Always Remember

me.”
    Translation: get off me before I finally kiss the living shitballs out of you.
    “ No, I’m not.” His lips curl upwards. “I’m hardly on you.”
    “ Bing.” My voice is soft, breathy.
    “ Jen... I...”
    I close my eyes , and he rolls off me, falling next to me with a light thump.
    “ I’m sorry,” he sighs.
    Don ’t be, I want to say. Don’t be sorry and get your sexy ass back on top of me so I can kiss the crap out of you.
    I roll over and look down at him. His brown eyes framed by thick, girly lashes. The chiselled bone structure that would make a sculptor weep. The lips that I want to feel against mine.
    “Jen?” he says uncertainly.
    I drop my head and touch my lips to his, softly enough that it ’s a passing brush. He cranes his neck up, and the extra pressure forces me to respond. My lips probe his, and one of his hands comes up onto my back, the other to the back of my head. My body pushes into the side of his. My arms shift so my gloved fingers graze the top of his head, and I move his hat so I can run them through his thick hair.
    My body sinks into his as our mouths meld together, and when he runs his tongue along my top lip, I feel it everywhere. My stomach clenches until I ’m sure the muscles there are as hard as the ones I can feel on his stomach.
    His hand grips my hair tightly, and I gasp a little. His tongue brushes mine, and I push myself harder into him. All I can focus on is wanting more, needing more, feeling more.
    “Jen,” Bing whispers against my lips. “I should get you home.”
    I sigh, dropping my head. My forehead rests on his shoulder, and the cold temperature is suddenly apparent to me. I take a deep breath in, ignoring the sting of his blatant rejection.
    “Okay.”

Chapter Five

JEN

    I jab my pen at the essay in front of me. I’m taking an art degree, for the love of whoever the fuck is in the sky right now, why do I need to write essays?
    I just wanna paint.
    I slam the pen down on the half-finished paper and get up, making my way to my room. I pull open my box at the end of the bed and grab a canvas, paints, and my favourite brushes. I dump them on the sofa and set my easel up by the window looking out over the park.
    With my palate resting on my knee and my brush in hand, I touch the bristles to the plain white canvas.
    Painting is real. It’s where emotion lies, where crazy thoughts merge with the sane reality of life around us. It’s the only place I can truly be me. Even with Carl, a part of me was always kept inside, tucked away slightly.
    Until Bing. Until he walked into my life, painting was my only outlet.
    I saw his soft brown eyes. I saw his cocky smile and his challenging stance. He brings out the fire in me, the playful flirt, the serious dreamer. I don’t have to hold back.
    Stroke. Swirl. Blend.
    He’s a pain in the ass, though. I want to kiss him as much as I want to kill him, and I know he wants in my pants. But that kiss...
    That kiss that almost happened, then was fought against for over a year, then finally happened. That one that shouldn ’t have happened? Yep. That painful little bugger.
    Water. Paint. Dab. Dab. Swish.
    My eyes focus on what I’m painting, and I rest my brush against my palate. I’ve painted the scene outside in the park, or started to, but there’s a difference.
    There ’s a figure leaning against the tree, brown hair flicking in his face, and brown eyes looking right at me.
    Sleeping, eating, thinking, painting.
    That stupid lobster-headed gimp face has taken over all of my damn bodily functions.

BING

    I hand Dad the file he wanted and turn back outside. Covering for Alec is dull, and I have no idea how he puts up with this.
    “ Everything alright, Sam?” Dad asks.
    “ Fine,” I reply.
    “ Doesn’t seem it.”
    “ What would you do if Mum had been with someone when you knew you wanted her?”
    “ What do you mean?”
    I turn and lean against the door. “There’s the girl, but she’s with some guy, and has been for a while. Thing is, you have this insane need to be near her all the time, despite your reputation for something you couldn’t give two craps about anymore. What would you do? Would you sit by and wait, or would you convince her she’s with the wrong guy?”
    “ This isn’t a hypothetical question, is it, son?”
    “ I’m not sure.”
    Dad scratches his chin. “I’d let her know you’re interested. That way, she has to make the move.”
    “ What if you already have?”