Alice in Chains’ “Would?” starts playing from the speakers and I find myself nodding along to the beat as I strut across the bar to replace a flickering bulb in the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. A cigarette rests between my lips, smoke curling upward into the dimly lit space.

I listen to Ivy grouse about the dreadfulness that is...well, something or other that has to do with whatever the fuck she’s painting. I don’t understand most of it. Painting isn’t exactly my forte, unless it’s a wall and my only job is to make sure there are no streaks.

“It’s bullshit.” She nearly has to shout to be heard over the music.

I run the back of my inked arm across my forehead, shoving back some of the sweaty, dark stands that never seem to know whether they want to be curly or straight. “I know,” I mumble.

“I should be able to paint whatever the fuck I want.”

“I know.”

Pretty sure she doesn’t even hear me. “What the hell does this teach me anyway, other than to hate art? I should drop out.”

I pinch the cigarette away from my mouth and squint up at my handiwork. Good enough. “Yes, you should.”

I turn then to find Ivy giving me an unimpressed look over her shoulder. Brown paint speckles her cheek. It looks like shit. I tell her as much, and she gives me the finger.

It doesn’t even matter if she heard me or not. She just knows me that well.

I spread my hands. “You’re either an artist or you’re not,” I say loudly. “And you are. So why do you need a fucking piece of paper to prove it?”

It’s not the first time we’ve had this argument. I get it, though. Sort of. She’s got the money, even if it’s her parents’ money, so why the hell not?

Plus, the girl thrives on being contrary. If telling her what she doesn’t want to hear motivates her to kick this assignment’s ass, then so be it.

“I want to be more well-rounded.”

I roll my eyes, reaching down for my beer. “You’re miserable.”

“Only because—”

The front door opens suddenly, blasting in harsh sunlight and abruptly cutting off whatever she was about to say.

Cringing, I straighten to stand once more, squinting at the two bodies making their way inside. I lift a hand to my eyes and wait for my vision to adjust.

A surprised voice says, “You’re here.” Mason.

“And you’re letting in the sun,” I grumble distractedly.

He chuckles, and it’s followed by another low, raspy laugh I don’t recognize. “My bad. I forgot I’m surrounded by vampires.”