “You won’t have to.” He offers me a relaxed grin that he wears a lot more often now that he has Romy in his life. “These are perfect, Sasha. Not too easy, but not way out there. Accessible.”

/>   “Accessible,” I say, pondering my shelf. “Is that another word for cheesy and trite?”

  “They’re absolutely lovely,” Romy says, poking at Caleb’s side. “I already know what I’m getting my parents for Christmas.”

  “They’re high-end,” Stella says as Daniel and Nate join them outside my stall. “And fresh. People will feel like tastemakers when they take one home!”

  I laugh. Stella would know, I guess—her parents are one of the wealthiest couples in this town. “That’s sweet. I’ll be happy if a few people think they’re pretty enough to pay for.” I’ve sold some larger pieces at shows and done a few commissions, and I sell on Etsy and monthly craft fairs all over western Michigan, but I’ve never had a line in an actual store. This could be the key to a steady income—and could give me the credibility to sell to other boutiques. Truth be told, I’m pretty nervous about it, but it’s something I try to keep to myself. “I guess I’d better load these into my car.”

  “I can help you,” Nate says. He’s been standing behind the rest of the group, but now he steps forward. “If you want.”

  He’s got his hands in his pockets and looks a lot less dazed and confused than he did earlier. Looking directly into those blue eyes sends a shiver down my spine, so I tear my gaze away. Caleb and Daniel have paired off with their lady friends, maybe to make plans for later, so Nate is my only volunteer. “Sure,” I say. “That would be great.”

  He offers to take the heavier box and approaches it with a somber expression. “How much is this stuff worth?”

  “The teapots in there will sell for somewhere between two-fifty to three-fifty each, depending on size.” I could barely believe it when Yelena told me how much she was going to charge. She takes a healthy cut of that, of course, but still.

  Nate takes a tiny step back. “And how many are in here?”

  “Maybe eight? There are mugs and a few bowls in there as well.”

  “So when I drop this on the stairs, it’ll cost me over three thousand to pay you back?” When he sees the look on my face, he laughs. “I’m kidding. I’ve got some experience hefting expensive gear. There will be no dropping of any kind.”

  He easily lifts the box and marches toward the stairs. I don’t miss how Nora’s gaze follows him, or how she leans a little out of her stall to get a good view of his ass in those jeans, not that I blame her. I hoist up my own box and follow, ignoring Nora’s raised eyebrows as I waddle past. Nate and I slowly descend the stairs, and he backs out the door and holds it open for me so I can exit the building. I lead him to my old Subaru, parked half a block down.

  Nate and I load the boxes into my trunk. As soon as I close it, he says, “So. You do recognize me, right?”

  I blink up at him. “What are you talking about?”

  His mouth opens, then closes. I almost laugh at the look on his face. “Of course I do, Nate.”

  “That was awkward.”

  “You covered it well.”

  He winces. “No, I didn’t.”

  “No, you definitely didn’t.”

  We both laugh. “I won’t tell anyone,” he says. “Not even Daniel. Especially not Daniel. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  The knot of tension in my chest loosens. “I appreciate that. Gossip spreads like wildfire in that place.” I wave at the co-op building. “I’ve already been propositioned by more than one guy who thinks buying one of my pieces should come with a little side action.”

  Nate’s eyes narrow. “You’re serious?” He looks up at the co-op like he wants to shoot out the windows or something.

  “It’s easy enough to handle. But if word got out that I …”

  “It stays between you and me.”

  I nod. He’s being so nice, and he’s so freaking cute. I can’t quite figure him out. In the last hour, I’ve seen him go from awkward to clever to sweet to dangerous. And now he’s back to looking sweet.

  “I don’t do that a lot,” I blurt out. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks about me. I shouldn’t care. But for some reason, I want him to know. “It’s only once a year.”

  His brows draw together like he’s been presented with an unsolvable math problem. “Once a year. Was it your birthday or something?”

  “Or something,” I say lamely. “It’s just … It’s a rare thing. Okay?”

  He nods, looking contemplative. “I get it. Once a summer, when there’s a full moon, I eat as many hotdogs as I can and then go skinny-dipping in the lake at the stroke of midnight. We all have our little customs.”

  “You really do that?”

  He gives me a crooked smile that tells me the answer. “I also don’t usually let nameless women take me into storerooms and screw me senseless.”

  Oh, now he’s got that dangerous look on his face again, and parts of me are going all melty. “Senseless, huh?”

  He rubs the back of his head. “My friends wanted to know what happened when I staggered back into the bar.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “That it turned out I reminded you of an old flame who died in a tragic accident, and instead of making out with me, you cried on my shoulder for fifteen solid minutes before I called you a Lyft and put you in it.”

  He obviously thinks this is going to make me laugh or earn my thanks, but when he sees the stricken look on my face, his grin falls away. “Oh, shit.”

  “No,” I say, waving the moment away and forcing a laugh. “No—that’s great! Did they believe you?”

  He shrugs. “They were pretty drunk. That bartender’s going to go out of business if he keeps handing out free liquor like that. Brent and Aidan might not remember much from last night at all.”

  Ah, Lee. Another strategy to protect me. I need to thank him, but it’s hard to face him more than once a year, and I think he knows that. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  Nate watches me closely as he says, “You know him, don’t you?”

  “We go way back.”

  His gaze is steady. “Does he know about your … custom?”

  I nod. Nate promised to keep the secret, and I actually think he will. He also doesn’t seem to be judging me for it. “Lee gets it. And he doesn’t want me to be hurt.”

  Nate nods like he approves. As much as I’ve heard about his older brother’s exploits with the ladies, I’m wondering if Nate is a different kind of animal. More old-fashioned, maybe—though nothing he did to me last night felt that way. “So that’s your thing,” he says after a moment of silence.

  I let out a quiet laugh. “I suppose so.”

  “Well, it’s something we have in common now.”

  He’s earned my smile, but I already feel the regret seeping in. “I guess?”

  “Do you have any other things? Because, you know, maybe it’s not the only thing we have in common.”

  I swallow hard. That awkwardness? It’s come roaring right back. I can’t do this. I can’t.

  “Do you have anything else you need carried down?” he asks when I go quiet.

  “I’m good.”

  He nods, watching me play with my keys.

  “I guess I better go,” I blurt out at the same time Nate says, “Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Oh.” He takes a step backward.

  “Listen. Nate. Last night was …” There are not enough words for what last night was, and looking at him right now is reminding me of his grip on my thighs, his ragged breath in my ear as he drove me wild. And worse—it makes me want to know him. “Last night was fun,” I finally say, wishing I didn’t sound like I just ran up a few flights of stairs.

  “Yeah,” he says. “It was fun. So I thought maybe we could—”

  “It was a one-time thing, okay?”

  His eyes shutter like the windows of a summer cottage, battening down against the winter. Now they’re flat, a cold kind of blue. Like his voice when he says, “Okay. I get it. I just thought there might have been something there.”


  The knot in my chest has turned to a dull, merciless ache. “No problem. And I hope your adjustment to civilian life goes swimmingly.” I say this in a bright and cheerful voice, the opposite of what I’m feeling inside. I can’t, I want to explain to him. I can’t get attached to you.

  Instead, I get into my car and drive away. When I glance in the rearview mirror, he’s already gone back inside.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nate

  I trudge up the stairs of the co-op, wondering what the hell just happened. It’s not that I believe Sasha had to be interested in me after our little against-the-wall encounter almost twenty-four hours ago—it was the way she looked at me a few minutes ago. Her smile was so warm, and her eyes slid over me in the same hungry way they did last night … right before she cut me off at the knees.

  When I reach the studio, four sets of eyes are on me. Daniel raises his eyebrows. “You asked her out, didn’t you?”

  I groan at the others’ looks of keen interest. “Do we have to do this now?”

  He laughs. “Hell yeah. What did she say?”

  “She said no,” Caleb says solemnly.

  “She said no,” I confirm.

  “She said no?” Nora blurts out, leaning out of her stall. When she sees all of us looking at her, her freckled cheeks flush and she puts her hands up. “Sorry. None of my business. I’m building a chair.” She disappears back into her stall.

  Romy looks up at Caleb. “How did you know she’d say no?”

  He shrugs. “Sasha turns everyone down.”

  “I wish someone had warned me,” I say, fiddling with a roll of wire left on the long table in the center of the space. If they had warned me, would that have stopped me? I’m not sure. All I could think as I was talking to her was that I didn’t want the conversation to end—until it became obvious that she couldn’t get out of there soon enough.