by Beth Michele
I don’t know exactly what happened yesterday, and maybe I don’t need to right now. But the one thing I do know is, I haven’t felt excitement like this in a long time. I’m bouncing from heel to toe and even though no one can hear me, I’m singing on the inside.
It doesn’t take long before I spot Rex walking down the street. Even from this distance, it’s impossible not to notice that cocky strut of his, and I certainly can’t ignore the women that are turning their heads. But I definitely don’t blame them.
He pauses when he sees me, a smile tugging on his lips as he climbs the steps two at a time. When he finally reaches me, he takes his aviators off and hooks them over the top of his t-shirt. “Hey.” Leaning in, he presses a kiss to my cheek, the growth on his chin making my skin prickle.
“Hey.” As he backs up, I tap my watch three times, attempting to withhold the grin that wants to fly from my lips. “You’re late.”
His fingers encircle my wrist and he lifts my hand, staring at the time. “No. I believe you were just early.” He smirks, gently releasing me from his grasp. “So, are you ready to do this, or what?”
“Yeah.” I nod my head toward the building. “So, The Met, huh?”
“Yeah, well, I figure in case you have any doubts about my ability to be cultured, today they will all be wiped from your brain.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I mumble as he lets me go before him, placing his hand on the small of my back. Goose bumps swarm up my legs, his touch triggering a response that I’m unable to control and find impossible to hide.
“Everything okay?” He retrieves his wallet from his back pocket as we enter the museum and head toward the admission desk.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I turn my head and bite my lip, uncertainty spreading through me in a rush. I’m overcome with a sudden shyness, which is so foreign to me.
“Listen.” He latches onto my arm, pulling me out of the way of three teenagers anxious to move past us. “Are we cool? I mean, are you upset about yesterday?” His eyes bore into mine, searching, for what I don’t know.
“No, not at all. We’re good.” Although, I don’t know what the heck that means. So I change the subject. “I think you’re stalling though.”
“Stalling?” He stuffs the wallet back in his jeans, continuing to hold my gaze.
“You know, delaying having to go inside and show your true colors.”
“That sounds like a challenge, Blondie. And I’m more than happy to meet and exceed your challenge.” He dips down, his warm breath pouring in my ear. “In more ways than one.” The roughness of his skin scratches my cheek and I close my eyes before they flicker open to a knowing grin. “So shall we go in?”
“Yes, let’s.” I smile, picking up a map from the counter. He holds out his elbow and we link arms, strolling into the main lobby of the museum. Grandiose statues of a medieval mounted knight and an Egyptian pharaoh greet us.
Rex stops just in front of the pharaoh, looking up at the sculpture towering over us. “Now, that was the life. The absolute power of the pharaoh. Ruler of everything, God—”
I throw my head back on a laugh. “The life? You better wake up from that demented dream of yours. This is the twenty-first century, Rex. Let’s go.” He chuckles and I tug on his arm, still surprised by the fact that we’re here… and that he knows anything about pharaohs.
“So, where do you want to start?” He plucks the map from my fingers and opens it, pointing to one of the exhibits. A smug smile forms around his mouth. “We can start with nude statues of the middle ages, if you like.”
“Give me that.” I snatch the map back, scrolling over our options. “Actually, let’s start with impressionist paintings. I love that period.”
“Oh yeah? Do you have a favorite?”
“Yes,” I respond with a smile as we weave our way around a tour group. “But I’m not telling you.”
“What? Why not?” His brown eyes narrow in curiosity and I smile. He’s really cute.
“I’d rather show you,” I tell him, and he pinches my side before pulling me close.
“Yes, I’d prefer that, too,” he teases, and my skin flushes, tiny hairs raising on my arms.
We work our way through crowds of people, making me realize that Saturday was not the best day to come to the museum. The last time I was here, it was with Olivia, probably about six months ago. It was a weekday and much easier to navigate our way around.
When we finally arrive on the fifth floor, I glance over at Rex to find him grinning. “What?”
“I happen to like this era, too. Maybe after you show me your favorite painting,” he winks, “I’ll show you mine.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” I grab onto his hand because it feels like the natural thing to do, but then that nagging uncertainty creeps back in and I let go.
We leisurely stroll past several works, studying them, until we find ourselves at the end of the narrow room. My whole face lights up when the painting comes into focus. Rex follows me until we’re finally standing in front of it. “This is it.”
The picture is made up of dots of color—matted greens, oranges, blues, blacks, and yellows—blending into people in their Sunday dress, all out enjoying an afternoon in the park by the Seine in Paris.
“Georges Seurat’s, Study for A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte,” he utters confidently, “good choice.”
My eyes blink a few times and I must look at him as if he has three heads.
“Don’t look so surprised. I told you. I know my art.” He stares at the painting for a long minute before turning to me. “So, why is this your favorite? What draws you to it?”
I let out a nostalgic sigh, continuing to stare at the picture, “Stella loved art and when we’d go to the bookstore, she would show me a lot of the works she liked. I remember seeing this on a page in one of her books and loving it right from the start. Something about the colors and the way the dots of paint come together to form each image, and the way he uses shadows and light. Plus the depth of field. I can actually picture myself there,” I wave a finger toward the water, “in one of those boats, enjoying that lazy Sunday afternoon.” The thought makes me smile.
“Well, shit. Now I’m the one who’s impressed,” he says, and I flick his shoulder before he laces our fingers together, leading the way out of the room and down the stairs. “My painting is on the fourth floor.”
We make it down one flight, stepping into the room, and I’m in awe of the masterpieces lining the walls. The ability to create beauty like this is nothing short of magnificent. Rex leads me to the far corner, stopping at a painting of a river landscape. The plate on the wall shows that it’s a Monet.
“Vetheuil in Summer,” I read the words on the plaque. “It’s really pretty. So why do you like this one?”
Rex extends an arm over his chest, elbow resting on his hand, finger pressed to his mouth in contemplation. “It reminds me of when my dad used to take us fishing. And the time he tried to teach me how to bait a line but I sucked at it. He thought it was pretty funny though, but he was very patient and didn’t give up until I finally got it.”
“I like it. I love the way Monet used color and light so the sun looks like it’s reflecting off the water. It’s so interesting to me, too, that it’s all done in simple brushstrokes, yet there’s such a contrast between the riverbank and the sky. The sky has a dull texture, while the water looks like it’s glistening.”
I turn to Rex and his gaze is fixed on my face, eyes a bold brown. His attention shifts to a spot over his shoulder then returns to me, nothing but mischief in his stare. Before I know what hits me, he curls his arm around my waist and ducks behind a stone pillar, pressing me up against it. His lips come down softly on mine, teasing and playful, before he pulls away.
“What’s that for?”
His thumb skates over my bottom lip. “I guess hearing you talk about art turns me on. I can’t get over how enormous your brain is.”
“Art.
Art. Art. Art,” I joke and he grips my waist, planting another kiss on my mouth.
Grinning, he asks, “Do you want to blow this joint?”
“No. We still have a lot more to see.” I brush my hands down my tank and skirt to make myself presentable again before lightly tapping his chest. “Later.”
“You say that word way too much for my liking.” He chuckles, and we open our map again to figure out where to go next.
After visiting the Arms and Armor, European, Medieval, and Contemporary Art exhibits, we decide we’ve had enough art for one day. Side by side, we follow the crowd toward the front exit. My stomach clamors on the way out, protesting my long bout without food, and it garners Rex’s attention.
Wide brown eyes survey me. “I think we need to feed you. That was some growl.” He stops just short of the double doors. “They have a restaurant here. Do you want to just eat here?”
“Actually, I have a craving for a hot dog from one of the street vendors out front.” There’s another rumble in my belly at the mention of food.
“All right. Let’s go get you a hot dog then.”
The line at the cart is fairly short considering it’s nearly five. Rex orders me a hot dog and gets two waters but nothing else. We take a seat on one of the steps in front of the museum.
“You’re not eating?” I plow into the hot dog, suddenly realizing just how hungry I really am.
“No. I have to help Zeek move some furniture into his girlfriend’s apartment tonight, so we’re going to grab something later.” He motions toward my food with a smile. “But you enjoy that.” He reaches out with his thumb and wipes the side of my mouth. “Stray ketchup. So,” he pauses, “this was… fun.” He’s smiling as he says the words but it’s almost as if he’s having a hard time admitting it.
“Yeah, it was. Oh, and tomorrow if you’re not busy, I thought I could bring you to see the naked cowboy.” I finish half my hot dog and decide to take a break.
He gives me a firm shake of his head. “Uh, hell no.”
“Oh come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” I bump his shoulder with my own. “It’ll be fun.”
“Listen, there’s only one person I want to see naked tomorrow, and it sure as hell ain’t that cowboy.”
I glance at my watch and notice it’s eleven. As I’m wondering where the hell my brother is, my mind drifts back to the last few days. Mostly to the time I’ve spent with Vanessa. I chuckle, thinking about her unsuccessful attempts to lure me to Times Square. Although, she did manage to nearly whip my ass in pool. Maybe I should’ve chosen the cowboy.
I’m still trying to decide which would’ve been more humiliating, when I catch sight of Hunter weaving through the crowd, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He ends the call just as he reaches me.
“You’re late,” I snarl, pushing off the side of the building.
“Yeah, I know.” He shakes his head, staring at his watch. “I got caught in a meeting that wouldn’t end.”
“Well,” I kid as he holds the door open for me, “my time is valuable, too.”
“Let’s go wiseass.” He sidles up next to me and as we walk in, I’m greeted by condescending stares from all the women, their noses in the air. Apparently, they’ve never seen a guy with tattoos before. Hunter, on the other hand, is being looked at like a piece of meat they want to gnaw on until they pierce the bone.
We head to the glass cases at the far end of the store and I rub my hands together eagerly. “All right… let’s see this bubble gum ring you’re buying for Olivia.”
The blonde, smartly dressed woman behind the counter clad in diamonds and a very expensive Rolex watch dismisses me and my sarcastic remark, honing in on Hunter.
“Can I help you?” She addresses him in a sugary sweet voice that I imagine helps her sell a lot of this shit.
“Yes,” Hunter replies in that smooth tone that brings women to their knees. “I had an engagement ring put aside for me. The name is Hunter Grayson.”
“Of course, let me get that for you.” She walks to the back and a few moments later returns with a small blue box, handing it to Hunter. “Would you like to do the honors? And might I add, the ring is exquisite.”
With a prideful smile, Hunter takes the box from her hand. “Thank you.” He flips it open, plucking the ring from the velvet setting while my mouth hangs open.
“Holy fuck, bro, it’s huge,” I comment, and the sales clerk coughs like my profanity got stuck in her throat.
“Rex,” Hunter eyeballs me, “have a little class, will you?”
I look over my left shoulder and then my right. “You remember who you’re talking to, right?”
“Point taken. So….” He holds the ring up to the light, the freaking thing is sparkly as hell. And expensive. It must be so God damn expensive. “What do you think?” he asks with a smile of utter contentment.
“I think it’s sparkly as hell.” My voice rises, and a tall brunette walking by laughs and tosses me a wink.
“It better be. I’m paying thirty thousand dollars for all those sparkles,” Hunter says matter-of-factly. Of course to him, that money is just a drop in an oversized bucket.
Realizing we’re in Tiffany’s, I try to keep my mouth from gaping too wide. “Well, I always knew you were slightly touched in the head, but this confirms it.”
He punches the side of my arm playfully. “I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I give it to her tonight. I love her, man,” he admits quietly, staring at the ring.
“I know, bro.” I slap him on the back. “I know.”
While he’s waiting for them to package the ring, I wander around the store when a woman with a blonde ponytail leaning over a jewelry case catches my eye. For a second, I think it could be Vanessa, until she turns her head. The dark green eyes giving me the once over are definitely not the pale blue ones that turn my world upside down. Hunter’s voice barges into my thoughts.
“You ready?” he asks, and I nod as we make our way out of the store. Needless to say, it’s not a place I’m anxious to return to anytime soon. “So, do you have time to grab lunch?”
“Hunter, Rex?” I hear the voice that grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. My reaction is immediate—I want to sprint in the other direction.
“Mother,” Hunter addresses her, and she leans in, offering her cheek for a stiff kiss.
“Diane.” I make no move when she repeats the gesture with me. I’m not playing her bullshit games.
Her eyes immediately scroll over the tattoo on the side of my neck before she speaks. “Rex, I’m your mother, and as such, should be greeted accordingly.” She smoothes a hand down her perfectly styled, chin-length, black bob. The designer suit and matching shoes she’s wearing do her a disservice. They don’t hide the disheveled woman inside.
“Well, Diane, you have to earn that title and I don’t believe you’ve accomplished that.” My words are bitter and Hunter elbows me as though that will change anything. It fucking won’t.
She raises her chin and makes an uncomfortable noise in her throat. And she damn well should be uncomfortable. Her two sons can’t stand the sight of her, and only one of us can fake it.
I stare at the woman in front of me, my only resemblance to her the deep brown of our eyes. My mouth curves into an involuntary sneer as I watch her—cold, affectionless—and a chill runs down my spine. For a split second, I wonder if I am like her, and that thought scares the shit out of me. It makes me want to scrub my skin raw to get rid of any trace of her.
She eyes the Tiffany’s bag, peering over the edges to get a closer look. “What’s in the bag, darling?” she asks Hunter, who, while he might never admit it, is as anxious to get away from her as I am.
He heaves out a frustrated breath before glancing at his watch. “I left you three messages last week, Mother, to tell you about it, and I didn’t hear back from you.”
“I’m so sorry.” But there’s nothing genuine in her words, and I’m waiting for the excuses
to come pouring out. “I was at a book signing in Napa last week.”
Fucking excuses.
“I guess they don’t have cell phone service there,” I mumble under my breath, and that earns me a trademark snarl from her thin, painted lips.
“I’m planning on getting engaged tonight if all goes well.” Hunter draws her focus back to him, a nervous twinge in his voice.
Her mouth twists in disgust as though she can’t bear to say her next words. “To that erotic romance author?”
“To Olivia,” Hunter emphasizes, the conviction in his tone making her take a step back.
“That’s wonderful, darling,” she forces out. And that’s all it is—forced sentiment—because she doesn’t care about anyone but herself. That hasn’t changed and it never will. My nails dig into my palms. This little charade has gone on long enough and I’m done.
“I have to get to the shop.” I turn to Hunter. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for meeting me, Rex,” he says, and I smack him on the back before stalking off.
As I’m leaving though, her shrill voice stops me in my tracks. “You’re not even going to say goodbye?”
I attempt to blow out a calming breath before I spin around. “Goodbye, Diane,” I mutter with disdain. And then I walk away from the one person who has always walked away from me.
The journey to work is one giant daze, my head filled with shit I don’t want to waste my energy thinking about. But I do know one thing. Hunter is right. I have to let this go, this seething hatred that consumes me, eats away at me piece by piece, effectively paralyzing me. I can’t spend any more of my time thinking about a woman who never thought about me a day in her life. She’s just not worth it.
I’ve yet to find a woman who is.
“I think that’s it for the liquor order,” I tell Ryder, scanning the paperwork for the Hamilton Juices event next Friday with one hand, while holding the phone to my ear with the other. “I believe you’ve got it.”
