Painting My Heart (New Adult Contemporary Romance)

By Emily Stone

After her parents passes away in a horrific car accident, college junior Marlena Rhodes is left with nothing but broken dreams and an ever mounting pile of debt. Desperate to make a living, she starts picking up every job offer she can find in an attempt to stay afloat.

When she picks up a random flyer from the Art department requesting models to pose for the graduate students, Marlena takes up the offer without a second thought.

Marlena soon discovers that not only will she be baring it all, she'll be doing it for one person and one person only: Jonathan Conway, the drop-dead gorgeous painter who she's been eyeing for all three years of college.

As their painting sessions grow longer and more personal, will Marlena finally have the courage to truly bare it all to Jonathan?

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBook Publishing World
• Release date: Jun 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501492068

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I stared at the three dollar tip lying on the table and sighed. Three dollars down, another sixty odd thousand to go.  It’s been four months since my parents were killed in a horrific car accident. In that time I found myself going from a junior at the University of Washington to sleeping on a couch at my best friend’s apartment, living with 3 other girls and working as a waitress at the university pub. With the cost of my dad’s two weeks in ICU, the lawyer closing my parent’s estate, and the funeral fees, I was left with no family and a mountain of debt.  Throw in losing my scholarship from my dad’s job at Boston College and being kicked out of my program at the university, I was fucked with a capital F.

I hefted the bin—heavy and full of empty glasses—into my arms and entered the kitchen only to pause as something moved in my peripheral vision. I let out a sigh at the familiar sight of a tall blonde man walking past the front of the pub windows. He brushed his shaggy hair out of his shockingly green eyes as he passed. I wanted so desperately to sit him down in a chair, trim the hair out of his eyes, and get rid of that shirt of his.

I didn't even know his name.

The first time I saw him was when he and his friends were playing a pick-up game of basketball. I was just a freshman then. The sight of him that day—shirtless with tattoos flowing across his back and down his arm—made my engine rev loud and hard.

The image of his sculpted body was seared into my head and often times at night, I'd imagine that he hovered over me, drops of sweat following the lines of his tattoo. Sometimes, his image was all I needed before I found myself panting hard and fast on my bedspread, desperately trying to come down and regain my breath.

I guess I was obsessed but I made a promise to myself not to become that girl. You know the ones. They stay just a step behind a guy for a glimpse of his ass or a wayward smile. Sometimes going as far as nearly approaching him only to turn around at the last second. A creepy stalker girl.

If only it were that easy.

It was odd, the more I tried to avoid him, the more he appeared in his life. I changed my route to avoid the arts building where he was always around and tried my damndest to avert my gaze whenever he was headed towards me.

But every once in a while, he'd catch me by surprise and I'd have to repeat my mantra: I will not react to him, I will not jump his bones, I will not ride him like a carnival ride...

Luckily today, my boss Enzo's demanding bark of a voice was what saved me from my own daydreams. Marlena! He called from behind the bar. I need those glasses back here. Less standing around and more working.

Obedient, I plodded to the kitchen and organized the dishes on the tray for the dishwasher. I called my boss some very offensive names under my breath. He had given me my job back and even let me take full-time hours, but since I left without notice for two months, he screwed me over on the shift work. I got a lot of split shifts that had me work from 10am to 2pm and then from 11pm to 3am because he supposedly trusted me to open and close the bar.

That was typical Enzo bullshit. If he really trusted me to open and close the bar, he'd given me the Thursday, Friday or Saturday night shift, the ones that generate the most tips from drunken college kids with too much money to spend. Instead, I found myself working Sundays and holidays. Even then, the shifts would change every week so I couldn’t get a steady second job to supplement my income.

I was tempted to quit but Enzo's was the only university owned bar, and as such, offered personal health benefits on the university’s dime. Penniless, I was reluctant to part ways with it.

One of my roommates offered to give me some contacts from her summer internship. She got me hooked up with a temping agency that called me in for odd administrative jobs like filing papers or answering phones. But those were odd and in between. Nonetheless, it was relatively flexible and some of the companies didn’t mind that I came in on the weekend to do some filing as long as security was with me at all times. I’ve made friends with a lot of the security guards.

After I loaded the glasses through the washer, I clocked out at the till, hung up my apron, and grabbed my jacket. I fought the desire to roll my eyes at Enzo as he called See you tonight Marlena. Fuck you too, Enzo... I thought bitterly as I walked out.

I walked back to our apartment, pausing at the university bulletin board, looking for any upcoming studies looking for subjects. There were always a few from the psychology department and they sometimes offered pay. Not well, mind you, but twenty dollars here and there adds up. It was a relatively easy way to earn money around my lousy work schedule.

Most of the studies were simple. There were a lot of sitting in of a computer and following instructions like Push this button when you feel this emotion. Or Answer this questionnaire about your personal experiences.

Then there were the physical ones. Those ones sucked the most but at least it was cheaper than a gym membership. Being on my feet for more than twelve hours a day and not being able to afford luxuries such as beer, fried food, or transit passes had caused me to lose a little weight. Not a lot, just enough to make me feel like I wouldn’t break our ancient kitchen chairs every time I sat on one.

Scanning the board now, most of the posters were from studies I had already taken part in or for parties I had no interest or chance of attending. What caught my eye however, was a poster from the Art Department.

Models needed for Graduate studies program.

Must be able to hold still for extended periods of time.

$500 stipend/semester for each subject that participates.

Please contact Professor Achmides for details.

My jaw dropped. Five hundred dollars? How much money does the art department have? Weren't artists supposed to be poor? Wasn't that the reason for the term 'starving artist?' I guess I