Free The Artist (The Game Changers #2) by Shealy James Page A

wouldn’t it?” Playful Maverick was charming. I liked him almost as much as sexy, smoldering Maverick.
    I couldn’t help the smile on my face as well. I was already having more fun than I had ever had on a maybe date. “I guess it would. All right. I’ll be patient.”
    We chatted comfortably about living in Seattle and seeing the tourist attractions that most locals didn’t typically visit. I hadn’t been anywhere that I didn’t go on a school field trip or with my nanny. It wasn’t like my parents would have been caught dead at the space needle, or God forbid, the aquarium.
    Maverick was another story. His mom took him and his brother everywhere. They went on family vacations and day trips. He regaled me with stories of him and his little brother, Jack. It was obvious from the tone of his voice how much Maverick cared about his family, especially Jack. A pang of jealousy stabbed at me. All I ever wanted when I was growing up was a sibling. Sister. Brother. It didn’t matter. Another warm body would have been sufficient. I think a dog would have done it, but no. Pets weren’t allowed, either.
    He guided the car past Pier 57 where The Great Wheel and Miner’s Landing were. There were few people around, probably due to the cold, but that made it easier for us to park. I couldn’t imagine what we were doing over here, but I promised not to ask any more questions.
    “Don’t worry. We won’t be out here long,” he told me as he held the door open for me. I stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of Waterfront Park. Wind whipped around us, bringing a chill from the water. He wrapped an arm around me as he led me down through the park.
    The concrete walls that used to be bare when I was a child were covered in vibrant colors displaying highlights of Seattle. All the Washington sports teams were recognized. There was a section for music, art, and even business. I rolled my eyes at the large Starbucks logo. I loved their coffee as much as the next person, but nothing held a candle to my sweet little coffee shop with my favorite chair.
    I kept investigating the huge mural that spanned the multiple walls around the park. Each section was different and didn’t look like Adam’s other paintings. “You did this?” I asked curiously.
    “Sort of. The city commissioned five painters to do this. Blythe and I were both commissioned to do the project. It’s how we became such good friends. You can’t spend hours upon hours working with someone like her and not get to know her. She doesn’t allow it. Come on. You can see her work better over here.” He led me to a section that was more abstract and somehow brighter and louder than the rest.
    “She’s good,” I commented as I took in Blythe’s work. The colors were unique, and the dreamlike state she could somehow evoke with the simplest of paint strokes was present as well. “It’s interesting how someone so polished and seemingly uptight can create something so abstract, chaotic almost. I guess it goes to show you really can’t always judge a book by its cover.”
    He nodded, pressing the tips of his fingers gently to a bright blue streak that bled into yellow and green. “I agree,” he said thoughtfully. “She thinks outside the box for sure. At least in her art, anyway.” He paused for another moment, and I was realizing that Maverick was a deeper thinker than most men I knew. He proved me right a few seconds later when he finally spoke. “Her paintings make me think beyond what’s in front of me, which is what she strives for people to do, I think. It seems to me, she wants us to interpret her work in a way that’s personal. You know, the real art is when she’s painting. She uses her whole body to create a piece. I’ve never seen anything like it. She ends up covered in paint from her hair to her back to her toes. I don’t know how she gets it everywhere, but it’s part of her process.”
    I stared at her work, thinking how his interpretation of