Painting the Lines: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Ace of Hearts Book 1)

by Ashley R. King

  What? That was not what he expected.

  Julian fumbled for words. It didn’t matter that she got on his nerves like nobody else and they still kind of…sometimes…disliked each other. He’d wanted to know what she tasted like since that very first night at the bar—all fiery and full of life.

  His eyes zeroed in on her lips and then skimmed down her body. A dumb move considering he needed to keep distance between them because he wasn’t sure he could survive another encounter like they’d had in the locker room. Flirting was one thing. Intimacy and knowing and sharing and revealing his true self was entirely something else. Something he needed to avoid.

  When he didn’t reply, Amalie turned around slowly, making sure every part of her brushed every part of him. It was agony and bliss all at once when his cock stirred. But the smirk on her lips tipped him off to reality before she even opened her mouth.

  She rolled her eyes and smacked his chest lightly. “Come on, Casanova, put away your sexy-time moves and work with me on this novel.”

  She moved away from him, scooping up her box of enchiladas, and plopped down into one of his chairs. She seemed unaffected, and he would’ve believed that if it weren’t for the way she refused to meet his eyes, her food suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. The crimson blush that spread across her throat and chest was another dead giveaway. He felt a tiny victory knowing that at least he’d gotten to her, because she’d certainly gotten to him.

  He cleared his throat, grabbed his food, and sat down across from her.

  “Fine. First question?” he asked in an effort to calm himself.

  “I need to know why you quit tennis. Writers need to understand their character’s past. Their wounds. The things that make them do something like let go of a dream.”

  It felt like the room was closing in. He pushed his food around in the box, his appetite disappearing. “I can’t go there, Amalie.”

  When he glanced up, he was met with those beautiful eyes, only they’d gone cold as ice.

  “Are you serious right now, Julian? I asked you about your dad. You said no. I asked you about Fox. Nope. And now this? Another freaking no?” Amalie looked like she might stab him with her fork.

  “Listen, I haven’t talked to anyone about my dad. It’s a big deal for me. I will tell you about him, but I need it to be on my own time. Can we agree to that?”

  She sat down her fork and exhaled, a softness to her eyes where there was once an inferno. “Yes. If you swear you’ll really try. Novels aren’t written overnight. I need to understand you so that I understand Jax. I know that might sound strange, but it’s how my writer brain works. I need to know you, Julian. Really know you and not just the fact that your ass makes tennis shorts look good.”

  Julian wanted to make a quip about ways she could really get to know him but decided not to push his luck. He scooped a chip into the queso, chewed, and then answered. “For now, I can help you write the tennis match scenes. Like Paul said, those need to be realistic. I can help you lay it out so it makes sense and is easy for readers who don’t follow the sport to understand.”

  Amalie sat back in her seat, outwardly relieved. “That’s a start. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Unable to take it anymore, Julian had to ask, “So you think I’m hot, huh? And you like this ass in tennis shorts? Which pair? The black ones? Or the white ones because you can kind of see the outline of my boxers?” He raised a brow to accent his point.

  Her mouth crooked. “You’re impossible.”

  His gaze swept over her body. “And apparently hot.”

  Three hours later, Julian had edited two tennis match scenes. He felt quite proud. Who knew he was even capable? Amalie had moved to the coffee table while he laid back on the sofa, hands behind his head, answering her questions as she fired them, fast as his serves.

  “So what I need to remember when writing those match scenes is the power of the game.” Amalie tapped her chin with her pen.

  Julian nodded. “That’s one of the most important things because, to be a tennis player, a successful one, you’ve got to be mentally and physically strong. You’ve got to have the stamina to keep going as long as it takes to finish, no matter how hard it is.”

  Yeah, for the first time in his life he hadn’t meant a comment to sound sexual, but man, did that ever. Amalie’s pen stilled and her eyebrows inched up to her hairline. Her mind was totally in the gutter and the thing was, he knew she needed this night, so he decided not to call her on it…this time.

  “Well, I think that just about covers it,” Amalie spoke up as she shut her notebook. “And wow. You have no idea how much all of this helps! I feel like I know what drives Jax now. To a point anyway. And these scenes!” She leaned an elbow on the couch, grazing his bare knee. “You really showed up for me tonight. I know this isn’t your thing, but thanks.”

  He sat up, tapping her on the nose. “Only for you, princess.”

  Her skin flushed red, one of his favorite things about her. He helped her gather her stuff and then walked her outside. Out of nowhere, she stumbled over her own two feet, arms flailing. He reached out to steady her, inadvertently bringing her closer to him. Her eyes dilated, her chest brushing against his as her breathing picked up. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself not to do anything stupid. When he opened them, any previous thoughts of avoiding intimacy evaporated from his brain.

  “God, you’re beautiful.” His voice was thick; the desire woven through those three words was unmistakable.

  Amalie blinked, her lashes kissing her cheeks as her beautiful mouth parted on a gasp, her hands tightening around his biceps. His hand had caught her on the bare skin at her waist, right where her sweatshirt was cut, her skin hot beneath his touch. He wanted to pull her closer and kiss her. It was driving him wild not knowing what she tasted like.

  “You are too.” Her voice was so low that Julian almost thought he’d imagined her words.

  She reached up, fingers trembling like they might move into his hair, but then her hand came crashing back down to her side, her body pulling away from his. He loosened his hold on her, hating how empty it felt without her in his arms.

  She pushed her hair away from her face and quickly put distance between them. “Well thanks again.”

  “No problem. Any time.” Julian lifted a hand in a wave, although he really just wanted her in his arms again.

  She waved back, a ghost of a smile on her lips, before getting inside of her car. Just as she started to back her car out to leave, Amalie rolled down the window, shouting into the chilly night air. “For the record, I definitely like the white shorts best!”

  Chapter Ten

  Amalie

  The day before Valentine’s Day, Amalie was about to leave one of Julian’s practices when he stopped her, his hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey, you know, if you need a date for Valentine’s Day, I’m available,” he said with a wolfish grin. He even had the audacity to wink at her.

  Walking backward, Amalie let loose a wry laugh. “I bet you are.”

  Ever since Julian’s admission in the locker room and Write Night at his apartment, Amalie noticed things had become…easier between them. Julian had been happier.

  “Listen, I was just kidding,” he said. “I’ve got options, you know.”

  She slipped through the gate with a derisive snort. She bet he did, or could if he wanted, but she imagined both of them would be spending Lover’s Day dreadfully alone.

  The following night, after spending hours struggling to write an intense scene between Penelope and Jax, followed by another several hours avoiding 101 Romantic Comedy marathons on TV, Amalie dragged herself to one of Julian’s evening practices. A cool breeze caused a chill to rush up her spine as she pulled her blue and white plaid fleece jacket tighter. Georgia weather was notorious for being drunk—one day it was in the eighties and then the next day it was in the fifties. It was obvious which part they were cycling through now, but of
course Paul and Julian were unaffected. She watched as Paul directed Julian through a few solo drills before really getting into the night’s workout, and then he ambled over.

  “How’s my girl doing?” Paul asked as he sat down next to Amalie.

  “Good. Happy Valentine’s Day, by the way. I’m sure you have some hot date tonight, huh?” She playfully elbowed the older man.

  “Nah.” He waved off her question. “I bet you got some big plans, though.”

  She snorted, her gaze flicking to Julian. His hard work showing in the firm lines beneath his shirt. “Usually Romina and I binge watch The Office or Parks and Rec, but this year she has a date…and I have my television.”

  Paul shifted slightly. “Now I don’t believe that for one second.”

  Amalie’s eyes were still glued to Julian, admiring how he moved like a well-oiled machine.

  “Amalie, can I ask why you’re here?”

  Her brows knitted together, confused. “I’m writing a book. You know that.”

  Paul studied her intently. “I know that, but is it really necessary for you to be at all the practices? Don’t get me wrong—” He patted her knee. “I’m fine with it, but if I had to guess, I think you’re paying more attention to him”—he tilted his head toward where Julian was still warming up at the far end of the court—“than to tennis.”

  Her pen tapped out a nervous rhythm. “What do you mean?”

  He gave her a knowing look, which only made her fidget even more. “I’m just saying that I think you might like him.”

  Amalie immediately shook her head, her words coming out shrill and rushed. “What? No. Absolutely not. I’m just here for the book. That’s all I’m here for.”

  Paul stood, that wise-guy expression still etched across his face. “And all I’m saying is I’m pretty sure he might have some feelings for you, too.”

  The air whooshed right out of Amalie’s lungs as she leaned forward with a shocked, hushed, “What?”

  She and Julian sparred. Teased. Flirted. And that she could do. But nobody said anything about feelings.

  Paul nodded as he pulled out two sticks of Juicy Fruit and pushed them into his mouth. As he worked on chewing them, he said, “Well, the way he complains about you, I’m just saying. It’s how I was with the love of my life. My first wife.”

  “Your first wife?” Amalie asked, desperate to get the attention off her and her frenzied thoughts.

  He nodded, unfazed. “Yep, I used to complain about her all the time, but that’s neither here nor there. What I’m getting at is that I’m curious about your intentions with my athlete. Now don’t get the wrong idea—I’m not trying to say what should be. But, I figured you might want to take stock of your own feelings, see where you stand.”

  Without thinking, she lifted her notebook and fanned her face. “Look, Paul, it’s really sweet of you to talk to me about this, but…no. I don’t have any sort of feelings,” she spat the word out as if it were rotten, “for Julian. Unless wanting to stab him in the eye counts? I’ve definitely wanted to do that.”

  Paul chuckled. “You’re just lying to yourself now, girl.” And with that, he headed toward Julian. “Twenty sprints, no stopping, or I’ll make you do them all over again from the beginning,” he called out.

  Amalie pressed her lips together as Paul turned back and winked while Julian shot him a bird behind his back.

  Once Julian started his drills, her mind returned to Paul’s earlier comment. She didn’t think of Julian as…more, did she? She agreed he was gorgeous, and yeah, sex with him would most likely be stellar, but they weren’t compatible, not to mention just how moody and unpredictable he could be. But it was true that when he tried, she found herself completely drawn into his universe.

  Paul called an end to practice, snapping her out of her musings. Oh. She hadn’t noticed that a fourth person had joined them. Where Julian leaned over his bag, a twiggy brunette stood, dressed in a form-fitting red dress, her lips painted to match. The girl giggled at something Julian said, and it only increased her beauty. Julian straightened, his expression more animated than she’d ever seen, topped off by a beautiful smile. He spoke in a low murmur, causing the girl to laugh again. When had Julian become so charming? And why did it piss her off so much that he’d never bothered to show Amalie this side of his personality?

  She shouldered her tote as Julian headed toward her, the brunette now swinging her hips as she sashayed toward the exit. Amalie kept her eyes straight ahead as she walked past him, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Once she made it past Julian without even an acknowledgment, she felt undone, and she didn’t—couldn’t—understand. She wasn’t some teenage girl pining over an unrequited crush. As a matter of fact, this entire thing was ludicrous. She would just go home and binge-watch Parks and Recreation while shoveling pizza in her face. That would make her forget this weird day.

  Julian’s arm snaked out, wrapping around her bicep and gently pulling her back to him. He gave a quick shake of his head, his lips thinned out. “Hey.” That one word sounded more like a question, his voice ragged and rough.

  Amalie wrenched from his grip, careful not to dissect how that simple touch electrified her in ways Max’s never had. It’s been a while, she reminded herself. Anybody would make her feel something at this point.

  “Yes?” she asked, her voice icy.

  “I wanted to tell you happy Valentine’s Day.” He pushed his bag farther up on his shoulder, his eyes sincere. And that’s what killed her.

  “Well, now you’ve told me. Same to you. Enjoy your date!” Her words were brittle and dripping with sarcasm, but she kept her head high as she headed for the gate.

  Even though Romina had a date for the evening, that didn’t stop her from texting Amalie for the hundredth time, asking if she wanted to be a third wheel.

  Amalie lay on her couch, suffering from one hell of a downer mood. She groaned and grabbed her phone off the floor, declining yet again. Earlier, she’d given her friend the condensed details about Julian having a date. A freaking gorgeous date. The thing that really ate at her was how bothered she was by the whole thing. All she’d thought about since seeing him with the girl at the court was why anything about Julian’s romantic life got to her. Why did she care about who he dated or his engagement to Nadine Merriweather? Why did thoughts of that woman fill her with a sinking feeling, something hot in her veins?

  The answer glimmered like a star in her mind. With as distant as Julian was, she couldn’t imagine how he ever grew close enough to someone to date, let alone get engaged. Worse, though it killed her to admit, it hurt that he gave himself to women who seemed shallow and empty. It had been a feat for Julian to allow her, the woman he spent hours with every day, even a glimpse of the real him, when she wanted so much more.

  With a sigh, she pulled her laptop out of its case and propped it on her lap. She owed Stella some pages. After staring at the blank screen for what felt like hours, the words started to come at a slow drip and then finally began to flow. Her hands flew across the keyboard, her heart soaring with each stroke. This. She missed this. Writing a story transported her to another world, a world where she controlled the outcomes and gave all her beloved characters the happily-ever-afters they deserved. A sense of freedom accompanied each word she typed. She could actually be herself and not be judged or have her last name hanging over her head. With this story in particular, it moved her one step closer to the bestseller she needed, the one that would be her ticket out of what Julian once called her gilded cage.

  That magic, the sheer joy of writing, continued to flow for several more pages before she called it a day. Satisfied with her progress, she emailed everything to Stella and slumped back onto the couch.

  A knock at her door brought her senses to high alert. Her dad was out of the country and wouldn’t be back until the following week, and Simone was out with Damien, enjoying a child-free night, so…that only left ax murderers. She got up slowly, careful not to make any nois
e even though she was sure a serial killer wouldn’t outright knock on the door before killing her. Right? Right?

  She looked through the peephole. Holy cannoli. Julian stood there, all dressed up. The only thing she could see was his top half, but it was more than enough. He wore a light-blue dress shirt that made his eyes look sultrier than usual, set off by a skinny navy tie with tiny pink polka dots, and…sigh. He held a pink bakery box in his lovely hands.

  Amalie glanced down at her old, ratty Agnes Scott T-shirt and her skull print leggings in a panic. Her hair sat on top of her head in what was essentially a rat’s nest, and she had no makeup on.

  After another knock, she opened the door slowly, registering a flicker of surprise across Julian’s face. She searched behind him, looking for the woman in the red dress.

  As if reading her mind, Julian slid his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door frame, his eyes locked with hers. “I’m alone. Mind if I come in?”

  She swallowed back the knot in her throat and moved aside, motioning for him to enter.

  He pushed off the doorframe and stepped past her, then turned to meet her eyes again, but not before she caught him scanning her from head to toe. A grin twisted his lips. “Nice outfit.”

  Amalie crossed her arms over her chest with an impatient snort. That dress shirt was doing amazing things for him, for his eyes, his body, everything. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular, tanned forearms brushed with brown hair. Then there were the dress pants hugging those fantastic thighs that somehow hadn’t lost their touch over the years.

  With a lift of an eyebrow she asked, her voice completely flat, “Terrible date? Did your general douchey demeanor scare her off?”

  Julian took a step closer, the scent of his woodsy cologne and his distinct, hot, sexy man smell wrapping Amalie’s senses in a heady blanket of it’s not a good idea. “I couldn’t get through dinner with her.”

  She blinked, feeling bewildered. “Really? How…awful.”