Anything Between Us (Starving Artists Book 3)

by Mila Ferrera

  As I’m sitting in my car, a MINI Cooper cruises by. It’s almost completely covered in bumper stickers, things like “This Car Has Climbed Mount Washington” and “Devil’s Tower National Monument—Wyoming” and “Take the scenic route!” It pulls up a few spaces in front of me, and Nora gets out. Her red hair is in an elaborately braided up-do, and she’s wearing glittering chandelier earrings that she probably made herself. She’s got on a yellow dress with a high neckline and a plunging back that makes it obvious she’s not wearing a bra. Looking nervous, she pulls a small wrapped present from her passenger seat, tugs at the hem of her dress, and heads inside.

  I get out of my car, feeling sympathy for the newcomer in our midst. Putting her at ease will soothe my own nerves. I pull Daniel’s present, a sake bottle and two cups that I made myself, along with a little bottle of Junmai-shu, out of my backseat.

  The door is propped open, so they don’t have to buzz anyone up. I almost head down the stairs to Nate’s apartment before remembering the party is on the second floor. As I trudge up the steps, I can already hear laughter and music coming from above. Stella greets me at the door, looking stunning in an embroidered dress with cutouts on the sides and sky-high heels that let her tower over all the women at the party. “You look so pretty,” she says, bending to give me a hug. “Presents go over there.” She gestures over at a narrow table set up against the wall, already overflowing with gifts.

  Daniel’s standing near the table, laughing with Caleb and Romy and an older couple I don’t know. I glance around for Nate—he’s leaning against the wall with a glass in his hand, looking lean and gorgeous in jeans and a blue button-up that matches his eyes. For a second, I just watch him, wondering at the fluttering feeling in my stomach that’s drifting lower the longer I look. I snag a glass of champagne from a tray, needing to dispel this weird nervousness that’s jittering along my limbs.

  When I lower my glass after a long drink, I see that Nora’s reached his side. He glances in my direction and smiles, but then goes back to talking to her. I pause, reminding myself how ridiculous it is to feel possessive of a guy who I have absolutely zero claim to.

  Daniel sees me and waves me over, and I jump at the chance to focus on something other than the way Nora has her hand on Nate’s arm now. As I approach, I realize who the older couple is. The man looks like an older version of Daniel, a burly frame, blond hair going white. The woman’s wearing a sparkly scarf around her head and looks as fragile as a bag of toothpicks. These are his parents.

  These are Nate’s parents. Ben and Laura Van Vliet, who together have created two crazily handsome yet unusually polite sons. I shake hands with them as Daniel introduces us, wondering if I should mention my friendship with Nate but deciding against it. “Sasha’s a potter,” Daniel says to his mom. “She makes some gorgeous ceramics. You’d love her stuff.”

  His mother smiles. “I do love ceramics,” she says. “Do you show your pieces?”

  “She’s got stuff on sale at Luxe Living downtown,” Caleb tells her as his fingers slide over Romy’s shoulder.

  “Oh, my,” Laura says. “Maybe I’ll splurge sometime.”

  We spend a few minutes in small talk, during which I steal more than a few glances at Nate and Nora. She’s giggling as he tells some story, and the way he’s smiling makes me gulp down the rest of my champagne and reach for another.

  Especially when Daniel and his parents break off to talk to new arrivals and Romy sidles up to me. “She’s been working up the courage to ask him out all week,” she says, nodding toward Nate and Nora.

  I bury my nose in my champagne flute. “Is that so?”

  She smiles. “She thought you and he might be together—I guess she saw you giving Nate another pottery lesson? But I reassured her that you guys are just friends.”

  I finish my second champagne and look down at my empty glass. Romy sees and takes it from me, fetching me another, which I gratefully accept. “That’s good,” I mumble as I watch him bow his head to allow Nora to speak in his ear. Her lips are only an inch or two from his skin, and it feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach. “It seems like he’s feeling better these days.”

  “It looks like it,” Romy agrees. “Anyway, I encouraged her to go for it. He seems like he could use some fun, and she definitely seems to be that.”

  That fluttering feeling in my stomach has turned into a set of fan blades that are slicing me up inside. “Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “She seems fun.” And she’s closer to his age, and she’s adorable and sweet, and she can’t possibly have the baggage I do.

  I make some excuse and flee to the bathroom, where I fumble in my disorganized purse for my lipstick and give myself a stern lecture. I told him we were friends. I turned him down when he asked me out. What did I expect, that he’d pine after me like a lost puppy? That he’d trail after me, hoping I’d change my mind? He’s freaking gorgeous, those blue eyes, those cheekbones, that body—not to mention the quiet decency and sweetness he can’t hide even when he wants to—of course he has other options. Good ones.

  He was wrong when he thought I pitied him. I never saw him like that. He was always too dangerous to me. But at some point, I started to assume that he was mine. I guess I did think he’d be there waiting if I wanted to make the leap.

  And that was completely stupid.

  This is for the best. I finish my third glass of champagne, re-apply my lipstick, and head back out to the party, where I promptly crash into Marcus, who is basically like a living, breathing, tattoo-covered brick wall. I drop my purse, which flings my crap all over the floor outside the bathroom.

  “Oh, man, sorry,” he says as he squats down and helps me pick everything up, much to my chagrin. He’s wearing a huge smile as he plucks the little package of condoms—the result of my hopeful planning ahead—from behind a planter.

  “Safety first,” he says as he hands it to me. “But if you don’t mind my asking—”

  “I do mind,” I say loudly, my face on fire. I jump to my feet, catching myself with a hand on the wall as the room tilts.

  “You look like you need another drink,” Marcus says, moving in close and offering me something fizzy in a highball glass. “Stella knows how to do a party, right? She got a bunch of her friends in the culinary arts program at Becker to bartend and serve for almost nothing, apparently. And look at that cake!”

  It’s quite a cake. It has to be at least three feet high and could probably serve about five times as many people as could physically fit in this apartment. It’s got three tiers, and each is studded with row after row of edible marbles. On top, for some reason, is a happy-looking little possum made out of fondant. “She made that?”

  “Yep. It’s very Daniel,” he says, slinging an arm around my shoulders as Stella pulls Daniel over to cut his cake. They’re practically glowing with love for one another, unable to keep their hands or eyes off of each other. It makes my heart ache in a way I don’t quite understand. Were Ryan and I ever like that?

  I don’t think we were. We’d grown up together. We seemed like a natural fit. I was proud of him. But that kind of adoration, that kind of passion? I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that before.

  We stand there while Stella thanks everyone for coming to the party and expresses her gratitude to her classmates for helping her. Daniel thanks everyone, too, and says he had no idea this many people actually liked him, which is funny to me because everyone likes Daniel except for some of those rich ladies he’s no longer willing to have sex with because Stella.

  “Another refill?” Marcus asks, his hand on my back rousing me from my drifting thoughts. Before I can say no, my glass is full again, or maybe it’s a different glass, I don’t even know anymore. All I know is that Nate is standing with Nora on the other side of the room, smiling and clapping after his father gives a speech about how proud he is of Daniel, his artwork, and the man he’s become. Nora’s standing so close to Nate that her earring snags on one of the buttons of his shirt, a
nd he carefully frees her. I can’t hear them from here, but she’s touching her earrings now, probably telling him how she made them.

  I hate her. Even though I have no right or reason, I hate her.

  While plates of cake are doled out, she links her arm with his as they chat with a few other artists from the co-op. Like they’re a couple. Like he belongs to her. Nate’s eyes drift over the crowd, and they find me. He looks away quickly. No smile.

  I wish I hated him. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t summon the one feeling that would protect me from all these other feelings that are about to swamp me. He’s doing nothing wrong, and neither is she.

  They’re probably made for each other. I might be watching their love story unfurl right before my eyes. I’m the one who’s all wrong.

  “I should go soon,” I mutter, trying to squirm away from Marcus, whose heavy arm rests on my shoulders, holding me close to his body. He’s wearing too much cologne. It’s giving me a headache. I swallow a slug of my drink, which is sweet and fruity. I should probably eat something, but my stomach won’t settle. When I raise my head, Nate has disappeared, and Nora’s nowhere to be seen either.

  Oh, God. He’s probably taken her down to his place. I blow out a long breath as I imagine him pushing her up against the wall. Inching her skirt up her thighs. Thrusting into her body. Coming inside her.

  “I have to go,” I whisper into my drink. I need to get out of here. Now. I whirl around, looking for a place to put my glass as the floor undulates beneath my feet. I wobble on my high heels and drop my purse again.

  “Hey,” says Marcus, kneeling at my feet and shoving my stuff back into the bag for a second time. Before he stands, his gaze slides up my legs and body, settling on my breasts. His breath fans against my thighs. He rises slowly, draping the purse strap over my shoulder. “My place is only a few blocks from here.” He takes my glass from me and sets it on a side table. “We could go hang out and talk.”

  Misery spirals inside me as Marcus takes my hand and leads me toward the door. This is wrong, all wrong, but I’m too wrecked to do a single thing about it. I know what Marcus wants, and it’s not conversation. I bet he likes to play rough. He’ll probably leave bruises. Maybe that’s what I need, someone to scrub Nate from my mind and the memory of him from my skin. It’s been weeks, but I can still feel him there. And right now, all I want is to forget.

  Daniel frowns when Marcus tows me past with a few quick goodbyes. His eyes narrow as he zeroes in on the tight grip Marcus has on my wrist while I totter along.

  As we reach the door, Caleb comes rushing up to us, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Marcus. Hey. Stella’s asking if we can move all Daniel’s presents to the coffee table over there?” He gestures at the mountain of gifts.

  Marcus gives him an irritated look. “I would, but Sasha and I were just—”

  “Go help him,” I blurt out.

  “I’ll be right back.” Marcus grips my arm and presses his mouth to my ear. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you when we’re alone?”

  Yes, I do. Ugh. I let out a loud, half-hysterical laugh and shove him toward Caleb, who is giving me a concerned look. Dimly, I wonder if he’s trying to rescue me.

  As soon as Marcus’s back is turned, I take the chance Caleb is offering. I lunge for the stairs and nearly fall, barely catching myself on the railing. Clutching the banister and cursing my choice of shoes, I carefully make my way to the ground floor. With one last, miserable glance toward Nate’s apartment, I burst into the chilled night air.

  I nearly drop my purse again as I fumble for my keys, which are nowhere to be found. But that might not matter, because then I realize I can’t find my car.

  Which is also when I realize that I am in absolutely no shape to drive. I shove my hand back into my purse, in search of my phone.

  It’s not there.

  I sit down on the curb, frustrated tears threatening to break free. I dump the entire contents of my purse onto the sidewalk and paw through the mess. No phone. No Lyft for me.

  And there’s no way I’m going back into the party, where Marcus will find me. I’m lucky he hasn’t come out here already, eager to pick me up and lug me back to his place for a quick fuck, cruel and casual.

  “What a shitty night,” I whisper. I wrap my arms around my legs, lower my forehead to my knees, and wait for the world to stop spinning.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nate

  By the time I finish helping some of Stella’s classmates lug two kegs up the back stairs, Sasha is gone. I scan the large warehouse space of my brother’s apartment, searching for Marcus. He was glued to her side a few minutes ago in a way that made me want to walk over there and drive my fist into his face.

  I’d been hoping to talk to her. There are a few things I needed to say. But she hasn’t come near me all night.

  Nora bounces up to me as I help myself to a piece of cake. “I’m taking off,” she says. “Walk me to my car?”

  I shove a big bite in my mouth—I swear I could eat an entire tier of that thing all by myself, it’s so fucking delicious—and I reluctantly put down the plate. “Sure.”

  She’s holding onto my arm like she has been for half the night. And part of me likes it. I mean, she’s cute, nice body, great smile. She seems sweet. Turns out we both like anime and Marvel movies and hiking. It seems like a good fit on the surface, so it should be easy to let go of the stubborn fantasy of Sasha that haunts my every waking moment.

  I’ve been trying all night, but it’s been a losing battle trying to keep my eyes from searching for her in this crowd. I’m craving her liquid brown gaze; the lush curves of her hips, her breasts, her ass; and the sight of her smooth olive skin. I’m craving her—that rueful smile that says she likes me more than she wants to, the way she bites her lip and looks at me from beneath her thick black lashes when she wants me more than she wants to.

  Now she’s gone, and if she’s with Marcus—I grit my teeth. She can do what she wants. We’re friends. We’re not together.

  I was hoping things had changed, though. Hoping she might be reconsidering.

  I guess not. Nora’s hand slides down my arm, and she entwines her fingers with mine. I don’t pull away. Instead, I walk her to the door and follow her onto the landing.

  A glimmer from the floor draws my eye. “Hang on.” It’s a phone with a sparkly green case, lying up against the banister.

  “Someone dropped their phone?” Nora asks. “You want to take it back in and see—?”

  I shake my head. “I know whose it is.” And she’s already left. Maybe with Marcus. I can picture him with her, invading all the places I want to touch, to taste, to claim.

  Fuck me. I hate this night. I shove Sasha’s phone into my pocket and head down the stairs.

  Nora gives me a cautious look. “You okay?”

  “What? Oh. Yeah. I’m fine,” I say as we head outside.

  “I really enjoyed talking to you tonight,” she says when we reach her car, which is ridiculous, all plastered in bumper stickers, so busy that it’s probably distracting to other drivers.

  “Yeah, it was nice getting to know you.” I glance up the street and do a double-take when I spot a form sitting on the curb maybe a block away, just outside the illuminating glow of a streetlight.

  Nora takes my hand again. “If you want to keep talking somewhere quieter, we could—” She pauses when she realizes she doesn’t have my attention anymore. “Nate?”

  “Um, not tonight,” I say as the person on the curb raises her head and pushes her black hair away from her face. “Maybe some other time? I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “But I …” She sighs. “Okay. See you later.”

  I jog up the sidewalk, my heart taking on a familiar, hungry rhythm, my head churning with worry. “Sasha?”

  At the sound of my voice, she looks around blearily, then scowls out at the street. I reach her side and kneel next to her. “Hey,” I say, “you okay?”
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  She looks up at me. “You were gone.” She exhales a fruity, high octane breath that makes me very, very glad she didn’t try to drive herself home. “You’re with Nora.”

  “Right now, I’m with you.” I hook my fingers under her arms and hoist her to her feet. “And it looks like the tables have turned. I get to rescue you this time.” I wrap an arm around her waist and let her lean against me.

  “I can’t find my car,” she says mournfully.

  “It’s right there.” I point to her Subaru, which is parked not ten feet away.

  “I can’t find my keys,” she says, even as I hear them jingling in her purse. “And my phone—”

  “I’ve got it. You dropped it on the stairs.”

  She accepts the phone and slides it into her purse, peering into its depths with a woozy kind of focus. “Oh, hey. My keys!”

  “No fucking way,” I say with a laugh, pulling her hand from her bag as she reaches for them. “You’ve got only two choices. You come back to my place to sleep this off, or you let me drive you home.”

  She looks down at herself. At some point, she spilled something red on the skirt of her pale gray dress. “I can’t go home like this.”

  “Decision made, then.” I guide her along the sidewalk, glancing up to see Nora drive by. I wave, but she’s looking straight ahead, stone-faced.

  “What was that?” Sasha asks, craning her neck.

  “Nora.”

  “She’s going to ask you out.”

  “She kind of already did.”

  “Oh,” Sasha whispers, bowing her head.

  I’ve just gotten her into the building again when Marcus comes clomping down the stairs. He freezes when he sees me with Sasha.

  “I can take it from here, bro,” he says to me. “She and I had plans.”