Page 79 of Wicked Design
“My jewelry.” She offered a business card.
Ignoring it, the woman trudged away.
A life sentence in Sing Sing would be better than this. Clover had blisters from her high heels, pain pounded in her temples, her stomach rumbled for food she couldn’t afford, and her precious designs didn’t impress anyone. An empty drink cup and soiled napkin littered her table.
She’d had her back turned for only a few seconds. After tossing the stuff in her trashcan, she returned to the aisle for more abuse.
A thirtysomething guy barreled forward and bumped her shoulder.
“Hi to you, too.” She turned to give him the finger.
Past him, Van Gogh stopped dead.
Clover’s hand fell.
The voice boomed. “Stomkowski’s Crystal Wear, table…”
Her ears buzzed, and her legs weakened.
Van Gogh strode to her, his height and build so impressive people stepped aside to let him pass. He didn’t look at them, his attention on her alone, his smile tender.
She didn’t understand and instinctively expected Peaches, Trinity, and the rest to show up, too, guessing they had business here. Jewelry to buy for their next bash, along with regular people to annoy or disregard.
They weren’t around.
Van Gogh stopped close enough for Clover to touch him.
She wanted to but feared new hurt, her indecision making her nuts.
At her lengthening silence, his smile faded. “Hey.”
His voice sounded deeper and softer than she recalled, reminding her how much she missed hearing him.
He’d left her voicemails she hadn’t listened to, afraid she’d cry if she did. She’d refused to read his last text, not interested in whatever he wrote about his new friends. She didn’t want to send him a text, either, and admit how badly she failed at selling her stuff. More importantly, how lonely she was.
Every time she’d bared her feelings to him in the past, he hadn’t had time to listen. His important buddies had texted or called. Peaches demanding something. Trinity in a snit. Shell whining with a right that said the world revolved around her alone.
Clover couldn’t take that any longer. She didn’t want to be special to everyone on planet Earth. Only him.
She cupped his face and kissed him gently, unable to resist. His clean lime fragrance and heat nearly undid her. Nothing aroused her like his size and strength.
He slipped his arm around her waist.
She broke free and stepped back, scared to give herself completely to him again.
He followed and reached for her, definitely not shy but certainly clueless.
Clover pushed his hand off her waist, missed his warmth immediately, and hated herself for such weakness. “What are you doing here? Where’s your posse? Harassing a nerd or a plain Jane for kicks?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your friends. Wait, I forgot, they have their assistants doing their dirty work. Lucky them.”
She returned to her table. New slobs had left empty cups and food wrappers. She threw them into her trashcan.
Van Gogh joined her and cleared his throat. “Can we talk? Please?”
“Sorry, no. I’m busy trying to make a living.” She gestured to her unsold stuff. “Whatever you want to say, send me a text. I’ll read it later.”
