Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
SPENCER
A fter thirty minutes of everyone hanging out in the gallery, I dragged them all back. Their protests did nothing to deter me. I need my cockblocks right next to me, where they belong, so I don’t do stupid things.
Hayes gave me a knowing look and gestured to my chest where I momentarily forgot Rio’s handprint was still visible. I immediately turned and sprinted for the bathroom. Rio can keep me from going upstairs for a shower, but I can at least rinse off my shirt.
Rio ended up staying longer than his lesson time, saying he wanted to flex his creative brain. He ended up with two small bowls and a vase. A little thick, but they’re thin enough to fire in the kiln.
I ended with eight soup bowls. Not that I need them. I’ll probably add some pretty decals on them and give them to Alma once they’re done.
While Rio and I clean up our work stations, my stomach lets out a sound that could be compared to a bear roar.
“Uh oh,” Hayes says from his spot at one of the worktables. “Boss needs food.”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “I’m not that bad.”
“Sure you aren’t.”
Rio’s focus bounces between Hayes and me. “What’s going on?”
“Spencer isn’t all that kind when she gets hangry,” Alma pipes up.
“I’m. Not. That. Bad.” I emphasize each word as I repeat them.
Alma gives me a disbelieving look. “What about the time you just about bit Hayes' head off because he sneezed?”
“That sneeze was at a volume so loud I’m sure New Jersey could hear it. Scientists would study him if they knew.”
Hayes scoffs and adds to Alma’s argument. “There was also the time you cried because Paul dropped his teapot.”
“He worked so hard on that! I felt bad!” I don’t like the points they’re making, no matter how right everyone is.
“You know good and well it was a shit teapot,” Paul says.
“Agree to disagree.”
Paul makes a face that says he isn’t convinced. “Okay then. What about when you said you would eat anchovies?”
“We agreed we would never talk about that.” I will eat anything. Except anchovies. Who wants to eat little bits of fish from a jar? But that day, I was on the verge of starvation.
“No, you agreed,” Hayes points his finger in my direction then gestures to everyone else. “None of us did.”
Zane interrupts “embarrass Spencer time” by walking in the door with a large brown paper bag.
“Hello there, handsome,” Alma greets Zane with a flirtatious tone.
“Uh. Hi?”
Rio hops up from his front row seat where he was enjoying my embarrassment show. “Just in time, Z. Turns out our girl gets grumpy when she's hungry,” Rio unloads the bag from Zane’s hands. “Zane, this is Alma, Hayes, and Paul. Everyone, this is Zane, the friend who signed me up here.”
“Oh,” Alma smirks in my direction. “So this is the man who came the other day.”
I groan and give Hayes my best evil eye. He just shrugs a single shoulder. We both know he told everyone how I embarrassed myself and he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty.
Zane smirks my way and I swear there are literal butterflies inside my body. What two people came together and made this man who is too gorgeous to be real? “You ready for lunch, Angel?”
Glancing at Zane out of the corner of my eye, I try to look uninterested even though I really am a hungry hippo. I didn’t realize it until Hayes pointed it out, but now all I can think about is food and the lack of it in my belly. God, I’m close to tears.
“Maybe.” My nonchalance is argued with another bear roar from my stomach.
Zane gives me a mocking snort. “I brought egg rolls.”
If he’s trying to entice me, it’s working. With the temptation of egg rolls in front of me, I do my best to keep my pride intact.
“Anything else in your bag of wonders?”
My attitude is rewarded with another small curve of his lips. “Kung pao chicken, fried rice, and wonton soup.”
I feel bad about taking food he now won’t get to eat, but hunger wins out, and I know I won’t be able to come back from crying in front of everyone when I’m hungry. It will just give Hayes, Alma, and Paul another example to use against me in the future.
“You twisted my arm,” I say, knowing full well that I became this food's bitch the moment egg rolls were mentioned. Rio and I finish cleaning up our mess then the two follow me.
Walking into the gallery I immediately realize my mistake. A throat clears and I mentally kick myself in the ass. I should have thought ahead.
Iris stands there shooting a look my way that begs me to explain what’s going on. I subtly shake my head in return and send her the signal all females know. Not now .
Ignoring my cue, Iris does what she does best. Pushing me out of my comfort zone. “What’s up, Spencer? Where did you get the two pieces of eye candy?”
My face flushes as I point to each man, knowing she won’t give up until I give in. “Rio and Zane. Guys, this is my good friend, Iris. She works here at the gallery.” They each give Iris a kind smile and wave.
I want to bury my face in the sand and hide for the next century when Iris gives them both a once over. She’s trying to suss out who the story she heard from Hayes is about. She notes Rio’s clay covered clothing and then zeroes in on my chest. A quick glance downward and I see that everyone can still see the outline of a handprint over the top of my breasts.
Shit.
I know her perfectly shaped brow being raised the way it is isn't to judge me, but becauseshe wants clarification, and there is no way I'm giving that to her right now. I give her the same look from earlier, but thankfully this time she heeds my sign.
Moving on to another subject, she asks, “What is that deliciousness I smell?”
“Zane brought Chinese.”
“Oh did he?” The sudden change of expression on her face lets me know the devil on her shoulder has taken over. “Zane, do you want some dessert with your lunch?”
Zane slides his hands into his pockets and squints. “Sure.”
“I’m sure Spencer could spread?—”
“Okay!” I shout. “And on that note, we’re going to go.” I grasp each of their arms and pull them into the breakroom with me.
“This is cozy,” Rio comments.
“Um, thanks.” I tuck a wayward lock of hair behind my ear.
Rio immediately makes himself at home by spreading out the food on the table for us to share. Zane places a guiding hand on the small of my back that makes my skin heat. That same spark from the other day is still there.
Nice to know I didn’t imagine it.
Zane pulls out my chair and tucks it in behind me while Rio plops the container of yummy poultry in front of me.
“How did you…”
“You practically salivated when Zane said ‘Kung Pao chicken.’”
“You okay with just eating out of the containers?” Zane asks courteously.
“Yeah. Less dishes.” I hate dishes just as much as I hate cooking.
Rio scoots his chair right next to mine so we’re touching shoulder to hip. It takes every bit of focus to ignore him and concentrate on eating.
We all fall into an easy rhythm of taking a few bites and passing the white boxes. I practically leap into a food coma as the hangry beast inside is satisfied.
Rio eats like he’ll never see food again. How can he eat like he eats, but still look how he looks?
“I’m going to go. I have work to get to.” Standing from his chair, he gives me a kiss on my cheek and I swear my face turns into a tomato.
Physically, my heart can only handle so much from this man. He needs to slow down before his forward nature puts me in an early grave. Right now, my heart is working overtime especially since Zane is looking right at us as Rio plants his lips on my cheek. “I’ll see you next week, Mama. Thanks for lunch, Z.”
When the door closes behind Rio with a snick, the discomfort surrounding my body intensifies. Zane didn’t do anything wrong, but I feel like I did. He didn’t look upset by the simple kiss, but he still saw it.
Is he secretly pissed about it? Is he mad at Rio? Does he regret coming back? Rio implied earlier that Zane just wanted an excuse to see me. Are they fighting over me?
Why do I even care? I shouldn’t. I’m a grown ass woman and can do what I want. I don’t want to be the source of contention between the two, but I can’t control what they do.
While I stew in my spiraling anxiety, Zane takes Rio’s seat next to me. Now it’s Zane’s hip and shoulder against mine and I cannot shift my attention to anything else. Not my to-do list, not my upcoming exhibit. Nothing.
My body tingles from his touch. I’m sure he just doesn’t want any conversation between us to become awkward because of how far apart we were sitting, and he can’t move the chair because then that would acknowledge he knew Rio was right against me the whole time. I know mine and Rio’s touching shoulders were visible, but denial is my current home, and I’ll die here if I have to.
The silence that continues doesn’t dull my inner panic, but I keep eating as if nothing is amiss.
A huge swirl of Chow Mein tries to escape my fork as I attempt to get it in my mouth. That’s the moment Zane chooses to finally speak.
“Tell me about your grandmother.”
With my mouth open and noodles falling, I choke. Coughing a few times, Zane pats my back and looks like he’s ready to perform the Heimlich which will only bring to light the fact that I’m not choking on food, just my own fucking spit.
“My Abuela? Uh. Sure. What do you want to know?”
“You two must have been pretty close for her to have left this place to you.”
Happy memories flood my consciousness. The moment must have reflected on my face because Zane’s eyes turn soft. “We were. My mom is a single parent, so Abuela would take me during summer break every year. My love of art came from her. One time we were in San Francisco at a figure drawing open studio?—”
“Figure drawing?”
“Yeah, drawing the human body. There’s a model in the middle of the room and everyone sits around with sketchbooks and draws what they see.”
Zane angles his body so he’s facing me with his arm resting along the back of my chair. “Like, nude models?”
“Yes.” I smile to myself. Nudity usually makes people uncomfortable, but in the art world a penis is just a penis. Just another part of the human body.
Zane doesn’t respond so I continue, “Anyway, this other artist kept critiquing my sketch and telling me that my proportions of the model’s body were off, that I was making his torso too long.”
“His?”
Snorting is not my norm, but nevertheless I snort at Zane’s disbelief. “Yes. His .” I chuckle softly and continue, “I was embarrassed and tried ignoring her, but she wouldn’t let up. Finally, Abuela snapped at the woman and told her to leave me alone and that I could draw however my sixteen-year-old mind chose to. Abuela was protective and encouraged me to create all the time no matter how shitty it turned out.”
“You were sixteen and drawing naked men?” Zane strikes me as the quiet type, but I think I have just shocked the quiet out of him.
“Pablo Picasso was drawing nude models at age nine.” I cross my arms and lean back.
“I don’t know if that makes it any better.”
“Nudity is part of being an artist. Plenty of artists started young.”
He tilts his head to the side and narrows his gaze, studying my face as if it has the answer that will end world hunger. “It’s not that. I don’t think I like the idea of you seeing another man naked.”
Is he…jealous?
No, that can’t be it. He probably just doesn't like the idea of a sixteen-year-old girl drawing an adult nude man. But I was mature for my age, I didn’t laugh uncomfortably or anything. I was just studying the human body and admiring its beauty just like any other artist would.
His attention strays from my face and glides down my body snagging on my chest. The heat behind his eyes could light the building on fire.
Shit. The handprint.
I lean forward and bring my elbow to the table blocking his view of my shirt.
“So. Tell me about yourself, Zane. I think I should probably get to know the man who paid for my lunch.”
Mimicking my position, Zane indulges my subject change. “What do you want to know?”
His green eyes connect with mine and it’s as if all the oxygen is sucked out of the room. My brain drains of all thought and all I can focus on are his green irises with little gold flecks in them. When we met the other day I didn’t notice the hint of gold, but with his close proximity I can’t help but take it in.
The stubble along his jaw looks like it would slightly scrape against my skin, but I would welcome the rough texture. The sharpness of his cheekbones makes me swoon, and I imagine how I would cup his face in the palm of my hand before we…
Nope! Not going there. Can’t go there. Won’t go there.
What were we talking about?
Oh yeah. Him.
“Where did you grow up?”
What an original question. You hit that one out of the park.
“New Jersey.” His answer is straight to the point, and he doesn’t expound on it.
Crickets could be heard chirping. How do I get this man to actually talk to me? It’s like pulling teeth.
“Okay. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a detective.”
“That’s so cool. Can you make some parking tickets disappear?”
“Not really.”
“That’s okay. I don’t even have a car.”
A deep booming laugh echoes in the space and a warmth fills my chest. I like making this man laugh. I like knowing I cracked his composed exterior.
Maybe he doesn’t need to spill his life’s story to me. I’m fine with being the one who makes him smile.
After we finish eating, we clean up and I walk Zane to the front of the gallery. The goodbye isn’t uncomfortable, and I get the feeling it isn’t a “goodbye forever,” it’s a “goodbye for now.”
My feeling is proven correct when Zane shows up the next day with gyros. The conversation is light and easy and filled with laughter.
Over the next week Zane brings me lunch almost every day. I learned that Zane grew up in foster care, is an only child like me, and knew he wanted to be a cop from a young age.
We exchanged phone numbers because he felt bad that he couldn’t make it a few times and had no way of letting me know. I reassured him that I’m a big girl who can get her own food, but he wasn’t having it.
Rio kisses me on the cheek after each lesson and Zane hugs me goodbye each time we part. They’re simple acts that friends do, so why does it feel like more?