Page 82 of Wicked Design
Chapter Twenty-One
Clover stared at him and stepped back. “Since when?”
Van Gogh couldn’t blame her for not trusting him. He’d been a bigger tool than he’d thought or Tor had claimed, unaware of the awful things he’d done at the party and in the following weeks until she pointed them out. “I knew for sure I loved you when you got me the pimp shirt.”
She laughed and sobered quickly. “Dudes your age wear stuff like that all the time.”
“That would be popular guys. Not me. I’m imperfect as hell.” He held out his arms to show her, praying she still liked what she saw.
A woman passed. Her luggage-size shoulder bag whapped him.
Clover looked over and shouted, “Hey, be careful. You could have broken his arm. That would have cost you big bucks. He’s a famous artist.”
Even after he’d wounded her so deeply, she protected and praised him. His throat constricted. He smiled. “Thanks.”
Her features softened, but she kept her distance. “You haven’t worked on your paintings, have you?”
“Not recently. I’m going to start again as soon as your thing here is over.”
She frowned. “That’s two days from now.”
“I know. Alice gave me the brochure when I went to your place last night.”
“You were there? Why?”
“I called and sent a text. You didn’t answer. When I got there and banged on the door and you still didn’t answer, I worried the heat made you pass out.”
She put more distance between them and bumped into her table. “Why not call 911? EMTs are paid to take care of medical emergencies. They would have saved you the trouble.”
“Whatever concerns you isn’t any trouble. It’s important to me. I should have proven that to you before now.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “I went to your place last night to talk and fix things between us. The people from the party aren’t and will never be my posse. They didn’t unfriend me on Facebook. I did that to them and physically threw Zeke out of the parlor. When Peaches called, I told her to get her tats somewhere else. The others, too. They’ll never bother me again, thank God.”
Clover muttered beneath her breath.
“They won’t, and I did do that. I swear.”
“I’m not doubting it. What did those SOBs do? They better not have said anything mean about you or your work.”
God, he adored her. No guy deserved to be as lucky as he was, especially after he’d let her down repeatedly. “No one said anything insulting. They used me. On some level, I understood that from the beginning, but I also liked being included rather than kept on the outside.”
She slapped his arm. “What’s the matter with you? Those goons aren’t good enough to breathe the same air as you. You’re hotter than any of the other guys.”
He wasn’t, except to her. That’s all that counted. “I couldn’t care less if they think I’m a ghoul, but my work does matter. That’s why I was really stupid with them. It’s nice to have people gush over what you’ve poured your heart into.”
Her anger faded, replaced by weariness or sorrow. “Yeah, it is.” She touched her music jewelry. “I should get back to pushing my stuff.”
He couldn’t let her go. Not again. She hadn’t even acknowledged his feelings for her or said they might have a chance again. “Sure, but if you don’t mind me asking, how much have you sold today?”
“I had a couple of bites.” She waved her hand. “No takers yet.”
“Let’s change that. I’ll help.”
A man’s voice thundered from the sound system. “Xavier’s Uncommon Designs, table forty-five, is going BOGO during the next two hours.”
Van Gogh lifted his shoulders. “BOGO?”
“Buy one get one free.”
“Good idea. Have they announced your sale, giveaway, contest, or whatever you’re doing yet?”
