Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, carved with angel-soft beauty, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection. But Renna knows perfection is nothing but a golden prison, coated in pretty lies that k...
"To the boy who thinks he doesn't deserve love, Wait for someone who'd call you just because she missed your voice."
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You know when the sun just hits your skin right, and your soul feels like it's been dipped in a caramel macchiato and slow-danced into golden hour?
Yeah. That.
That's exactly what this day was doing to me. The lawn beneath me was sun-warmed and soft like it was made for my bare thighs, and the sky?
Ugh.
Just this big, obnoxious blue canvas that was being all extra with puffy clouds like whipped cream scoops.
I stretched one leg out dramatically, bent the other at the knee like some nineties pin-up, and flopped my arm over my forehead as if I was about to recite a Shakespearean tragedy.
Except my top was ruched in all the wrong-right places and the gold chain around my neck had decided to happily lodge in the absolute pit between the girls. Aadam hadn't said a single word about it.
Which, rude again.
"Are you done being moody Picasso yet?" I tilted my head lazily toward him, voice all sugar and mischief, dragging the words like honey dripping off a spoon.
He didn't even look at me.
Aadam Alaric Callahan, my human problem and the bane of every fully-functioning brain cell I had left, was leaning against a tree, sketchpad propped on one knee, pencil moving like witchcraft.
And the worst part?
He looked so hot doing it.
Loose black hoodie half pushed up his arms, jaw clenched in that silent, broody way that made girls write sad poetry and boys get insecure. That curly mess of dark hair flopped over his brow, and his long fingers were busy shading something that better be me or I was going to combust from jealousy of an inanimate object.
"You've been drawing for, like, an hour," I whined, kicking one foot up and letting it drop lazily. "Come on. Just a peek. I won't laugh. Promise."
Still nothing.
Just a faint twitch of his mouth.
That stupid, infuriating mouth that always looked like it was hiding a secret. Or a sin. Probably both.
Ugh. Is this man ever going to look up, or should I just start undressing and see if that helps?
I tilted my hips, stretched a bit more provocatively than necessary, and huffed. "You're taking longer than it took da Vinci to paint the Sistine Chapel, Aadam."
