Title: Not Without You
Series: By Your Side #3
Author: A.P. Watson
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: August 7, 2019
Blurb
I have one rule in life—never fall in love. Sure, I loved my father and my best friend, but being in love with someone? Out of the question . . . It just wasn’t worth the risk. I saw the agony my father went through as my mother’s coffin was lowered into the ground, and he has never fully recovered from the depths of those sorrows. I won’t put myself through the same misery. I can’t.
Instead, I lose myself in my art. As a painter, I push my emotions into the colors I paint with. I usually put my entire being into every single painting, driving my fingers past the breaking point, but lately, my creative well has run dry. For over a year, my mind has taken a creative sabbatical, locking me out of my own reprieve. But everything changed when I met him. One glance into those bright blue eyes had my hands twitching with the desire to paint again.
If I thought remaining friends with my new muse was going to be easy, I was in for one hell of a letdown, because I was falling for him—fast. Handsome as hell, funny, and kind, he was everything I didn’t need, couldn’t have. I needed to remember my philosophy—live a happy, fulfilling life without falling in love. But deep down, I’m beginning to realize such a fate isn’t possible . . . Not Without You.
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Excerpt
Chapter
One: White
White. That
was the color that reigned supreme in places like this, places promising all
the enlightenment that follows a higher education. Frankly, I would rather be
surrounded by any other color in the crayon box. Yes, that meant puke green,
sunshine yellow, and even the bright orange screaming at us from every inch of
campus. In my opinion, anything was better than white. White was the color of a
blank canvas, a stark reminder of the creative sabbatical my soul was currently
taking.
“Why do you
look like your grandma just flipped you off?”
The sound
of Wren’s voice threw me out of my train of thought.
“Because I
hate this class. Anything not related to art is a waste of my time.”
“Yeah, that
might be true, but everybody is required to take Probability & Statistics.”
“And the probability
of me passing this class is slim, so as you can see, no further instruction is
needed,” I quipped, sticking my tongue out at her.
She flung
her long copper locks over her shoulder and plopped in the seat to my left,
pulling out a spiral notebook and a green pen. She was feeling sassy today, and
that was an incredible sign. If I had to deal with everything she’d been
through the past few weeks, I would have curled up in a ball and flipped the
world the middle finger. But not Wren. She was a damn force to be reckoned
with.
Placing my
hand on her arm, I gave it a little squeeze. Instantly, her body stilled.
Although I didn’t reveal my thoughts, my gesture meant she could count on me.
It meant she wasn’t alone.
“Thanks,
babe,” she whispered, setting her hand on my knee. “You’re the best.”
“Ditto,
babe.”
To my
right, I could just make out the form of the hot blond guy who had been staring
at me for half the class on Tuesday. Not that I hadn’t done my fair share of
staring. My eyes had wandered in his direction more than a couple of times
since the start of the semester. After all, no harm ever came from looking. He
stepped closer, intent on occupying the empty chair next to me.
“If you’re
going to sit there, you’d better have a good handle on what the hell is going
on in this class,” I stated. My less-than-stellar performance on our first test
meant I needed to get my ass in gear if I had any hopes of making it through
this class with my GPA intact.
“You mean you
don’t?” he asked, humor evident in his tone. “Because you seem like the type of
person who has a handle on everything.”
I glanced
up at him. Most of the time whenever a guy hit on me, I would dismiss them with
little more than a wave of my hand. But his comment had more than piqued my
interest. His shaggy blond hair and golden skin tone were so much hotter
than I remembered. “Oh,” I whispered with a smile, “you’re good.”
He sat down
next to me, sliding a pen out of the pocket of his jeans. “That’s what I hear.”
And Hottie was apparently telling the truth, because when he opened his
notebook, the first test we took slid out, landing in my lap. “Sorry.” He
leaned in my direction.
But I was
too quick for him. I grabbed the paper, completely at a loss for words, which
was really fucking rare for me. Holy hell. Hottie got a ninety-six?
“Look, we got the same grade!”
Wren snickered
at my exclamation, trying her best to keep from laughing, since Professor Leigh
had already started passing out the attendance roster.
“Really?”
asked Hottie.
“Yeah, if
you reverse the numbers on your test, that’s what I got.”
The bitchy chick who always wore
a red headband turned around to glare at me. “Shh,” she spat, holding her
finger over her lips.
“Oh, shut
up. It’s not like we’re going to use this fucking bullshit in everyday life.”
My retort either offended or shocked her, because she scoffed at me before
spinning back around. God, I hated that fucking headband.
“That girl
annoys the shit out of me,” Wren mumbled.
“Me too,
babe.”
“Eh, she’s
just pissed because she got the second-best grade in the class,” Hottie said.
“That seat
is yours for the rest of the semester if you want it.”
“I may hold
you to that. And my name is Ryan Evanston, by the way.” He held out his hand
for me to shake. Crystal blue eyes met mine—the color so pure and pristine my
fingers twitched with the need to recreate it.
Well, fuck.
For some
people, sexual dry spells ruled their existence. For me, my artistic dry spell
was worse than being stranded in the Sahara without a canteen. Sure, I’d been
creating art projects for school, but my desire to paint—to let the world fall
away and just create—had been non-existent. Wren believed I was uninspired, and
she was probably right. But here, at this moment, all I wanted to do was paint
those eyes.
Eventually,
I slid my hand into his, noting the warmth radiating from his flesh. “Terayn
Andrews.”
“And you?”
he asked, leaning toward Wren.
“Wren
Williams,” she answered.
“Nice to
meet both of you.”
“Likewise,”
I muttered for both of us.
Professor Leigh
droned on for what felt like an eternity. So the guy had his passions, and they
all happened to lie within statistics, but that still didn’t warrant the need
for him to subject each of us to said passions. Alas, the board of this higher
education establishment somehow feels we will benefit from taking a statistics
course. And it was a load of freaking bull too.
I tried to
concentrate on the sound of Leigh’s voice, but my brain was only capable of
withstanding so much torture. I copied down a few notes from the lecture, but
my willpower was obliterated by the color periwinkle. My hand had been
twitching since I caught sight of those blue eyes. Pulling a few colored pens
from my purse, I decided to let my fingers do their bidding.
Line after line flowed together, forming a perfect representation of the human eye. That iris and the multitude of colors it possessed were astounding. I used not one but three different blues in order to capture the intricacy of the hue. And I still wasn’t done. Something about his expression when he had looked at me caught my interest. It needed to be captured too. Now, the drawing had a set of eyebrows to accompany those eyes.
Line after line flowed together, forming a perfect representation of the human eye. That iris and the multitude of colors it possessed were astounding. I used not one but three different blues in order to capture the intricacy of the hue. And I still wasn’t done. Something about his expression when he had looked at me caught my interest. It needed to be captured too. Now, the drawing had a set of eyebrows to accompany those eyes.
A sharp
elbow to my side pulled my attention from the growing portrait in front of me.
“If you
keep at it, you’re going to wind up drawing a full portrait,” Wren whispered in
my ear.
“What?”
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