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

by Ashley R. King

  “I wish I could’ve met him,” Amalie interrupted, her voice sad. “He sounds like a great man and a great dad.”

  “He would’ve loved you,” Julian said, trying to somehow loosen the clenching fist that gripped his heart.

  Amalie laughed, a soft tinkling sound. “We could’ve double-teamed you with the ball busting.”

  Julian snorted. “Yeah, I could totally see that going down.”

  Amalie’s voice turned serious again. “So what did your dad say about Anthony?”

  It was suddenly too hot. Julian pulled at the neck of his shirt, feeling strangled by it. These memories were the tough ones, but they were the ones he pulled out and shuffled through at night as he tried to drift to sleep. They consisted of moments where he asked, “What if?” What if he’d actually kept his dad as his coach during his pro months? Where would he be now? Would his dad still be alive? Would he be proud of Julian?

  “He said Anthony was scum and that I needed to get out of my contract.” His foot bounced with the words, his hands twisting in his lap. He wanted to close his eyes, to breathe deeply, but this was like pulling off a band-aid, the quicker, the better.

  His dad was wearing his favorite blue tennis shirt, his hair thinning a lot more than it had in recent years, his eyes, the unusual green that were exact replicas of Julian’s, were tired and drawn.

  “This is a huge mistake, Julian. Anthony will ruin you and move on, but not before he sucks the life out of you,” Oliver Smoke warned, his mouth set in a grim line as he watched his son with a mixture of worry and disappointment. “He only cares about the money and fame.”

  A mirthless laugh broke free from Julian. “Is there really anything else, Dad?”

  They were the words that a punk kid would say, one who didn’t know anything about the world and how it operated.

  He’d never forget the way his father looked at him then, the way he’d averted his eyes as if he didn’t recognize his own son anymore. “Yes, son,” he’d said. “There’s tennis, a love for the game, something you’ve lost sight of, and it shows on the court. You’re distracted by your desire for those other things, things that don’t matter when you’re doing what you love.”

  Julian had never been much of a hothead. His parents had taught him to keep his head down and set a good example. But in those days leading up to finalizing his contract with Fox and the fallout afterward, Julian found himself turning into someone he didn’t want to be. He grew angrier quicker, said things he didn’t mean just because he knew they’d sting. And that’s what he’d done to his father on that awful, terrible day.

  He still remembered the way the anger snaked through his veins, the snarl in his voice as he slung barbs at his father, knowing he didn’t mean a single word that came out of his mouth.

  “Maybe you’re just jealous that I’m doing what you never could.” His father, a proud and tall man, hunched over in defeat, as if Julian’s words had been a physical blow.

  “Julian, if you believe that, I’m sorry. You know everything your mother and I have ever done was for you. But I see it’s time we step back and let you make your own decisions.” Oliver clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes sad. “But no matter what, we’ll always love you and be proud to call you our son.”

  Even now Julian felt sick as fresh pain and regret shrouded those memories. That had not been the last time he’d seen or talked to his dad. He eventually apologized, but things never felt the same after that. Then a few months later his father died of a heart attack while mowing the grass. Julian carried the burden of that guilt and sorrow with him every day and wondered if it would ever get better.

  Amalie sat in silence as Julian finished his story, her eyes glassy. “I know ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t really enough,” she finally spoke, “but it’s a start. I’m sorry about your dad, but I can tell you that he’d be so proud of you right now.”

  Julian nodded, surprised at the emotion in her voice, the protectiveness that encased her words.

  Desperate for a subject change, his eyes flicked to the pages scattered on the couch, reaching out for a few of them. He caught Pen and Jax’s name across them. “I see you’re not done writing Jax and Penelope’s story, which makes me happier than you’ll ever know.”

  Amalie scrunched her nose as she made a face, taking the pages from his hands. “Actually, I’ve given up on the story. Not writing. I plan to start a new story soon, but I, uh, I realized I couldn’t write this one without you, so I decided to be done with it.”

  It felt like a fist held Julian’s heart in a vise grip. “But are you done with me?”

  Amalie’s already intense stare brightened. Those blue-gray eyes, always so wild. He couldn’t help but wonder if they ever calmed, if there was ever a time when Amalie didn’t carry the pressures of the world on her shoulders. Damn if he wouldn’t like to be the man to help shoulder some of that pain, to be the reason she felt whole again.

  “Julian…” He could feel Amalie studying him as she fidgeted. “Honestly, before you showed up, I was done with you, not because I was angry but because I didn’t feel like you took this seriously, like it meant as much to you. You always held something back, but now…” She shook her head. “Now you’ve told me everything. You’ve given me that last piece of yourself that you’ve been holding back and well, it’s changed things. You know when I first met you, I felt a spark, and tonight, I felt it again. But…” Her posture slumped. “What about the money?”

  He touched her skin, unable to help himself. “Amalie, it’s not about the money. It was nice while it lasted, but I don’t think for a minute that you and I can’t make things happen on our own. I just need to know if we’re still…a team.”

  Excitement danced across her face as Amalie sat ramrod straight, and it took all he had not to let his eyes drop to her braless chest. She took a deep breath, which didn’t help his gaze-aversion difficulties, and then said, “You know what? I’m not done with this. I’m not done with you, not by a long shot. Hell yes, we’re still a team. I can offer my credit card, which I happen to pay the bill for, along with what I have left from book royalties. I’ve applied for some freelance writing positions, too, which can help.”

  The passion in her voice was a living, breathing thing that held the power to completely unravel him. She was still in this, even though she didn’t owe him a damn thing. It felt like Julian was able to take his first full breath in days as a weight lifted from his shoulders.

  “Hey, don’t worry. We’ll talk to Paul and figure it out. I can sell my drugs—”

  Amalie’s breath hitched, which caused him to chuckle. “Pharmaceuticals, princess. You know, my day job? Besides, I have a ton of vacation days saved up since I never had a life aside from eating, drinking, working, fu—” At Amalie’s pointed look, he redirected that last line. “Dating.”

  Her eyes were downcast as she smoothed out her pajamas, her reply quick as she muttered under her breath, “You wouldn’t even know how to date.”

  He moved nearer, studying the freckles across her nose just as she lifted her face. His voice dipped low. “Jealous? We can remedy that if you want.” He wiggled his eyebrows so she could take it as a joke or read between the lines and find the truth hidden somewhere in there. Because it was there, all right.

  Amalie rolled her eyes. “Dream on.”

  Julian couldn’t help himself, his grin widening so much that his cheeks hurt. “Stardust, I know you’re developing feelings for me, which is perfectly normal. I totally understand that. I mean, I am a supreme athlete, after all.”

  Amalie scoffed even though she refused to meet his stare. “Umm, no. That’s, ah, no.”

  Huh. Very interesting.

  “And why Stardust? Like David Bowie or…?”

  “No.” His fingers gently traced the freckles high on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose before leaning back. “Like the freckles across your face. They make these patterns that remind me of constellations, so they’re basically s
tardust.”

  Amalie licked her lips, and the movement had Julian completely entranced. “I like that.”

  They may have lost Andrew Warner and his financial backing, but it looked like they still had each other, and that had to count for something.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Julian

  Breaking the news of Andrew Warner’s financial exit to Paul went a lot better than expected. Apparently, Andrew had everything paid up until the end of the month, but after that, Paul agreed to coach Julian for free. He said he “felt Julian had the right stuff and wasn’t a complete waste of time” after seeing him hang with that kid, Wesley Walker, in the Jekyll tournament. Paul wasn’t the biggest fan of Andrew Warner anyway, so yeah, that helped, too. Romina was united in the “I Hate Andrew Warner” tour and was also training Julian for free.

  Training tripled in intensity, but Julian didn’t mind. The more Paul kept him busy, the less opportunity he had to think about Amalie and how protective she was of him and how that pretty much softened his Grinch heart.

  March bled into April, and April blew through to May. June arrived before he knew it. It was amazing how time passed so quickly when you were busy being a damn adult. Julian was exhausted from having to schmooze and kiss ass all day at work and then practicing for hours on end at night. He hardly recognized the interior of his own apartment, rarely there for more than a few hours at a time, and those hours were pretty much spent with his eyes closed. Amalie stayed busy taking on as many freelance jobs as she could, even stepping in as a secretary for Romina, a position they all knew Ro made up just for Amalie. He admired Ro for that.

  Since it was the weekend, Julian had an early morning training with Paul, even though he wanted to hit the snooze button when his alarm went off. He gulped down the rest of what Amalie called his “plant vomit” smoothie and then made his way onto the court, already tired, and Paul hadn’t even made him run yet.

  He’d already started sweating on the short walk, the humidity enough to strangle him. When he arrived, Amalie was there, sitting on the bleachers, notebook in hand, and stifling a yawn. Julian hated not getting to see her as much as he used to. It was probably for the best, though, because if things were the way they used to be, he would’ve already kissed her and told her exactly how much he thought about her (which was entirely too much to be considered healthy). Better not to shit where you eat and all those platitudes.

  They had managed to find time for a few Write Nights, where they worked on chapters of her novel, all while he fought his animal instincts like a boss. She’d also made decent progress on her own, though Jax was a little too much like Julian for his liking, but he’d known that would be the case when he signed up for this. He also found it kind of flattering.

  Paul, of course, looked fresh as a daisy, smacking on his gum. “All right, kids, gather ’round.” Amalie offered a sleepy nod as she met them at the net. Julian’s eyes scanned her bare legs, enjoying the fact that the weather was hot enough for shorts because, damn, her legs were something else. She wore a black tank that had little brown buttons, a few of the top ones undone, just enough to hint at her cleavage beneath the fabric. Although all of that was sexy, he enjoyed her mind even more, which he reminded himself as he dragged his gaze away from her pale skin and back to her face.

  Of course she caught him. One eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smile lingering over her lips.

  He winked as he waited to hear what his coach had to say.

  Paul cleared his throat. “Amalie, you know I like having you around here, but for the next month or so it’s gonna be just me and Julian. It’s the only way I can get him to stop staring at you.”

  Julian jerked his head back. “I’m not looking at her.” He totally was looking at her. He was always looking at her. He slid a quick side-eyed glance at Amalie, who seemed to be enjoying this a little too much.

  Paul, God bless him, continued as if Julian wasn’t even there. “It makes sense anyways that you’re not gonna be here. You gotta work now.” Hooking a thumb toward Julian, he added, “He’s working, too, so we ain’t got time to play relationship.”

  Julian and Amalie stared at one another, that familiar tension between them still taut and alive as ever.

  The thought of seeing her even less than he already did made Julian question his sanity. He was letting their steam-roller connection sputter in neutral while he chased this tennis dream that might not even amount to anything. Was he a fool? Nothing promised him that Amalie would be around forever. There was no guarantee that some other man, one who could give her the attention she needed, wouldn’t come along and sweep her right out of Julian’s reach.

  Before he could protest, Amalie smiled, a tight, false expression that didn’t touch her eyes. She looked sad, but Julian couldn’t tell if that was just his wishful thinking reading more into her response than really existed. “No problem,” she said to Paul, but her eyes—those stunning eyes—stayed locked on Julian. “Consider me as good as gone.”

  Paul looked between them, as though he could see their chemistry humming in the air. “It’s just temporary, you two.”

  At the same time, Julian and Amalie came to life, nodding with crumpled brows, saying things like, Oh, we know, it’s fine, really. It’s no big deal. Not a problem.

  But it wasn’t fine. It was a big deal. It was a problem. At least to Julian, anyway.

  Paul patted them both on the shoulder. “Now that we got that over with,” he said, “let’s get on with practice. Better make it a good one Julian, since Amalie here won’t be seeing you until sectionals.”

  He glanced at Amalie, who speared him with a look he was fairly certain had been forged from her own panic, a look she was trying very hard to make appear as something else. He knew the feeling, only he wasn’t so good at hiding it.

  As they followed Paul, walking side by side, Julian let his fingers tangle with Amalie’s. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked up at him and said, “It’s only a month. It’ll be fine.” Then, as though covering her tracks, she added, “We’ll be back to Write Nights in no time.”

  He squeezed her fingers, hoping she was right.

  Julian and Paul trained harder than ever during the month of June. After each practice, as soon as Julian got home, he couldn’t help but text Amalie.

  Julian: Hey. Whatcha doing?

  Amalie: Working on the book. Oh! I need to send you a picture of this lizard-shaped cheese puff I just found.

  Julian snorted. She always knew how to cheer him up. Practice had been rough, and he needed a pick-me-up.

  Julian: Send a pic. Do you have any questions for me?

  Amalie: I do, actually. I’ll call.

  Before he could finish reading the text, his phone rang.

  “Hey, you,” she said by way of greeting. Her voice felt like sunshine, and it hit him in the gut at how much he missed her.

  “Hey. Practice isn’t the same without you.”

  “You miss my face, don’t you?”

  “Actually, I do.”

  A pause, a throat clearing. He regretted nothing.

  “Well, I didn’t realize I was such a distraction that I needed to give you some space,” she joked—there was no malice in her words, just honesty. He could almost envision her smile.

  “You have no idea. Kinda hard not to notice the beautiful redhead sitting in the bleachers every day.”

  She laughed at that. “Well then maybe this is a good thing. I don’t want to divert your attention away from the game. That’s what’s important right now.”

  Julian wasted no time, since it was the perfect segue. “Speaking of what’s important, I have to know, are you just sitting around eating cheese puffs in your underwear?”

  Amalie snorted, and he noticed it sounded a little freer than her usual laughter. “Actually, I’m in my underwear and nightshirt, but close enough. And it’s not just cheese puffs. I’ve thrown some wine in there too. Romina’s staying over with her boy toy, so I have the
apartment to myself.”

  Julian tried not to choke on the water he’d just taken a sip of. Images of Amalie in a nightshirt and sexy little lacy undies ran rampant through his mind. What he wouldn’t give to take her clothes off, explore her until she was about to fall apart, and then put her back together again.

  He tried to control his breathing, to calm the heat rushing through his body. Before he could even come up with a response, to make some provocative remark, Amalie acted as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him.

  “Ugh, this sofa is just not…comfortable.” Her words were strained as he heard her moving around.

  “Well, I sleep in a king-size bed that you’re welcome to share anytime.”

  Now that would be a sight to see. He imagined her writhing beneath him, could almost hear the sounds she’d make. His dick hardened at the thought.

  Completely oblivious to Julian’s struggle, Amalie continued. “We’ll see. Anyway, let me ask you about this tennis match I’m working on. I’m trying to figure out what it feels like to win. I know how I’d feel, but for a person like Jax, like you, to win something you’ve wanted for so long…what does that feel like? I want to make sure that I write it perfectly.”

  Julian readjusted himself on his bed, naked Amalie images still emblazoned on his mind. He needed to focus. This was important. He blew out a breath and tried his best. “What match did he win?”

  “The sectionals tournament you’re about to play in.” She sounded almost guilty.

  “Some would consider that a jinx.”

  “Some would consider it good luck and good vibes.”

  “Fine. It’s probably the same feeling you’d get if you won something. Or you know, the feeling you get when you’ve written the perfect scene, like the one where Penelope and Jax make out?” He waited.