Page 27 of The Player Next Door

“So you had a hobby but you dropped it?”

“Something like that.”

“Let me guess, you wrote fanfic forThe Suite Life of Zack & Cody.”

“What in god’s name would that even be?”

“If you have to ask, clearly you’re not on my level,” Clare chuckled. “But I can totally figure this out.” She studied him critically, chewing her lower lip. “Hentai fan art.”

“Don’t know what that is either.”

“Dirty pictures, but you draw them.”

“Oh. Well, you’re—getting warmer.”

Her eyebrows skyrocketed. “The hentai part?”

“No, Jesus. The drawing part.”

“You draw?”

“I did. Thought about minoring in art, even, but it didn’t seem worth it.”

She sat up straight. “Really? That’s so cool. The art thing, not that you thought it wasn’t worth it. That we’ll unpack later.”

Her enthusiasm caught him off guard. The sunset had limned her in gold and for a moment, she wasn’t just Clare in grey leggings and a navy V-neck T-shirt. She was alive, vibrant, a goddess, lounging on Mount Olympus, sipping wine. She was a flame, and he was a moth.

“It’s just sketches,” he said, looking away and back out at the sky. He wasn’t sure what had come over him and he needed to get a hold of himself.

“When was the last time you drew?”

“A while ago.” He had kept it up for a year or two out of college but then stopped, and he couldn’t remember why.

“Do you miss it?”

“I was just thinking about drawing tonight, actually,” he admitted, surprising even himself. Sam knew he used to draw, but she also knew he hated to talk about it. He’d always felt like that threw off his process, like even admitting he was working on a piece would ruin the entire thing. Part of what he liked about Sam was she never really pushed on stuff like that; she just let him be.

“Hang on,” Clare said, turning and rooting through her tote bag. She came up with a pencil and a small notebook. “Here. I would hate to be the reason you didn’t try it again.”

“You want me to draw?”

“Just a quick sketch. I’ll amuse myself.”

He took the pencil and notebook, staring at her blankly. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am. Creative pursuits are important, even if they’re just hobbies. And if you don’t give in when the urge strikes after a long time away from it, it gets harder and harder to start again. So, go. Draw.”

“What do you want me to draw? And if you ask me to draw you like one of my French girls, Iwilldraw you like a Smurf.” Logan had been a goddamntoddlerwhenTitaniccame out, but that line was the bane of his existence.

“As I am legitimately barely three apples high, that would probably be an accurate rendering,” she threw back. “Draw whatever you want. The cheese, even.”

The colors were slowly fading from the sky and Clare once again looked like a mortal rather than a warm, earthy goddess. For a second, he considered drawing her the way he’d seen her, all softness and light and warmth, but that felt too personal, too real. Too fast. Instead, he focused on her fingers, curving loosely around the stem of the wine glass.

At first, he felt absurdly self-conscious, but Clare was true to her word. She never so much as peeked at him, instead just leaning back and closing her eyes, tilting her chin up to catch the last glimmer of the sun’s rays. He wanted to draw that too, the delicate sweep of her jaw, the arch of her neck.Too personal, he scolded himself again. He filed it away and concentrated on her hand, now idly twirling the glass back and forth on the table between them. It was rough, and hardly his best work, but it was passable. And more importantly, it felt like something had unlocked inside him, a weight from his shoulders suddenly lifting.

“Done,” he announced, and she fluttered her eyes open.

“Did you want to tear it out? I don’t have to look,” she offered.