Chapter 3
Violet
I wanted to smack my hand against the wall, Bug’s music so loud it vibrated the canvases stacked against the brick. Except it wouldn’t help, considering she couldn’t hear it.
So I glared at the wall instead, because while ineffective, it made me feel better. But of course, Bug’s psychic powers weren’t working today, so the music wasn’t miraculously turned down so I could concentrate.
This was what you expected when a group of artists rented a warehouse that they split into individual spaces.
It was either this or nothing, because renting an actual studio space was extortionate.
So a cold, damp warehouse with terrible acoustics on the edge of Hackney ended up being the only option.
Well, at least until I made it. Which was about as likely as playing princess and actually getting rescued by a prince at the rate my inspiration was going.
I had all this restless energy I needed to release, and usually painting was enough to keep my attention for more than five minutes. But something was off. The colours were wrong. Too loud, and the shapes felt stiff. Even my signature flowers looked forced.
My specialty was a dreamlike, whimsical aesthetic with fairytale softness threaded across industrial edges, a style that I was known for in the very small art circles that I was a part of.
I wanted to transform hard reality into something enchanted.
But the canvas wasn’t participating, and the magic definitely wasn’t landing.
My strokes had been too harsh, too heavy. The colour choices were questionable, and let’s just ignore the strange object in the corner that was supposed to be a sunflower. It wasn’t what I wanted to create, but it was something someone was willing to pay for. Maybe.
Something that would pay the bills compared to my murals, which were often labelled as graffiti.
Which, honestly, was disrespectful. But it was the large pieces that called to my soul, art that wasn’t defined by a stupid bloody square.
It started on the floor, creeping up harsh concrete walls in sweeping arches that pulled you into a different world.
It was splashes of pastels on the edge of Tower Bridge.
Twisting vines and pretty florals that grew from manholes.
Okay, so technically it was graffiti.
But that was beside the point. I had this urge to make things prettier, and sometimes that urge was too strong to resist. Especially when faced with something as mundanely boring as concrete.
My fingers clenched on my palette, and I barely suppressed the urge to simply throw it against the canvas. Then maybe that would be more inspiring, a coloured splatter in pinks and purples. Maybe a little green, too.
Shaking my head, I turned—only to crash straight into a wall.
My lips opened with an undignified scream, because it wasn’t a wall. It was a chest.
A man’s chest.
Shit!
His eyes widened, looking down at where the paint palette covered his T-shirt in at least five different shades of pink.
“Oh my God, I’m so…” I went to reach out, my foot slipping on the spilt paint. I stumbled forward, and the only thing stopping me from falling was his tight grip on my arm. “Sorry.”
I blinked up at his grin, a husky laugh erupting from his throat as he stared down at the mess. “Are you okay?” he asked, his fingers warm against my skin. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I did call out.”
Bug’s music was loud, but not that loud.
I must have been lost in my own mind again, my brain doing that thing where it sprints in twelve directions at once while I’m just trying to keep up.
Tugging my arm free, I reached to the side, grabbing some wet wipes before trying to dab at the fabric of his shirt.
Which looked like a Powerpuff Girl had puked all over it.
With another chuckle, the man reached over his shoulder and tugged the entire shirt off in one movement. Paint has seeped through the fabric onto his skin, and only when he stiffened did I realise I was currently rubbing his abs.
My hand snapped back as if I’d been bitten, even as mortification burned my cheeks.
“Do all your guests get the same treatment? Or am I just lucky?” he asked, his smirk dimpling his cheeks.
“I didn’t hear you.” I wanted to choke back my words, because obviously. “Wait… how did you even get in here? This is supposed to be a closed studio.”
I eyed the door behind him. I could’ve sworn I’d locked it.
“Oh, I have this.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, which caused my eyes to automatically drop to the way his muscles moved on his stomach, and oh my his nipples were pierced. My face prickled hotter, which only made his dimples deepen. “This is you, right?”
He held out a leaflet, the one advertising painting lessons in a desperate attempt to earn some money through art. At least through my art.
“I just wanted to know more,” he continued when I didn’t respond, or even react.
“That’s for children.”
“My sister’s ten,” he went on, unfazed. “There’s a rather large age gap between us.”
“It’s also for next Tuesday. Today’s only Friday.”
“I’m just being efficient.” His eyes met mine, a deep brown that reminded me of dark honey. “So, do you have space for her?” he asked.
I went to reply, only for Bug to come barrelling in. “Vi! Tell me everything! How did it go? Please tell me he had a big…” She came to a halt when she noticed my guest, her eyes darting between us. “Oh, hello.”
I turned to find the man still watching me, clearly amused. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he said. “So, did he have a big dick?”
Words. I needed to say words. Instead, I just gaped at Bug like a dying fish.
“And you are?” she asked, her gaze unblinking as she took in his half naked form.
He beamed. “Hi, I’m Ryder.”
“Ah, so yes,” I said finally, clearing my throat. “I have space this Tuesday.”
Ryder dipped his head, his shirt clutched in his hand. “Then I’ll see you next Tuesday.” With a wink, he turned, and I found I couldn’t look away from the way his back moved, muscles flexing beneath skin marked with a chaotic map of black and grey tattoos.
“Holy shit, what’s happening Tuesday, and can I join?” Bug muttered before she finally returned her attention to me, only to roll her eyes. “You know I’m only joking. Now, tell me everything. How did the date go?”
“You know exactly how it went. He was an egotistical narcissist who only stared at my breasts the entire time.”
Bridget, known by her friends as Bug, awkwardly scratched her nails against her fresh buzz cut.
“Wow, there’s no need to be sarcastic.” It wasn’t long ago she had tight braids, and then she’d decided to embrace her natural coily hair until she turned up last week with it all shaved off.
“I didn’t choose him for his conversation skills, Vi. ”
Luckily her face was all sharp angles and voluptuous lips, so she could pull anything off while I was stuck with thick waves that did nothing other than frizz.
“He ghosted me. And left me with the bill.”
“I was just hoping you were exaggerating and that, at the very least, he’d given you an orgasm for your trouble.” Her unusual green eyes narrowed, a few shades darker than my own. “You’re too good for him anyway,” she tutted. “Forget him. Now, you have Ryder.”
“Oh, shut up,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“What? Is tall, dark, and insanely handsome not your type? You’re clearly his type from the way he was watching you.”
“He wasn’t watching me,” I scoffed.
“Oh, but he was. Barely even looked at me the entire time,” she mused. “You should ask him on a date. After we do a background check on him first, of course.”
Cleaning my hands, I tossed all the wipes into the bin before eyeing the puddle of paint on the concrete. “Firstly, I no longer trust your judgment on who I should date.”
Bug grimaced, her expressions as melodramatic and obvious as an open book. “That was yesterday, which means you need to get over it. Besides, that man has a jawline carved by the gods.”
“And secondly,” I continued, ignoring her whining behind me, “I barely have time to brush my teeth, let alone date anyone. Not with mum, working at the gallery, and trying to manifest my actual dreams.” I spread my arms to emphasise my point. “And… wait… did you run a background check on Richard?”
“Of course I did,” Bug snorted. “Do you think I’d set you up with some random man? He might’ve been my dentist, but for all I knew he could’ve been a murderer.”
I stared at her.
“He came back clean, by the way. No arrests, no outstanding traffic tickets, though clearly being an arsehole isn’t a chargeable offence.
Also, who said anything about dating? I’m talking about sex.
” I glared, but that didn’t stop her. “Mind blowing, thrown around the room, sex. The kind that leaves you aching for days and craving more.”
“Bug …”
“Fine.” She looked anything but ‘fine’, but luckily, she became distracted by my latest piece. She took a moment to study the one closest to her, the one I wanted to casually set aflame so it could finally give me some inspiration.
“It’s not done,” I explained, wanting to block her view.
“It’s amazing,” she whispered, coming over to nudge my shoulder gently with her own.
“Honestly Vi, the way your mind works to create these pictures is breathtaking.” Bug specialised in sculptures, incredible creations she carved by hand.
“Your imagination is unreal. Your boss is an idiot not to realise that.”
Shaking my head, I picked up my palette before placing it on my makeshift table. I created escapism within fantasy, while Bug liked to recreate hardcore reality in exquisite yet terrifying detail. “Noah’s more likely to feature you than me,” I pointed out.
One, because he preferred more realism within his art, and two, he hated me for some unknown reason. Okay, so it may or may not have been because I said he had the emotional range of a toaster. In my defence, I didn’t realise he could hear me.
“You’re too good to be hidden away,” she continued. “You can do this, Vi.”
“Have I ever told you that you’re like my emotional support animal?”
She laughed at that, coming round to hug me to her side. “I prefer the term cheerleader, but sure. You can tell me how much you love me later tonight, preferably while buying me a drink.”
Shit.
I’d forgotten about tonight.
“Bug, I don’t think—”
“Ah, hell no,” she interrupted, shaking her head and wagging her finger at me. “I knew you’d forget. It took me weeks to get this booth!”
They’re still coming for us, but don’t worry, I’ll protect you.
“Bug, I can’t. I have to take mum to something.”
“At eight at night?” Bug pursed her lips, tilting her head slightly to the side as her expression softened. “Has something happened? I thought she was doing better since she moved in with you?”
I went to explain, finding the words stuck in my throat. “No, everything’s fine,” I lied, swallowing the sour taste in my mouth. I knew my neighbour would contact me if there were any issues with mum, which would give me a few hours at least. “I’ll be there.”
Bug backed away, using two fingers to point to her eyes before pointing to me in the universal ‘I’m watching you’ sign. “Don’t be late.”