Out of Control Read Online Free

faster but thankful that YouTube hid some useful how-tos among all the cute cats and music videos), made meticulous notes coded by color, saved pictures, experimented using glass left over from making her bread-and-butter projects. The vision and the background work she needed to do to accomplish it consumed any time she wasn’t at the bakery. While she worked at the bakery, did her shift as a dog walker or rode her bike from job to job, she was engrossed in the spring colors around her and the still more vivid colors in her head. She even forgot her volunteer shift at GreenStar, running in an hour late, frantic and still sweaty from the studio; she needed the volunteer discount on her groceries too badly to miss the shift completely.
    Drake faded into the background, where he belonged.
    At least she thought he had until she reexamined her sketches. That face in the tree would be subtle when it was worked in glass, an abstract man in an abstract tree. In the sketches, though, it was obviously Drake’s face.
    One sketch even had a vine tracing that, while it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else, she knew was a bow to his glasses.
    Oh Lord, Avi would laugh. Avi was used to her being the one who had some fun, then walked away because she was too busy to put up with some man’s shit.
    She reached for her phone. What would it hurt to call, set up a date?
    Then she looked at the sketches again. What it would hurt was her process. She was hot on the trail of this piece, but she still had a lot of work to do before she could actually get started—and that was in addition to doing her usual vases and suncatchers. Much as she wanted the pleasure of a picnic at Taughannock Falls or a movie or a concert, followed by the intense sex that seemed inevitable after that devastating kiss and Avi’s insider information, she couldn’t afford the distraction.
    If Drake could kick her out of the house to finish his work, despite the hard-on straining against his shorts and the lust that darkened his eyes and made his voice husky, she could resist calling him until the Green Man project was glass, not a fire in her brain.
    And if the attraction, once they saw each other again, was as strong as it had been that first day, it would make satisfaction all that much sweeter.
    Right? She kept telling herself that every time Drake managed to fight his way through the images and techniques that crowded her head. It might have worked too, if she hadn’t suddenly woken from a sound sleep on the couch in the studio (she hadn’t wanted to take the time to go home) remembering she’d promised Drake she’d fix that stained glass window.
    She didn’t want to distract herself with that now, not when that new piece was close enough she could close her eyes and see all its details, but damn it, she’d made a promise. It made sense to do it when she wasn’t living there yet to be bothered by the gaping hole where the window ought to be. And speaking of gaping holes, it was supposed to be dry and moderately warm for April in the Finger Lakes this week. It was as good a time as any to do the job. Not as cold as it had been last week, not pouring rain like it was a few days ago and would probably be by the weekend.
    All perfectly logical. So why did reaching for her phone to see when she could come over feel risky? Damn it, she wasn’t normally this nervous asking someone out—and she wasn’t asking Drake out, even though she still might do so down the road. This was business.
    Which didn’t stop her “Hi Drake” from sounding suspiciously squeaky when she heard his deep voice on the other end of the phone.
     
     
    After ten days, Jen hadn’t called. Of course, Drake hadn’t called her either. He hadn’t forgotten the woman’s impact, the presence she packed into her small body, but thanks to concentrating on his paper, focusing on his grad students and helping see the undergrads through the last few weeks of the semester, and spending hours with