“Did you need something else?” I offered my professional smile.
“Oh.” He looked up, his eyes brightening. “No, I just . . . I thought I’d introduce myself. Without Bella’s help, I mean.” He held out a hand. “I’m Kyle Noles.”
I reached across the counter to shake his hand. “Vivian Rexland. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” He cocked his head, as though trying to figure out if he’d seen me before.
“I am.” I didn’t know what else to say. “I just started a few weeks ago.”
“That’s great. Bella and I love Mr. Edguardo’s. Did you just move down here?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m a local. My job situation changed, and I needed something to supplement my income. It’s a long story.”
“I’d love to hear it. Maybe we could get coffee some time, and you could tell me about it. About you, I mean.”
“Um, sure. I guess.” I knew I should be jumping at this chance. Here was a potential frog! I should’ve been getting on my flirt, working toward that first date so I could kiss him and write about it. But I found myself oddly reluctant.
“Well . . . ah . . . we can work out the details. I guess I’ll see you when I come back to pick up Bella.”
“I’ll be here.” I nodded.
“Okay, then. Bye.”
I sagged into my chair as he left, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Kyle seemed like a really nice guy. He was good-looking, personable, loved dogs apparently, and had the air of someone who was successful, if I went by how he dressed and the Mercedes he was currently backing out of the parking spot. As a matter of fact, Kyle reminded me of . . .
Jeremy.
Suddenly, it made sense. If I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted in the man who would be the love of my life, I definitely knew what I didn’t want, and that was Jeremy. I didn’t want convenient and mature and peaceful. I wanted passion, the kind of take-me-now-or-lose-me-forever love that I knew existed, even if I hadn’t found it myself . . . yet. I wanted laughter and occasional arguments that ended in lava-hot makeup sex.
And while Kyle might have been really handsome, he didn’t give me the tingle. This time, I was holding out for the tingle.
Holly hadn’t been exaggerating about the popularity of the painting event. When I pulled into the strip mall parking lot of the address she’d sent me, I could immediately tell which storefront was the wine and canvas site. There were already women milling around outside.
“Vivian! Over here.” Lauren waved to me as I climbed out of my car. She stood with Holly and two other women, all of them holding slices of pizza in their hands. When I joined the group, she passed me a piece of the pie as well.
“Thanks. Can I contribute to the cost?” I took a bite of the slice and moaned a little. It was delicious, with the cheese still so hot that it stretched in a string from my lips.
“Don’t worry about it,” Holly replied. “I paid your part. You can buy me a glass of wine when we get inside, and we’ll call it even.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” I smiled at the other two women. “Hi. I’m Vivian.”
The taller girl with black hair introduced herself as Tyla. The other woman, whose blonde hair was cropped short, told me that she was Holly’s friend, Audrey.
“So, Vivian. You’re a wine and canvas virgin, huh?” Audrey grinned at me over her pizza.
“I guess so. You’ve all done this before?” I glanced around us. “Am I the only one who didn’t know about this kind of thing?”
“We try to come here at least once a month. We don’t always get in, though. There are a bunch of wine and canvas meetings, but most of them are just doing still lifes. This is the first in the area to offer the live models. I’ve heard some other places are going to start up, but none of them are open yet. That’s why it’s so crazy here.”
I’d been dubious about waiting in line for two hours to go sit to paint, but pretty soon, as the sun began to set, the crowd took on a party atmosphere. Someone turned on music, women were sharing bags of chocolate and chips up and down the line, and people were making new friends all over the place.
About six-thirty, hoots, whistles and cat-calls rippled through the throng. A group of five guys were crossing the parking lot, each with a gym bag slung over his shoulder. They smirked at the line of females as they pushed through to get to the doors.
“Those are the models,” Holly informed me. “There’s one for each room. They’ve become sort of minor celebrities, thanks to this gig. And the women can get a little out of hand.”
“I can see that,” I murmured. As much fun as I was having hanging out with the girls here, I was beginning to second-guess how productive this evening was going to be when it came to finding frogs—um, men to date. This wasn’t the kind of place single men would frequent, and I didn’t hold out hope that any of the models were going to take one look at me and fall madly in lust.
Another cheer went up when the line finally began to move. I wasn’t sure we were going to make the cut and be allowed inside, but the woman clicking a manual counter as we followed the crowd through the doors didn’t stop us, so I guessed we were good. A little further inside, two other women were directing customers.
“How many? Okay, room two.” She looked at Holly. “How many in your group?”
“There’re five of us.” Holly smiled brightly. “Vivian’s a newbie, but the rest of us are veterans.”
“Great. But I’m going to have to split you up. The rooms are filling fast.” She pointed at Lauren, Audrey and Tyla. “Rooms one, two and three. You two—” She indicated Holly and me. “Room five.”
I followed Holly to the room indicated. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me instead of your friends.”
“Hey, it’s fine!” She winked at me. “I specifically told her this was your first time so she’d put us together. We almost always get separated, but it’s okay, because you’re here to meet new people and just enjoy the view, you know? We’ll probably go out afterwards, anyway.”
The room we entered was set up with a U of tables, each one facing the center, where a small, round platform was draped in black fabric. Each seat had an easel, palette and brushes in place. I felt vaguely uneasy, much as I had at the start of math class each year in high school. This was just not my strong suit.
“Don’t look so worried. I promise you, once we get started, you’ll be having so much fun that you won’t have time to worry about what your picture looks like or doesn’t. Also, if you have enough wine, anyone’s art looks good.”
Once the room was seated, a woman in a long skirt and T-shirt stood in the middle of the room, clapping her hands. “Okay, y’all, settle down! If you want to get to the main attraction, we have to go over some guidelines. First of all, please remember that once Myles comes into the room, no one is allowed to leave her seat without permission. And I’ll remind you that there is no touching of our models at any time. Also, please don’t shout out during our painting time, because you’ll distract your fellow artists.”
A wave of snickers rolled over the room, but our leader ignored it.
“Our servers will be coming around in a few minutes to take orders for your first glass of wine. Remember that the first glass is complimentary, but anything you order after that goes onto your tab, which is payable at the end of the evening. Tonight, we have our house Pinot Grigio, our house Merlot, and a lovely rosé from Napa Valley.” There was a smattering of applause. Apparently, some people were just as excited about the wine as they were about the men. “Now without any further ado, let’s all welcome our model for this evening, Myles.”
If I’d thought the women were enthusiastic about the wine, I hadn’t seen anything yet. There was deafening applause, stomping feet, whistles, clapping and some yelling of words that would have been classified as inappropriate in most settings.
The guy who mounted the round platform was tall, broad and built. He was wearing a white terry
cloth robe, and his feet were bare. He had a full head of dirty blond hair that waved over his ears, and big blue eyes that gazed out at us with thinly-veiled amusement. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel.
And holy shit, did this dude know how to work the crowd. He turned around in one slow, full circle, letting the ladies get a good long look at him. Then with deliberate care and slow hands, he untied the robe, twirling the belt even as he held the edges together.
“Um, Holly?” I whispered, my eyes never leaving the model. “Is he . . . I mean, are the models here naked?”
She shook her head. “Not quite. Some wear more than others, but I’ve never seen one fully nude—or one wearing anything that leaves much to the imagination, either.”
Myles shrugged off the collar of the robe, letting it dip down his back, which he’d turned our way. My mouth watered at the muscles there and the way they flexed when he moved. The terry cloth dropped further and further down, until in one quick motion, he’d removed the whole thing and let it fall to pool around his feet. The shouting got even louder.
Once again, he turned in a circle, giving us the full pay-off view. And oh, mama, what a view it was. His chest was sculpted, with a faint sheen on his skin that made me wonder if he’d oiled up before he’d come out—and if that was an actual job here, helping the models put on the oil. If it was, sign me up.
An almost-invisible trail of light brown hair led from the center of his six-pack down to the waistband of the tight black boxer briefs. I wanted to let my fingers do the walking down that path, to the undeniable nirvana that was at the end of the road. Those boxers didn’t hide much of the very promising package therein. Heat suffused me, and I shifted a little in my chair. I’d thought the room leader’s warning about not touching the models was silly, but now I understood. It was all I could do not to jump up and run my hands over his body.
“All right, ladies. Myles, thank you for joining us tonight. Will you please strike your pose for the evening?”
With a huge shit-eating grin, he placed one hand on his hip, while he flexed the other like a bodybuilder. The angle at which he stood in relation to my spot gave me a perfect view of his rounded ass, the long, thick ridge between his huge thighs and the planes of his chest and abs. I had to have had the best seat in the house.
All around me, women were picking up their brushes. The volume in the room dropped to a quiet hum as some ladies got down to business. Others were laughing as they attempted to make brush strokes look like anything resembling Myles. Next to me, Holly had begun to sketch something on her canvas.
I frowned, squinting at the lines. “Um, Holly, clearly I’m no art critic, but that doesn’t exactly look like Myles.”
She shot me a mischievous smile. “No one said we had to paint all of him. I choose to focus on a very specific, um, aspect of his body.”
I laughed. “Okay, then. Go to it.” Picking up my own brush, I dipped it into the orange, then the brown, trying to capture the golden skin tone of the god before me.
“Red, white or rosé?” A voice at my shoulder interrupted my concentration, and I turned to see a guy in denim shorts and a T-shirt that read, Got paint? He was holding a computer tablet, the stylus poised over the screen as he awaited my answer.
“Um, the Merlot sounded good, please.”
He winked at me. “Good choice. And unique, too. Most of your fellow artists prefer rosé.”
His smile was genuine, and although this man didn’t exactly have a body the caliber of Myles, he wasn’t bad, either. Remembering my mission, I turned on the flirt. “I always drink deep reds when I’m painting. I find the subtle nuances of the flavor . . . inspirational.”
The server chuckled, and I didn’t miss the spark of interest in his eye. “You’re a wine connoisseur, huh?”
I shook my head. “No, I just do a good job bull-shitting it. How about you? Are you a red man or a white? Please don’t tell me you prefer rosé.”
Still laughing a little, he shrugged. “Honestly, I spend so much time around wine working here that I tend to stick to beer during my off-hours.”
“Craig, what’s going on? We need those orders so we can serve the first round.” A harried-looking woman stopped next to him, giving us both the stink-eye.
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t want to get this nice dude in trouble. “That was my fault. I was asking questions about the wine choices. I didn’t mean to hold him up.”
The lady pasted on a saccharine-sweet smile. “Oh, that’s okay. We just want to make sure everyone is taken care of, don’t we?” She sang out the last of her words.
“Sure, Jan.” Craig nodded. “I’m on it.” Once she had sailed away, he rolled his eyes at me. “I guess I need to move on.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
He shrugged and glanced at Holly. “White, red or rosé?”
She didn’t even look from her canvas. “I’m one of the stereotypical women. Make mine rosé.”
Craig made a note and moved on down the row. I watched him for a minute.
“He’s a cutie, huh?” Holly slid her eyes sideways to me. “I mean, he’s no Myles, but then, does any woman in her right mind want to be with a guy who’s so much prettier than she is?”
I snorted. “I think maybe I should be insulted by what you just said, but I actually agree with you.”
“He was interested in you, too. The cutie, not Myles.” The tip of Holly’s tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth as she focused on her art. “You should ask him to come out with us after.”
“Oh, I bet he has to work later, don’t you think?” I stared at the model and curved my brush around a line on my picture. “And . . . did you really think he was interested in me?”
“Oh, yeah. He had the sparkle. Just wait until he brings you the wine.”
I didn’t have to wait long. Craig and Jan each carried a tray as they made the rounds, and when Craig paused behind my chair, he flickered his eyes up to check out where Jan was before he set down my Merlot . . . and then slid another glass alongside it.
I met his eyes, raising my brows in question.
He smiled a little. “Once a month, we do this VIP event, and they bring in the really good wines—like, stuff you’d pay fifty or sixty bucks a bottle in a restaurant. Now I don’t know a ton about wine, but this Bordeaux is supposed to be pretty amazing.”
“Thank you so much.” I picked up the goblet and sipped, letting the wine spill over my tongue. “Mmmmm. Yeah, this is good.”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “You’re welcome. Enjoy.”
Holly nudged me. “See?” She kept her voice low, but I wasn’t sure it was quite low enough. “So interested. Ask him.”
She was right, but I still wasn’t sure I could do it. Taking a deep breath, I tossed back another gulp of wine. “Um, Craig?”
He was setting down Holly’s glass of rosé. “Yeah?”
“Ah, how late do you work here? My friends and I are going to get a drink after this. Want to join us?”
“Hmm.” He paused. “Well, I could. But there’s something I have to do first.”
“Oh.” I picked up my brush. “Well, listen, if it doesn’t work tonight—I mean, if you’re busy, it’s no big deal.”
“Hey.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “I was just going to say, before I go out for a drink with you, I’d like to know your name.”
“My name?” My cheeks warmed. “Uh, it’s Vivian.”
“Vivian. Cool.” He deposited another glass of wine in front of another woman. “I’ll see you outside after, okay? I finish around the same time the session ends.”
I managed a nod. Craig continued on his way, and Holly did a little dance in her chair. “Girl! Look at you. You beat the odds. Picking up a guy at a place other than a bar. And not for just a booty call.”
I felt a ridiculous glow of pride. “Oh, it’s no big deal.”
“Sure, it is.” She narrowed her eyes and pret
ended to scowl at me. “Matter of fact, I’m not sure I can hang with you anymore if you’re going to be hogging all the available men.”
Laughing, I shook my head. “I promise, this isn’t like me at all. It’s an aberration.” Still, I had to admit to myself that I was elated on the inside.
Frog number one—well, number two, if we were counting Jeremy, which of course I was—was in the net and ready to be kissed.
“You’re a writer? That’s so cool. Do you write books?”
I shook my head and swirled my drink, which was only club soda and lime. The two glasses of wine I’d had while painting were more than enough for me tonight, especially considering that I had to drive home.
“No, not yet. I work—well, I used to work for a local weekly paper, the Sunbeam. Have you heard of it?”
Craig shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I’m not much of a newspaper reader. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” One side of my mouth tipped up. “Apparently, you’re indicative of our generation, which is why the paper is now an online news site, specializing in topics that fascinate millennials.”
“Do I detect some bitterness?” He took a swig of his beer.
“Maybe a little.” I shifted on the bar stool, glancing down the way to where the girls were sitting. They were laughing about something, and I felt a little bad that I wasn’t part of it. I wondered if they really did resent me for inviting Craig to join us, even though all four had sworn it was fine. With a little bit of difficulty, I pulled my attention back to Craig. “Um, I mean, not bitter, exactly. Just a little exasperated that the new management is following trends instead of remaining true to the journalistic integrity of the paper. I guess I’m old-fashioned.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He laid his hand on my shoulder and then ran it down my arm, stopping when he reached my hand, which he squeezed. “I like an old-fashioned girl.”
Fifty Frogs (The Anti-Cinderella Chronicles Book 4) Page 7
