Chapter 28 #2
Never is my immediate internal response.
I don’t feel like explaining that my current pieces all depict the same subject: a moody biker with a bad attitude.
I don’t know if I want to reveal the full extent of my obsession with the man beyond the drywall.
“Nothing is ready yet,” I lie, hedging. I head out the door to stall any more questions about my art.
“You know you’re going to have to show it someday.”
Groaning, I cover my face with my hands. “I know. I know. I just—” I don’t tell him I’m scared shitless. The people who have seen my work can be counted on one hand.
“That bad?”
Removing my hands, I laugh at his horrified expression.
“No. I think they’re good, but I worry about what others will think.
” What will my father think? What the world will think of the ‘Park Heiress’ dabbling in art.
I’m not classically trained. I never went to art school. My art is intuitive and self-directed.
“Yeah. It’s a risk putting yourself out there, but you just have to rip the bandaid off and go for it. Your art won’t be for everyone, but that’s okay.”
Humming, I think about what he says. It all sounds great, but deep inside, I’m still that little girl wanting to please people.
“Jacinda tells me you are always blowing away the art teacher at those free classes.”
Laughing again, I shrug. “They’re probably biased. I’m always bringing the owner coffee and donuts.” I turn away, not wanting to talk about it anymore. I head down the stairs. Julian walks behind me until we are standing in my studio.
“It’s going to be amazing once it’s painted. Do you need any help? I’m great at painting walls.”
“Are you?” I grin.
“Yeah. My mom doesn’t believe in hiring people. Painted every wall in our house.”
“Maybe,” I say again.
He rolls his eyes. “That’s your favorite word.”
“Maybe.” I can’t help but giggle. He’s so relaxing to be around. I walk to the door and open it. The air has a chill, and I wish I were wearing my sweatshirt instead of a thin T-shirt and tights with my sneakers.
“Woah, nice bike. Who does it belong to?”
It’s Stone’s bike, and I hesitate mentioning it, but it feels like he’s watching me just by it being there. I haven’t seen him since he walked out of my gallery, leaving that cherry scent and smoke.
Julian walks toward the sleek black and chrome bike. It’s even bigger than I remember from the night he drove me to King’s place. The night I wanted him to fuck me, he said no.
Julian walks around it, crouching here and there, taking in all the details. I spot them too. Things I never noticed before because I was too excited by the possibility of being with him.
“The detail is incredible.” Julian’s awed voice echoes in the night.
I see what he means. The inner workings look exposed, and there are skull insignias everywhere.
“I think it’s a Fat Boy.”
“A what?”
He looks at me like I’m from outer space. “These are classics, Cam. Like OG type shit. Whoever rides this knows his Harleys. Everything looks custom. It must have cost at least a100k if not more.”
The reverence in Julian’s voice makes me roll my eyes. Thankfully, he’s still lusting over Stone’s bike to notice.
Julian finally looks back at me and smiles, stepping closer. “I had a good time.”
I nod, murmuring. “Me too.” I rub my arms to ward off the chill.
When he hugs me, I let him, hoping to feel something, anything other than mild interest. He’s warm, and it feels good against the chill on my skin, but it still leaves me feeling more sisterly than anything towards him.
I don’t want to hug a potential date and feel like he’s my brother. I want the thrill I feel with Stone.
He leans in for a kiss on my cheek, but before he can touch my face, there’s a sudden explosion of the bike’s engine. It makes me jump back from Julian. I stare over his shoulder at the bike that is now rumbling in the parking lot.
“What the fuck!?” I utter, shocked. I look around, expecting to see the big bad biker I have a hard on for, walking from around the corner, but there is no one. Did we trigger the engine somehow? Is it some sort of alarm?
Julian chuckles. “Fucking cool. Remote starter,” he shouts near my face.
It’s impossible to carry on a conversation because the engine is loud.
The vibration goes through my body. I only hear the word bye before Julian is waving at me one last time.
He heads to his blue Tesla and hops in, backing out of the parking lot and driving away.
The bike turns off suddenly, leaving it blessedly quiet. It must have been some sort of scare tactic that Stone installed to stop a possible theft. What other possibility could there be?
I turn to go back inside, to escape the chill, but something makes me glance around.
A moment of fear. Someone is watching me.
I can feel it. When I glance up, I look at the windows above my gallery.
There is nothing except the soft glow of the lamp I left on.
My eyes naturally go to Stone’s windows, thinking that maybe I would find him there, staring down at me, but they’re dark.
Adding the soaked fabric to the canvas, I step back.
Tonight’s mediums are fabric. Leather and silk.
The gray and black face that’s taking shape pisses me off more.
It’s his face. Again. All the sexy, sharp angles and brooding eyes.
Which reminds me, I need to use some smoky glass I found thrifting for his eyes. Growling, I sigh and start cleaning up.
I look around my living room, where a few of my canvases stare back at me. I think about Julian’s words. The work I’ve done with Stone as my muse is some of my best. I’ve never worked this much on one subject before over the last months. I’ve created over 30 pieces. All of him. Stupid sexy bastard.
Storing the unfinished piece in my storage closet, I head downstairs.
I’m grimy and covered in sweat, fabric fibers, and paint, but it was worth it.
The piece is going to be amazing, even if it’s that fucker’s face.
My pussy tingles, and I scowl, looking down.
“Pipe down, missy. He is not going anywhere near you for the foreseeable future.”
Disgusted with the probable wetness in my panties, I roll my shoulders and head to the gallery.
I still have a shitload of boring wall painting to do in the gallery.
Everything has to be perfect. I can’t fail at this.
Heading back to the wall I had started earlier, I picked up the roller and dipped it back into the paint tray, soaking up paint, before smoothing it along the wall in up-and-down motions.
The knock at the door makes me jump. I set down the paintbrush, wondering if it’s Julian.
He must have left something. The windows and the door are covered with builder’s paper.
I try to peek through the side, but don’t see anyone.
A moment of fear makes me stop. The last few months of feeling like someone is following me make me more cautious.
“Who is it?”
“Open the door, Countess.”
My pussy perks right up at that deep voice. What the hell is he doing here?