6 - Sage
Sage
I pressed back a step, staring at the charcoal drawing.
My fingers twitched on their own accord, as if they sensed the imperfections I spotted and wanted to smooth them out before anyone noticed.
Not that I was in danger of that happening any time soon.
People drifted past, glasses in hand, far more interested in literally every other piece of art in this place.
“Maybe it’s pretentious,” I said, throwing furtive glances this way and that while Ramona gawked straight ahead. “Me standing in front of my own work like this.”
“It’s a fucking masterpiece, so you’d be excused.
” She tore her gaze from her own likeness to flash me a wide grin, her perfect, winged eyeliner finishing off the femme fatale look she was going for.
A look started by the red mini dress, ripped fishnets, and platform boots.
“Quit freaking out, and take my word for it. This portrait is gonna get the attention it deserves.”
“You’re pretty invested for someone who’s used to getting her fifteen seconds of fame at least twice a week at Icy Veins gigs.”
Her grin only widened. “There’s no such thing as too much attention. Not in my world. Not ever. This? Someone’s buying it tonight. I can feel it in my left tit.”
“Yeah, right.” I scoffed, daring myself to have one more look at it. I didn’t hate it. But that was neither here nor there.
“Maybe a stinking rich old guy,” Ramona went on as if I’d said nothing.
“He’ll hang it in his living room, so all his rich old friends can get jealous whenever they visit.
It’ll fast become his most prized, most valuable possession, and he’ll probably leave it to his ungrateful bastard grandson in his will. ”
“Did you take something before coming here?”
“But before the estate’s settled, it’ll disappear in some elaborate heist that makes international news. Never to be seen again. So much time will pass that it’ll become this charcoal myth only talked about in hushed tones over vintage single malt whiskey.”
“Please stop.”
But Ramona was on a roll, and I knew there’d be no stopping her until the roll came to a stop by itself.
“Until centuries later,” she said, eyes glinting with childlike marvel. “when my great-great-great-great-great— however many greats-granddaughter, and namesake, stumbles onto it in her aristocrat in-laws’ walk-in safe and balance is once again restored.”
I stared at her, trying not to laugh. “Or nobody buys it, and I have to carry it home on my back in a public walk of shame to confirm that I, in fact, have no artistic talent whatsoever.”
Ramona’s eyes held mine for a beat. “Jesus. We need to drink.”
Before I could argue, she grabbed my wrist, yanking me through the clusters of guests. Conversations collided in our wake, glasses chimed, the floor slick under my heels. I stumbled along, avoiding direct eye contact with anyone, while Ramona—chaos incarnate—led the way to the bar.
“Two of your finest,” she said, and didn’t flinch when the bartender silently pointed to the array of champagne glasses right in front of her. She plucked two from the lot, and handed one of them to me. “Drinks are on me.”
“They’re free.”
“Even better.” She flashed a wink, immediately turning to scan the room from this different angle.
I held onto my glass at the stem, taking a first tentative sip before allowing myself the same privilege. The crowd pressed around us, moving in small loops, voices running over each other. I caught sight of Troy as he got pulled into yet another conversation.
“We’ve been here for an hour, and that asshole hasn’t said ‘hi’ yet.” I motioned in his direction with a not-so-subtle thrust of my chin.
Ramona rolled her eyes. “You know how he gets at these things. Finally having an outlet for all that self-importance. Want me to beat him up?”
“Maybe later.” I shrugged, and took a bigger sip, the bubbles fizzing over my tongue and going straight to my head where it mixed deliciously with the instant regret of having skipped dinner.
“You think you looked pretentious? Check them out.” Ramona nodded toward a pair of impeccably dressed men hovering at the wall of abstract paintings.
“So desperate to be part of the in-crowd but all they are is boring. And corrupt. I’m sure they’re those collectors who do shady deals on the black market. ”
I stifled a laugh, but was enjoying her imagination way too much to make her stop.
“Tell me more,” I said, trying to ignore the lonely charcoal portrait that hadn’t caused a single other person to stop and stare. “What about him? Over by the watercolor landscape.”
“Recently divorced retired colonel,” she said without hesitation.
“But he hates his wife, so he’s planning on spending her alimony here tonight before going home to his empty mansion and jerking off to The Golden Girls on mute, while Andrea Bocelli plays at full volume.
He has it on vinyl, so you know that shit’s gonna rock. ”
Her easy bullshit caught me so offguard I burst out laughing before I remembered we were someplace that level of mirth would be frowned upon. I quickly swallowed back the rest of my laughter, shoulders shaking.
“You need to stop, or Troy’s kicking us both out of here.”
“Troy’s a stick-figure in a tux,” she said with an evil grin. “I’d like to fucking see him try.”
The man in question floated right past us again, laughing at something someone had said as he gestured toward the paintings across the room. “If it’s avant-garde you’re after, then you don’t want to miss this.”
Ramona mimicked him until she realized she had an audience of two, staring at her. She schooled her expression back to neutral and leaned in close. “I’m ready to call it. This party sucks.”
“But what about—?”
“I say we go find a real bar, where we can get shitfaced without judgment.” She hooked her arm into mine and started weaving us toward the back of the room again.
“I’m not leaving yet,” I said, keeping my voice casual.
“We’re leaving. Finish your drink.” She downed the rest of hers as though she were at a frat party.
“No, wait.” She did, but her patience was wearing thin, and quickly. “There’s a rumor the art director from SASCA might be coming.”
Ramona studied me with one skeptical eyebrow arched. “I resent you making up acronyms just to distract me into doing your bidding.”
“It’s not made up,” I said with a sigh. “The San Antonio School of Contemporary Art?”
“I knew that.”
“Once every three years, the art director awards a full scholarship to one student. One. And this happens to be a scholarship year.”
Her eyes widened, all joking around abandoned. “Why the fuck didn’t you open with that? Here I am talking shit while the trajectory of your whole life and ultimate happiness hangs in the balance.”
“First of all, you’re always talking shit,” I said, and took a deep breath. “Second of all, that was totally uncalled for. We need more alcohol.”
She ignored me, finger twitching toward a cluster of graying men. “Is that him?”
I squinted, taking in the room. “No. Please, can we get another drink? The trajectory of my whole life and ultimate happiness is at stake here.”
“That him?” she asked again, nodding toward some other guy.
I shook my head.
“Is that—?”
“I’ve been looking out for him all night. He isn’t here yet. I’ll tell you if—” The rest of my words caught in my throat, cut off by movement at the entrance.
My vision was a little fuzzy, and the warmth spreading from the champagne didn’t help my self-doubt. But after a few seconds of blinking and second-guessing, I knew it was him.
Aiden moved into the gallery with an air of easy confidence for someone inclined to fade into the background by default. He wore a suit, hair slicked back, and even had a tie for the occasion. I bit back a smile as I watched his gaze sweep the room, looking for me.
Ramona jabbed me in the side with her elbow. “Oh my god. Is that him? I thought we were looking for a stuffy old dude, not a smoking hot specimen in his prime.”
I lightly shoved her back, hissing under my breath. “Keep it down. And pick your jaw up from the floor before someone trips over it.”
“You’re my best friend,” she said, her eyes glued to Aiden. “I wouldn’t mind exchanging sexual favors so you can land your scholarship.”
A pang of jealousy stole over me out of nowhere. I didn’t want it, and was in no way prepared for it. Athletes weren’t my type.
“Stay here.”
“No way,” Ramona said, hurrying to keep up with me as I started in Aiden’s direction.
“Seriously.” And I stopped to look at her so she’d know just how serious I was. Ramona held up her hands in surrender and fell back, although she didn’t hide the disappointment on her face.
Satisfied that she’d stay put, I moved forward, weaving between small clusters of guests, keeping my eye on him the whole time. I felt warm all over—from the champagne, of course—but managed to will my racing pulse into submission despite the fact.
Everything else faded. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the egotistical posturing of collectors, Troy fluttering around like a social butterfly, even Ramona’s running commentary receded to the edges.
He walked in, quiet, efficient, scanning, and I had a moment to watch him without him noticing me.
I counted the steps in the way my body measured space as I navigated the floor, approaching him without tripping over anyone. Every surface kept me aware of my own presence and how I had it angled in his direction.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I said as I came up to him.
His face broke into a smile that was both surprised and relieved. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Never been invited to anything this fancy before. I even skipped a team appearance to be here.”
I snorted. “You love being invisible, so don’t pretend it was a hard choice to make. Something tells me you were gonna skip that appearance whether I invited you here or not.”
He shrugged, eyes glinting. “Guilty.”
“On a different note: You clean up kind of okay. Almost didn’t recognize you.”
“And you look… out of place,” he replied, the warmth from his body brushing mine.
He was trying to be cocky, but I noticed the way his gaze snagged on the scooped neckline of my dress for an inappropriate number of seconds.
“Always such a charmer.”
He laughed then, a gesture that softened the blue steel of his eyes. “So, where’s the famous piece?”
I turned and began leading him to the back of the room. My pulse jumped when I spotted Ramona across the floor, tracing our path with exaggerated gestures and hands that clearly had no place in polite society. I shot daggers at her with my eyes, and she quickly stopped.
Aiden followed close behind, and then his hand suddenly brushed against my arm, floating down.
I stopped, turning slowly as his fingers closed around my wrist. His eyes were fixed on my back, not me.
The low cut of my dress had revealed a sliver of skin, and part of the ink that wrapped across my ribs.
“So you do have a tattoo,” he said, voice low enough that I couldn’t ignore it.
I tugged at the fabric, trying to cover it. Useless. He’d seen it, and he looked smug in that infuriating way, like he’d discovered a secret he was already enjoying.
“I have more,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You won’t get access, though, so you can wipe that stupid grin off your face.”
He chuckled, still pleased with himself, and let his hand fall back to his side.
I pretended that smallest of losses didn’t affect me, and led him down the aisle toward my work.
I kept one eye on the drawing and another on him, making sure he didn’t get too comfortable with the sight of me in anything other than full control.
The piece was mounted on the wall, a frame of charcoal and shadow capturing Ramona’s intensity. Aiden’s gaze traveled from the name card to the portrait, and I felt myself hold my breath, curious for his reaction.
“Looks just like her,” he said after a moment.
The real Ramona suddenly appeared out of nowhere, making both Aiden and me startle. “There’s only one person with the talent to capture my intensity.”
“And you repay her by inducing cardiac arrest?” Aiden clutched his heart, a breathless smile threatening to expose him.
Ramona folded her arms across her chest, and narrowed her eyes. “I thought I recognized you from the bar the other night.”
“Your band was great, by the way,” he replied. “Killer vocals.”
Ramona bowed her head graciously. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
“Didn’t you say you were looking for Troy?” My other, totally unspoken, message was issued with nothing more than a pointed look.
A look Ramona completely ignored. “No, but if you want him, he’s over there.”
“Go to him, then. Now,” I said, sharper this time.
“Geez, I’m going, I’m going.” She shot Aiden one last look before drifting off into the crowd.
His quiet amusement lingered, rippling on the inexplicable tension between us that hadn’t been there before. Not that first day at the Purple Rose, or the night he’d shown up unannounced. Now though…
“I like her,” he said.
My shoulders drooped with my exhale. “Sorry. I never learn my lesson about taking her places.”
“Well, don’t change habits just yet.” He held up a finger, while digging in his inside jacket pocket with the other hand. Seconds later, his face lit up and he brandished two tickets at me. “Prime seats to my next game. You can make her your plus one to help cheer us on.”
I stared at the tickets, then at him. Said nothing, and made no move to take them either.
“You invited me here,” he said, the lightness in his tone now sounding a little awkward. A little forced. “so I figured I’d return the favor. You can come watch me be invisible up close.”
He waited, smile wavering as the moment drew out.
Finally, I shook my head. “I can’t. I’m swamped with prep for the tattoo convention coming up. Besides, I don’t really like hockey.”
His face dropped, and I hated that it made me feel bad.