The Price of False Tears

All three of the boys who grew up with me used to love me.

Until the life model walked through the door.

I set my palette knife down against the edge of the easel and told her she could get dressed.

Grant Mercer immediately frowned, his shoulders tensing under his varsity fleece. "Piper, don't treat people like they’re beneath you."

I froze, caught completely off guard.

Then I saw the way he was looking at her—an unmistakable, protective ache flickering behind his eyes.

I turned toward the other two sitting by the bay window. "And you two? Do you feel the same way?"