Page 17 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Crazy For You

Chance

I stumble out of bed, quickly slip on my gray sweatpants and no shirt, and go open the door to find Lexi standing there with two cups of coffee. She smirks, her eyes trailing over my bare chest before arching an eyebrow at me.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” she says, handing me one of the cups. “I brought caffeine. Clearly, you need it.”

I laugh. “Thanks, Lex. You didn’t have to do that. Though it’s early. I was still in asleep, you’re lucky I’m not sporting morning wood right now.”

“Please,” she waves me off, stepping past me into the apartment like she owns the place. “I was already getting one for myself, and I figured my favorite shirtless neighbor might need a pick-me-up. Also, for the record, I’ll never turn down a boner sighting from a man that looks like you.”

I give that the laugh it deserves. I’ve only known her for a month or so, but she’s quickly become someone I look forward to talking to.

As I close the door, she plops down on the couch, and Guinness immediately bounces over to her, his tail wagging furiously.

“Hey, buddy,” she coos, scratching him behind the ears. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

I sip my coffee, watching her interact with Little G. It’s hard not to smile.

“So,” Lexi says, looking up at me with a mischievous glint in her eye, “who’s the hottie that was leaving your apartment when I was heading out for java this morning?”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “What?”

“You heard me,” she says, leaning back and crossing her legs. “Tall, dark-haired, built like a Greek god. Looked like he was sneaking out. Who is he?”

“That’s my coworker, Anthony,” I admit, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Mmhmm.” She gives me a look that says she’s not buying my attempt at nonchalance. “And what was Anthony doing here so early in the morning?”

I set my coffee on the table, rubbing the back of my neck. “We hung out after work. That’s all.”

Lexi raises an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Sure, hung out. Got it.”

“It’s true,” I say, maybe a bit too forcefully. “He met Little G, and we had a few beers after work. Too many beers for me to drive him back to his dorm. End of story.”

“Alright,” she says, clearly unconvinced but choosing to let it go. “You’ve mentioned this coworker before, but you definitely didn’t mention he looked like that . Is he single?”

A low, unfamiliar sound rumbles in my chest before escaping my throat, and I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she repeats, her tone heavy with mock disbelief. “How do you not know? You work with him.”

“I just… don’t. And it doesn’t matter,” I mumble, avoiding her gaze.

Lexi studies me, her sharp expression softening slightly. “Okay, well, you let me know what that’s all about when you figure it out. Because, Chance, if someone asking if he’s single pulls a growl out of you, it does matter—and maybe you should find out.”

I drop my head, focusing on picking at my fingernails, desperate for a change of subject.

“How’s your interior design coursework going?”

Her face lights up, and I know I’ve successfully shifted the focus.

“It’s going great. We’re starting to work on practical projects now, like designing layouts for real spaces.

It’s so much fun, but also kind of overwhelming.

There’s so much to think about—color schemes, furniture placement, lighting… ”

She goes on, her enthusiasm infectious as she describes her latest project. I listen intently, genuinely interested, and it feels good to focus on something other than my own tangled thoughts for a bit.

After a while, Lexi glances at the clock and sighs. “Alright, I’ve got to run. Class starts in half an hour, and I can’t be late. But this was fun. We should do it again.”

“Definitely,” I say, standing to walk her to the door.

She kneels to give Little G one last scratch behind the ears. “Bye, buddy. Be good for your dad.”

I roll my eyes.

“You’re sooo daddy,” she draws out with a grin, grabbing her bag.

“No, Lexi. Just, no.”

“Bye, loser!”

“Bye, Lex,” I say, watching her disappear into her apartment two doors down.

After closing my door, I lean against it and blow out a breath.

A laugh escapes me as I reflect on Lexi teasing me about Ant leaving this morning.

Honestly, I wish her assumption was right.

I glance at the couch, where he crashed last night.

I wonder what time he left and why I didn’t wake up when he did.

More importantly, I wonder what I’m going to do about this growing crush.

The beautiful, shy, mildly grumpy Italian has officially taken over my thoughts.

After taking Little G out to do his business, he flops onto the couch with a dramatic huff, his tail thumping lazily against the cushions. Unlike him, I can’t seem to settle. Lexi’s words keep bouncing around in my head, refusing to let me relax.

It seems Lexi clocked me rather quickly, even though I haven’t had the “ boys, girls, or both?” conversation with her yet. I’ve never had that talk with anyone about myself. With my ex, Christian, it wasn’t necessary. We’d known each other for years before we just kind of ended up in bed together.

And anyone else? They were from gay hookup apps, where being attracted to men was fairly a given. It’s not like I’ve ever had to sit down and spell it out. But I came out here partially to… come out. I need to make a more conscious effort, aside from blatantly flirting with a certain hot coworker.

I pad barefoot into my bedroom for a shirt.

While tossing my drawers for the concert shirt I want to wear, I glance at the corner of the room where I’d stashed my art supplies after the trip to the store.

The unopened sketchpad, the set of charcoal pencils, the smudging tools—it’s all just sitting there, waiting.

“Alright,” I mutter to myself, moving to grab the supplies. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

I clear off the coffee table and set everything up methodically.

Little G watches me with mild curiosity, lifting his head briefly before deciding my activities don’t involve him.

I unpack the sketchpad first, running my fingers over the smooth, thick paper.

The charcoal pencils come next, their black dust staining my fingertips as I pick one up and examine it.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I prop the sketchpad on my knee and hold the charcoal pencil loosely in my hand. I stare at the blank page—the empty space taunting me to fill it.

What do I want to draw?

The answer comes to me immediately, though I hesitate to acknowledge it. I could try to sketch anything, really. A landscape, an object, something simple to ease myself into this. But no. What I really want to draw is him.

Ant.

Without thinking, I press the charcoal to the paper, starting with light, hesitant strokes. The shape of his face comes first. The worried forehead, the subtle angles of his cheekbones, the gentle slope of his nose. I pause, squinting at the lines, trying to picture him as clearly as possible.

The curve of his lips is next. My hand moves slower here. I would spend days kissing, sucking and chewing those full lips if he’d let me. The charcoal glides over the paper as I try to capture the way his mouth quirks when he’s amused or how it softens when he’s lost in thought.

The eyes, though, they’re the hardest. I hover over the page, the pencil poised but not moving. How do you draw something that feels so complex? So layered?

I glance at Little G, who’s now sprawled out on the couch, completely uninterested in my artistic struggles. “This is harder than I thought,” I say, half to him and half to myself.

But I keep going. The charcoal smudges easily, creating shadows that give the drawing depth. I add the dark waves of his hair, the slight stubble that always seems to shadow his jaw. My fingers are covered in black dust now, but I kind of love it.

When I finally sit back and look at what I’ve created, my heart skips a beat.

It’s not perfect, not by a long shot, but it’s him. Or at least, it’s close enough that anyone who knows him would recognize the face on the page. I’m out of practice, but this isn’t half bad.

Then the realization hits me like a freight train: I didn’t need a reference photo. I didn’t need him sitting in front of me. His image is already burned into my mind, as clear and vivid as if he were here.

And that scares me.

What am I doing?

I set the sketchpad aside and lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. My fingers trace the smudges of charcoal on my hand absentmindedly.

This is getting out of hand. His quiet intensity, his quick smirks, the way he speaks without saying much at all. It’s like he’s living rent free in my head and refuses to leave.

I glance at the sketchpad again.

“I’m so fucked,” I whisper to no one.

Little G lets out a soft snore from the couch, completely oblivious to my turmoil. I reach over and give him a quick scratch behind the ears before standing up and cleaning the mess I’ve made.

Once the charcoals are packed away, I gather the sketchpad and flip it closed, deciding not to look at the drawing again. At least not for now.

I pile all the supplies onto the kitchen table and glance at the clock. It’s lunchtime, and I haven’t eaten yet. I decide to go grab a sub sandwich and stop by the shopping center in Old Town Scottsdale to find a bag for my art supplies that will work with my bike.

After taking Little G out and putting him in his crate, I grab my keys and as I reach for the door to head out, my thoughts drift back to Ant once again.

What time did he leave this morning? Did he get to his dorm or practice ok?

Did he realize how much restraint it took for me not to pull that beautiful face into my hands and taste him? What’s he doing right now?

I sigh, shaking my head as I step outside.

I don’t know what this is, but one thing’s clear: the beautiful, mysterious boy is going to completely upend my world.