Release Blitz: Not Without You {By Your Side #3}

Title: Not Without You

Series: By Your Side #3

Author: A.P. Watson

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: August 7, 2019

Blurb

I have one rule in life—never fall in love. Sure, I loved my father and my best friend, but being in love with someone? Out of the question . . . It just wasn’t worth the risk. I saw the agony my father went through as my mother’s coffin was lowered into the ground, and he has never fully recovered from the depths of those sorrows. I won’t put myself through the same misery. I can’t.

Instead, I lose myself in my art. As a painter, I push my emotions into the colors I paint with. I usually put my entire being into every single painting, driving my fingers past the breaking point, but lately, my creative well has run dry. For over a year, my mind has taken a creative sabbatical, locking me out of my own reprieve. But everything changed when I met him. One glance into those bright blue eyes had my hands twitching with the desire to paint again.

If I thought remaining friends with my new muse was going to be easy, I was in for one hell of a letdown, because I was falling for him—fast. Handsome as hell, funny, and kind, he was everything I didn’t need, couldn’t have. I needed to remember my philosophy—live a happy, fulfilling life without falling in love. But deep down, I’m beginning to realize such a fate isn’t possible . . . Not Without You.

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Excerpt

Chapter One: White

White. That was the color that reigned supreme in places like this, places promising all the enlightenment that follows a higher education. Frankly, I would rather be surrounded by any other color in the crayon box. Yes, that meant puke green, sunshine yellow, and even the bright orange screaming at us from every inch of campus. In my opinion, anything was better than white. White was the color of a blank canvas, a stark reminder of the creative sabbatical my soul was currently taking.

“Why do you look like your grandma just flipped you off?”

The sound of Wren’s voice threw me out of my train of thought.

“Because I hate this class. Anything not related to art is a waste of my time.”

“Yeah, that might be true, but everybody is required to take Probability & Statistics.”

“And the probability of me passing this class is slim, so as you can see, no further instruction is needed,” I quipped, sticking my tongue out at her.

She flung her long copper locks over her shoulder and plopped in the seat to my left, pulling out a spiral notebook and a green pen. She was feeling sassy today, and that was an incredible sign. If I had to deal with everything she’d been through the past few weeks, I would have curled up in a ball and flipped the world the middle finger. But not Wren. She was a damn force to be reckoned with.

Placing my hand on her arm, I gave it a little squeeze. Instantly, her body stilled. Although I didn’t reveal my thoughts, my gesture meant she could count on me. It meant she wasn’t alone.

“Thanks, babe,” she whispered, setting her hand on my knee. “You’re the best.”

“Ditto, babe.”

To my right, I could just make out the form of the hot blond guy who had been staring at me for half the class on Tuesday. Not that I hadn’t done my fair share of staring. My eyes had wandered in his direction more than a couple of times since the start of the semester. After all, no harm ever came from looking. He stepped closer, intent on occupying the empty chair next to me.

“If you’re going to sit there, you’d better have a good handle on what the hell is going on in this class,” I stated. My less-than-stellar performance on our first test meant I needed to get my ass in gear if I had any hopes of making it through this class with my GPA intact.

“You mean you don’t?” he asked, humor evident in his tone. “Because you seem like the type of person who has a handle on everything.”

I glanced up at him. Most of the time whenever a guy hit on me, I would dismiss them with little more than a wave of my hand. But his comment had more than piqued my interest. His shaggy blond hair and golden skin tone were so much hotter than I remembered. “Oh,” I whispered with a smile, “you’re good.”

He sat down next to me, sliding a pen out of the pocket of his jeans. “That’s what I hear.” And Hottie was apparently telling the truth, because when he opened his notebook, the first test we took slid out, landing in my lap. “Sorry.” He leaned in my direction.

But I was too quick for him. I grabbed the paper, completely at a loss for words, which was really fucking rare for me. Holy hell. Hottie got a ninety-six? “Look, we got the same grade!”

Wren snickered at my exclamation, trying her best to keep from laughing, since Professor Leigh had already started passing out the attendance roster.

“Really?” asked Hottie.

“Yeah, if you reverse the numbers on your test, that’s what I got.”

The bitchy chick who always wore a red headband turned around to glare at me. “Shh,” she spat, holding her finger over her lips.

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like we’re going to use this fucking bullshit in everyday life.” My retort either offended or shocked her, because she scoffed at me before spinning back around. God, I hated that fucking headband.

“That girl annoys the shit out of me,” Wren mumbled.

“Me too, babe.”

“Eh, she’s just pissed because she got the second-best grade in the class,” Hottie said.

“That seat is yours for the rest of the semester if you want it.”

“I may hold you to that. And my name is Ryan Evanston, by the way.” He held out his hand for me to shake. Crystal blue eyes met mine—the color so pure and pristine my fingers twitched with the need to recreate it.

Well, fuck.

For some people, sexual dry spells ruled their existence. For me, my artistic dry spell was worse than being stranded in the Sahara without a canteen. Sure, I’d been creating art projects for school, but my desire to paint—to let the world fall away and just create—had been non-existent. Wren believed I was uninspired, and she was probably right. But here, at this moment, all I wanted to do was paint those eyes.

Eventually, I slid my hand into his, noting the warmth radiating from his flesh. “Terayn Andrews.”

“And you?” he asked, leaning toward Wren.

“Wren Williams,” she answered.

“Nice to meet both of you.”

“Likewise,” I muttered for both of us.

Professor Leigh droned on for what felt like an eternity. So the guy had his passions, and they all happened to lie within statistics, but that still didn’t warrant the need for him to subject each of us to said passions. Alas, the board of this higher education establishment somehow feels we will benefit from taking a statistics course. And it was a load of freaking bull too.

I tried to concentrate on the sound of Leigh’s voice, but my brain was only capable of withstanding so much torture. I copied down a few notes from the lecture, but my willpower was obliterated by the color periwinkle. My hand had been twitching since I caught sight of those blue eyes. Pulling a few colored pens from my purse, I decided to let my fingers do their bidding.
Line after line flowed together, forming a perfect representation of the human eye. That iris and the multitude of colors it possessed were astounding. I used not one but three different blues in order to capture the intricacy of the hue. And I still wasn’t done. Something about his expression when he had looked at me caught my interest. It needed to be captured too. Now, the drawing had a set of eyebrows to accompany those eyes.