Chapter 16
Paul catches up to us on our way to the diner and casually invites himself to be our third. Ro apologizes for the intrusion more profusely than he should. I’m actually relieved by Paul’s presence and the distraction he provides.
With Ro locked into a strategy session for their Greenpoint show, he doesn’t notice that my attention’s trained on his long fingers, absentmindedly painting his glass with beads of its own wetness.
Doesn’t see me memorizing the paint colors still flecked beneath each of his nails.
He doesn’t seem to feel the heat building between us in this red leather booth, leaving the backs of my thighs slick with sweat.
Or how my body matches his, breath for breath, in a way it never did before today.
I’m grateful not to be alone with Ro. Not yet, anyway.
But soon we’re back in his truck, heading home, and the easy silence we shared driving into the city is changed.
Charged now, like the faintest spark of a single carelessly chosen word could ignite us into who knows what.
And by the way his eyes stray from the road to seek me out in the darkness, I can’t help but wonder if he feels it too.
He clears his throat, and I’m braced in anticipation.
“You got quiet after the show.”
“Did I?” Yes. “Probably just tired.” Lie. “Tonight really was incredible,” I say, honestly. “You’re amazing—your work is amazing. I could’ve watched you paint all night.”
You’re amazing? Really?
So much for a single careless word. I just sputtered out like ten. But as always, Ro doesn’t push me where he knows I don’t want to go.
“Sounds like the Brooklyn gallery wants to make an offer on the piece before I even set a price.”
His news outranks my uncertainty. I whip around in my seat to face him, grabbing at his forearm with both of my hands without a second thought.
“They wanna buy it?!”
And the pride behind his smile lifts any remaining awkwardness that had settled between us.
“Dang, I kinda wanted that one,” I joke. “Seriously though, I’m not surprised. You better do something special to celebrate this.”
My hand hasn’t left his arm, but I only realize it when his eyes fall to where we’re still connected.
He smiles once more, but this time he bites it back a little when he says, “I already am.”
—
I’m sure the pregnant lady, currently asleep in my bed, had planned to wait up and grill me about my day with Ro, but it’s after 2:00 a.m. by the time I change into my pajamas.
I forgo my ten-step skin care ritual—the sign of a truly successful night out—and crawl into bed with Zola, her breath coming steady beside me.
And as my evening with Ro replays behind my closed eyelids, I try not to let myself wonder what it might’ve been like to crawl into a different bed with a different someone’s breath at my ear.