So Much for Boundaries (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective Book 3)

by Brooke St. James

  So there I stood.

  Barely breathing.

  "This was the one she did in my office."

  "NFS," Theo said, noticing the plaque beside it that said it wasn't for sale. Even though he had only said three letters, his voice was recognizable because he spoke with a French accent.

  "I decided to keep it," Lane said. "I'll replace it once she paints something else that size to hang there."

  "Is this her, too?" Theo asked.

  "Yeah, these are some of hers from the last few weeks."

  "It's hard to believe these are the same person," Theo said.

  "I know. She says she wants to have a style, but I tell her not having a style is her style." A few seconds of silence passed before Lane added, "You can see certain common threads if you look hard enough."

  They were one hundred percent, no doubt referring to me, and my heart pounded out of control in my chest. I felt terrible about standing there listening to them but too petrified to do anything else.

  They were quiet for what seemed like a dad-blasted eternity. I could hear their footfall and knew they were nearby, but they didn’t speak. It was obvious that they were inspecting my art, and I was so nervous about Theo's opinion of it that I held my hands over my ears in the ready position in case I needed to close them with a split-second's notice.

  "You should be careful, Lane. Something about this girl's got you," Theo said.

  My insides started buzzing the second he said it, and I repeated the phrase about three more times in my head wondering what it meant.

  "I'm fine," Lane said.

  Bam, bam, bam, went my heart.

  Theo let out a laugh. "I don't know this time."

  "Rule number one is that I don't date the artists."

  "That's your own rule," Theo said.

  "You don't do it either."

  "Yeah, but that's my rule. And if I wanted to break it, I would."

  "Well, I don't," Lane said. "Rule number one is rule number one for a reason. It'd be a distraction for both of us if we let ourselves go there. It's already bad enough as it is." He let out a self-deprecating laugh. "I almost asked her to stay at my apartment when she first got to town. Can you imagine? A perfect stranger who had just rolled into town, and I came this close to giving her the key to my apartment. It's insane. It's like whatever she can do with a paintbrush, she can also do with me."

  I cringed, hoping they'd stop talking and walk away already. I felt sick at the thought of what they might say next.

  "I wonder if she can do it with all men, or if it's just a spell she's cast on you in particular," Theo said. He spoke distractedly as if he was still looking at art.

  "No," Lane said. "

  "No?" Theo asked, challengingly.

  "No," Lane repeated.

  "No, as in, she's off limits?"

  "It doesn't matter," Lane said. "Since you don't date the artists.

  "I don't, but I also said I'd break my own rules for the right person," Theo spoke with a smile, and accentuated his French accent, teasing Lane.

  I had to work to steady my breathing.

  "Just no," Lane said simply. There was a smile in his voice as well.

  "You're not gonna make it through two years."

  "Yes I am," Lane said. "I'm Lane, remember?"

  "I do remember, but I also remember you saying the phrase she's different about ten times in reference to this girl."

  "She is, obviously," Lane said. "I mean look at this stuff."

  "Yeah, but you don't just mean it about art," Theo said.

  "How do you know how I mean it?" Lane asked.

  Theo responded with a statement that was completely unexpected. "I think you should just go ahead and kiss her," he said.

  My heart felt like it jumped right out of my chest, grew cartoon legs, and started running around on the floor in front of me. All I could hear was the word kiss over and over again in my head. Had Theo just recommend that Lane kiss me? Was that what had just transpired here? I swallowed hard and clinched my fists, reminding myself not to make a sound.

  "You're out of your mind," Lane said.

  "You should," Theo said. I heard a few slapping sounds, and I assumed he was clapping a hand on Lane's back. "You're not going to think straight until you… I'm just saying that maybe you should get it out of your system."

  "What did they do to you in Brazil?" Lane asked.

  "They taught me JiuJitsu."

  "Is JiuJitsu the sport where you make terrible professional decisions?" Lane asked.

  He had apparently been joking because the men both laughed.

  "I'm glad it worked out with her being able to take Lu's room," Theo said in a tone that sounded like he wanted to wrap it up, thank goodness. "She's got an interesting story. I'm glad we could help her."

  "Me too," Lane said. "I can't wait for you to meet her."

  They continued to talk as they were walking away, but within seconds, I could no longer hear their conversation. I waited there until I was certain that they had disappeared.

  I made my way to the stairs, breathing a sigh of relief when I finally got to the other side of the door. Two guys (other artists who I had seen around) were coming down the stairs, and I stepped to the side so they could go around me. We all smiled but didn't say anything to each other.

  I walked up the stairs, trying to piece together the conversation I had just overheard. I wasn't sure whether to be honored or offended, honestly. I somehow felt smitten and heartbroken at the same time. It made me happy to know that Lane was at least tempted by me, but at the same time, it was hard to hear how easy he thought it would be to ignore any feelings. I sighed as I started up the stairs.

  I reminded myself as I walked to concentrate on the positive—concentrate on the fact that I had a brand-new, freshly painted room waiting for me right there in the heart of New York City. I had free room and board and, for the next two years, I would constantly be surrounded by talented artists.

  I did my best to think of such things in order to shake Lane Alexander from my thoughts. It was difficult because he was everything I wanted in a man, and knowing I had the tiniest crack in his resolve, made me have thoughts of throwing myself at him. I had to make a conscious choice to put it out of my head.

  I slid my headphones over my ears and listened to loud music as I went to work unpacking and setting up my room. For the next three hours, I worked. I had already purchased and washed a set of twin sheets, and I got them on my bed along with the comforter I had just bought that morning.

  One of my first investments for the room was several strings of lights, which I hung from the ceiling with a ladder. Carol introduced me to Luis, the handyman, who helped me with my light-hanging project, and by the time we were done, my room felt like a little slice of paradise. I plopped onto the bed, feeling clean and fresh as I stared at my newly hung white lights.

  I was sprawled out when there came a couple of knocks on my door just before I heard a man's voice. "Oh wow," he said.

  My door was open a crack, and I sat up on the edge of the bed, looking at Lane, who was peering in from the hallway.

  "Hey," I said.

  Lane knew by my smile that I was inviting him in, so he pushed the door open. "You have it all fixed up in here," he said, taking in the ceiling as he came to stand inside. I couldn't help but notice that he let the door close behind him rather than leaving it open.

  "Thank you for painting," I said. "It looks amazing."

  "It'll be even better once you start making art in it."

  "I can't wait," I said. "I'm already trying to imagine where I'm gonna put everything. I'll probably work by the window. I'm sure I'll set up over there"

  "That's what I wanted to come talk to you about. Well, two things, actually."

  "What?"

  "One is your workspace. I have something for you. And the second is that Theo's in town. He's downstairs and wants to meet you. I can bring him up, or you could come down."

  "I
'd love to meet him," I said. "If he came up here, would he be mad about the lights?"

  "No." Lane smiled. "You should see Marie Adair's room."

  "Okay, well, whatever y'all want."

  "It's probably easier for you to just come down," he said. "But you don't need to be in a hurry."

  "What was the other thing you were talking about?"

  "What'd I say?"

  "Something about my workspace."

  "Oh, an easel," he said. "One of them got delivered for you today. It's downstairs at the desk. They don't bring packages up if they're too big."

  "Where'd that come from? I didn't order an easel. I was planning on getting one when I—"

  "I got it for you," he said, cutting me off. "You didn't have one, and that's something you'll really use. As far as everyone down there is concerned, you ordered it for yourself. It's an antique, so don't be surprised when it comes out looking old. I wouldn't have even told you I did it, but I figured you'd ask questions."

  "You can't do that."

  "I already did. It's downstairs. I would have brought it up, but nobody really expects me to pay attention to the packages."

  Lane was standing in the middle of my room by then, and I found it almost impossible to stop myself from hugging him. Not only for the sweet gesture of buying me an easel, but also just because I wanted to. He had broad shoulders and big arms, and I wanted to know what they felt like wrapped around me. I stood up, inching closer to him casually.

  "Did you ever buy anyone an easel before?"

  "No," he said adjusting his stance to put a hand in his pocket, "but no one's ever come without one—no painter, at least."

  "But, if some other painter had moved in without an easel…" I trailed off with a smile, waiting for him to continue.

  "I probably wouldn't have even noticed," he answered, smiling back at me.

  Chapter 10

  I wanted to tell Lane I knew he had feelings for me, and that I had them for him, too. I wanted to say it was going to be really hard for me to ignore my attraction to him, but I didn't. I just stood there, looking speechless.

  The door to my room was closed, but I kept thinking someone would come looking for one of us and walk right in. We weren't touching each other, but it was as if I was breaking some rules just by the way I felt toward him.

  "What do I say when I go down there to get it?" I asked, talking about the easel.

  "Just tell Lu, or whoever's at the desk, that you're expecting a package. If there's nobody sitting there, you can pick it up yourself. You'll see it. Nobody's gonna bother you about it."

  "Why'd you do it?" I asked.

  "Maybe I just wanted my easel to be in your little Netflix documentary."

  I giggled. "You did not."

  "I'm in your corner, Zoe," he said. "I know what a gift you have, and it's fun for me to think about being one of the ones to discover it."

  "The one," I said. "The only one so far."

  "Not the only one," he said. "One of your paintings sold already."

  "Seriously? Which one?" I asked excitedly.

  He smiled at my enthusiasm. "The kitchen knives."

  "For real?"

  He nodded. "You'll see your commission from it on your first gallery check. Lu said the same guy said he'd probably be back for the one of the pig to go with it."

  "I hadn't imagined those two paintings going together, but it's cool that he liked them both."

  "He's a repeat customer of ours—a collector. Lu said he was interested at the robot right off the bat."

  "Did he buy it?" I asked since Lane didn’t know I knew he was officially keeping it for himself.

  "No, because it's not for sale. I decided to keep it. I'll get with you about paying you for it."

  "Please don't do that," I said. "You already gave me money I didn't want for the watercolor, and you bought me an easel."

  "You're gonna like that easel." He smiled and stretched his back. "But I'm still paying you for the robot."

  My heart was pounding at the way Lane looked at me. It wasn't like he was making smoochy faces or hinting in some other type of way. He was just wearing a normal expression. But even still, we shared something. I knew he was thinking about me in some way, and I kept wishing it was that he was about to kiss me.

  "Thank you, Lane, for being on my side with all this," I said. "Thank you for everything."

  "You're welcome," he said.

  We were only a few feet apart, standing in my brand new, freshly painted room with beautiful lights strung overhead. It was a perfect moment. That's why I couldn't stop the next words out of my mouth. We were staring at each other when I said, "I think you should just do it." (Of course, I was referring to kissing me even though I had no idea if that's what he was thinking.)

  "What do you think I should do?" he asked.

  "Whatever you're thinking about," I said, praying that was vague enough while still leaving him an open door.

  "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I was thinking."

  "I bet I would," I said. And then, because that's just how desperate I was to make it happen, I looked away and mumbled, "…just get it out of our system…"

  "What?" he asked.

  I turned to look at him with a little smile. "Nothing."

  "What'd you say?"

  "I said you should go ahead and do whatever it is you're thinking about doing."

  "You said something else after that."

  "No, I didn't."

  "You did."

  "It was nothing," I said, glancing down shyly.

  He stepped toward me and used the side of his finger to tilt up my chin. "We can't do this, Zoe."

  "Okay," I said.

  "We have to maintain professional boundaries."

  "I know. I understand." My voice came out more vulnerable and disappointed than I intended, so I smiled at him. "I know," I repeated, in a more upbeat way.

  He held his hands out, palms up, and stared at them as if he was confused. He flexed his fingers as if testing his grip. "It's amazing what happens to me," he said. His eyes met mine, and his expression reflected that he was still perplexed. "It's almost physically impossible for me to keep myself from reaching out to touch you right now," he said. "Something comes over me when I'm next to you. It's like there's magnets in my hands. I actually have to fight against it."

  I smiled with the utmost sense of relief that he was feeling just like me. I stuck my fingertips out and wiggled them in the air between us. "I feel a little magnet-y too. Is it at all possible that this could happen today, and then we can just pretend it didn't and go about our lives?" What in the world was wrong with me? I was flat out, shamelessly asking him to kiss me.

  "Could what possibly happen today?" he asked.

  We were standing close enough for me to show him rather than tell him, but I felt shy about being so direct. I had never felt this way about a man before, and it was making me say and do things I would've never normally said or done.

  "Could we just let this happen right now, and then go back to the professional boundaries?"

  "I don't know," he said. "Could we?"

  "I wish."

  He took a step closer, looking down at me like he was at the very edge of losing his self-control. He scanned every inch of my face and I did the same to him, thinking he could play Superman in a movie and desperately wanting him to take me into his arms and kiss me already. Both of us struggled to regulate our breathing, which was apparent by the rapid rise and fall of our chests.

  "I know I can pretend it never happened," I said, searching for any magical combination of words that would draw his lips to mine.

  "Thanks," he said sarcastically.

  I smiled. "I didn't mean it would be easy to pretend it, I just meant that I would. I know I can."

  "I can't believe I'm even thinking about doing this," he said. "The thing is, I knew what I was getting into when I came up here."

  "I know. You closed the door," I teased.
/>   He smiled and glanced at it before looking at me again. "I did, didn't I?"

  "And you bought me an easel," I said.

  "That had nothing to do with this."

  "What did it have to do with, then?"

  He studied me. "I don't know. Maybe it did. But it can't. We really can't. It would interfere with my focus and your eligibility, and we can't do that. You need to be here."

  "I know," I whispered. "But I also know it's possible for us to just let it happen once and forget about it."

  "I'm just warning you that that's the last time you have to say something like that. The next time, you even hint at it, I'm going to—"

  "Yes," I whispered. "Do it. Permission granted. How else can I—"

  And it happened.

  Lane stepped forward, and in one smooth ducking motion, he bent and touched his lips to mine. He put his hand around my back, drawing me gently toward him. I needed no such encouragement because the instant he leaned in, I stretched up to meet him. I was shaking, and he put his other hand around the back of my head to steady me.

  Once, twice, and then three times, Lane's lips touched mine, each time lingering a little longer. They were soft and warm, and a wave of anticipation washed over me each time we made contact. Lane licked his lips and then put them on mine again, this time letting stay there for several long seconds.

  An uncontrollable whimper left my throat at the sensations that rushed through me, and when the noise happened, Lane deepened the kiss. I didn't expect him to do that, but he did, and I responded by kissing him back eagerly. I wrapped my hands around the back of his head, letting my fingertips slide through his hair. I don't even know how long we stood there—it was at least a minute. He kissed me and I kissed him back. We kissed each other like we had nothing to lose… like it was the last time we'd ever kiss each other, which was probably the truth.

  "Okay," he said, breaking the kiss.

  "Okay, that's—"

  (Another peck on the lips, initiated by Lane.)

  "Okay, that's it," he said, pulling back. Then he did it again. "One more," he said.