As they approached downtown, Aullie couldn’t wait anymore. “Where are we going, Weston?”
“Well, I might as well tell you. There’s a touring Wassily Kandinsky exhibit, and according to Wikipedia, he’s credited as being the first real abstract painter and a genius art theorist who revolutionized expressive art. I don’t have any idea what any of that means, so I figured you could teach me.”
Aullie was suddenly overcome with excitement. Kandinsky was one of her all-time favorite painters, one of her biggest inspirations, and when she and her friends from class had tried to get tickets to the exhibit they had all been almost instantly sold out. She should probably wonder how he got them, but she was truly too excited to care. “Are you serious?”
There was that devilish smile again. “Yes, I’m serious.”
He pulled the bug into a parking spot outside the art museum. The gray clouds, and the silvery sunlight that broke through them reflected off the beautiful mirrored building. It was such a unique building, specially crafted by an edgy, modern architect, the work of art itself was the perfect place to house other masterpieces.
Still bubbling, Aullie resisted the urge to jiggle restlessly as they waited to have their tickets checked. Once they had, she secured a tiny square museum pass sticker under the left lapel of her burgundy cotton button up shirt.
“Where would you like to go first?” Weston asked, standing close. Their shoulders almost brushed each other, but Aullie didn’t feel invaded.
“Well, you were the one asking for a lesson, so why don’t we hit the exhibit first and then I can show you around some more since I do come here a lot.”
“I can imagine you would,” he said with an endearing smile. “Lead the way.”
Aullie was almost sure her leader status was just so he could walk behind her. She wore a pair of dark, hip hugging jeans and she had printed a pair of wide, white eagles wings across the back pockets, almost like a tramp stamp. Suffice to say she had gotten compliments on them before, she felt his eyes on her lower half and added a little more sway to her step. The desire she was almost sure he felt, that sexual power she had established over him, boosted her confidence and she became significantly more relaxed.
The temporary exhibits were on the third floor, and they hustled up the three flights of stairs together under a rain of silvery things dangling from the ceiling. The stark white stairs glittered with reflections of cool sunlight off the mirrored adornments, it almost felt as if they were in a snow globe. It really was beautiful.
“Here we are,” Aullie said, pushing on the door to the traveling exhibit. Right in front, there was a huge picture of Wassily Kandinsky, in an aged sepia. A plain looking man with a narrow chin, round wire spectacles and an expressionless face. Underneath, in a neat typewriter font, was a short biography detailing the life of the Russian artist.
The first painting on display, frameless against a beige wall, a single soft light illuminating it from above, was a four by three grid of square shapes with circles of descending size in various colors.
“This one’s interesting,” Weston commented, though he sounded unsure.
“Hilariously enough, it’s actually just called Square in Concentric Circles,” Aullie replied.
“What a fitting, clever name,” he joked.
Most of the other visitors in the exhibit were elderly women in semi-formal dress which quickly changed Aullie’s mind about her jeans. Discreetly keeping her hands over her butt, the two moved through the maze of walls. Art museums were always built to maximize the surface area of the room. Keeping their voices and giggles low as to not disturb the ladies, they stopped in front of a new painting, an interesting piece of geometric-esque shapes on an off-white background. It was titled The Rider, and Aullie pointed out the vague shapes in the middle that represent a horse’s head and the jockey riding him.
“It’s really amazing,” Weston said, a tone of wonder in his voice. “I mean I have no artistic ability, none, so it always amazes me to see things like this. To see the way other people see the world.”
“That’s why I love it so much,” Aullie gushed. “So many different views, so many different ideas and visions and mistakes and passion. Like, here.” She pointed to a dark, brownish abstract that was alive with colored streaks. “Composition 6. There’s no structure here, no subject. These colors, these patterns, the way this all fits together is one hundred percent emotion. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes,” Weston said, eyes not on the painting but firmly on her. “It really is.”
Oh, how that voice got to her. Aullie blushed and dropped her eyes, almost wishing she’d left her bangs down so that she could hide behind them. Slowly, gently, Weston stepped closer and slipped an arm around her waist. She stiffened at his touch initially, but eventually she softened into his side. He was warm, so tall the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and his dark, musky scent was exceptionally heady. She didn’t know what it was about him but she was beginning to feel like he had said before: bewitched. Almost as if a spell had been cast upon them.
The pair wandered through the rest of the Kandinsky exhibit, Aullie exceptionally moved by his work and Weston extremely moved by her passion. The strange young bond between them became even stronger, even more magnetic. By the time they’d finished, their fingers were loosely entwined, and Aullie felt surprisingly comfortable and happy.
They made their way back down the stairs, taking time on each floor to appreciate different exhibits; bold Native American art done in earthy colors, bright expressionist classics, and gigantic rooms packed with portraits that were hundreds of years old. The conversation flowed between them, light and easy until Weston rolled up his sleeve.
For a few moments, Aullie had been able to distance herself from her trepidations, but the chunky Rolex adorning his wrist was a quick reality check she wasn’t expecting. Almost involuntarily, she let her fingers drop and became quiet and resigned.
Weston wasn’t stupid, she had to give him that. He picked up on her shift in behavior right away and tracked her gaze to his watch.
“Shit,” he grumbled, rolling his sleeve down to cover the gaudy timepiece. “I forgot I had this on. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, it’s fine,” she lied. The mood was broken, even though she really wished it wasn’t.
“This whole money thing is really going to be an issue, isn’t it?” Weston asked, disappointment shining in his goldish eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said, exasperated under the pressure of his sad expression. “I don’t want it to be, but I guess I have some pretty deep-rooted biases. And, if I’m being honest, your money is really intimidating. I’m an artist. The chances that I’ll ever see a small fraction of your wealth are so low…”
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. The pull between them was so magnetic, and Aullie wished it was an easy thing to ignore.
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” she shrugged, “because I do.”
Aullie wanted to turn away from him, to walk away again, but he was her ride and it was a long walk from the museum. She wasn’t sure what to do.
“Can we at least try?” Weston asked, gently tilting her head up.
Before she could respond, he put his mouth to hers. The kiss started soft but quickly intensified. As the heat built between them, Aullie was almost embarrassed to be experiencing such a passionate moment in public. He pulled her body close to his; his size, his warmth, his smell engulfed her and made her feel safe.
Weston pulled away. Aullie leaned forward, involuntarily guided by her lips that weren’t quite ready to break the kiss yet.
“Want to get out of here?” he asked. “You’ve given me quite a lesson today, now I’d actually like to see some of your art.”
Still dazed, she said, “Yeah, sure.”
Chapter 6
By the time the bug was parked in front of her
building, Aullie was drowning in panic. Sure, she shared her art with her friends, her mother, her brother, but rarely with guys, she was dating. They usually didn’t care, and she was ok with that. Especially after her flop at the last art show, her confidence in her work was wavering and her confidence in her place was even less.
Had she put all her mugs in the sink? Or were they littered throughout the tiny apartment like Easter eggs, like they usually were? She knew she hadn’t made her bed. Her easel was even out.
Dammit, she thought. All Aullie wanted was an excuse to keep him out of her space, to keep the super-rich, super-gorgeous man away from the shoebox of an apartment where she lived. Nothing came to her, though, they were already there, and what could she really say? Well, she convinced herself, you wanted to see if he wanted the real you. Here’s the first real test.
Weston opened her door for her, with a perfect, charming grin. Aullie hoped the smile she gave in return didn’t look as strained as it felt as he gently gripped her hand and helped her out of the low seat.
“Lead the way,” he said, gesturing at the squat concrete building. Aullie walked ahead of him, around the side of the front buildings.
She lived in the far left building in the back, in the back corner on the second floor. The walk felt as though it took forever, as her involuntary shame built up with each step. The metal stairs rattled noisily as the pair climbed, a testament to their lack of quality and cheap construction.
“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath as she jiggled her key in the lock on the weathered door. “Here we are.”
Weston looked happily expectant, almost excited, as she pushed the squeaky door open and they entered her colorful, personal little world. Just as she had dreaded, Aullie’s place was a mess. Her eccentric mugs were scattered all over every surface, her work jeans were pooled on the floor where she had stepped out of them the night before, and her crazy patterned comforter hung off the side of her lofted bed. Little red dots of embarrassment and shame bloomed on her cheeks as Weston followed her inside.
“It’s very, um… Colorful.” His eyes tracked up and down the art covered walls. “Are these all yours?”
“Yeah,” Aullie replied. “Some of them are school projects, some of them are my own stuff. I’ve tried to sell them at shows, but for now, they just live here.”
“They’re beautiful,” he remarked, awestruck. “I can’t believe you really did all of these. Why haven’t any of them sold?”
His question slid like a knife into her gut. Aullie tried to keep her face passive and shrugged. “Don’t know,” she answered, curtly.
Weston was oblivious to her reaction, his gaze trailing up and down the walls. His eyes were wide and he at least seemed to be genuinely admiring the paintings. “I love your place too, it’s really interesting.
That’s one way to describe it, Aullie thought. Her entire place was probably the size of his bedroom. Her entire place technically was her bedroom since she couldn’t even afford a place with walls. What had she been thinking bringing him there? Why let him see again what completely different leagues they were in, what completely different lives they led?
When Weston turned to face her, Aullie’s arms were crossed loosely over her chest self-consciously. Her face must’ve betrayed her inner turmoil because his brows furrowed and he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, shrugging again with a non-committal gesture.
He didn’t buy it. Weston came closer to her and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, bending to meet her downcast eyes. “What?” he asked again.
“Just the same things,” she said, shaking her head. “This place must look ridiculous to you. My entire apartment could probably fit in your closet. Plus all my cheap, crazy, colorful crap…”
“Hey,” he said, looping his arms gently around her waist. She had to admit it felt good, though she still felt the urge to shy away from him. “First of all, none of that matters to me. It really doesn’t. And secondly, how big do you think my closet is?”
His joke made her laugh.
“Plus, I like you. You. And this place is very perfectly you.”
His hazel eyes were warm, his voice was so silky, his smile was so sexy. When he leaned down to kiss her, Aullie reached up and met him halfway.
He had said all the right things, everything she needed to hear, and she was happy to put her lips on his. Weston pulled her tighter around her waist and Aullie looped her arms around his neck as the kiss intensified, an impressive heat built between them. Their bodies moved together, almost swaying in a slow seductive dance. His hands ventured lower, cupping her perky little butt in his wide hands and she rocked her hips and ground against him.
It was so different, she realized, to be kissing him in a more intimate setting than it was in public as their previous kisses had been. His body was solid, he definitely spent some time in the gym, and Aullie trailed her hands down his firm, swollen pecs. His tongue explored her mouth in slow, sensuous strokes.
When he broke away, she sighed. Aullie wasn’t ready, but when his mouth pressed to her neck, her knees practically buckled. Things heated up even quicker as his kiss trailed down to her collarbone. Weston’s hands roamed back up to her waist, where he lifted her shirt.
When his lips brushed her stomach, just above the waistband of her jeans, she felt a flutter a little lower. It was so overwhelmingly erotic, she couldn’t restrain the tiny moan that escaped her lips. Aullie bent over him, securing her fingers in his dark golden hair. He kissed her once more, before pulling away suddenly.
The rush of blood and endorphins to Aullie’s head left her dizzy and disoriented. All she could think was, where are you going and why?
He stood, casting his eyes away from her and adjusting the waistband of his jeans, hopefully, to hide his mutual excitement.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, breathless.
“Look,” he said, running a hand through his mussed up hair, “I like you Aullie. Really, really like you.”
He paused for a moment and her self-conscious mind ran wild; dreading him saying that he wasn’t sexually attracted to her or something else to wound her sudden vulnerability.
To her immense relief, he said instead, “I’ve managed to already mess this up once. I don’t want to do anything else to put you off or make you think this is an entirely sexual thing. I don’t want to jump into anything.”
God that accent, she could listen to him talk all day. Her head agreed with what he was saying but the wave of heat in her core didn’t.
“Yeah,” she nodded, still panting gently. “That sounds like a good idea.”
Weston chuckled quietly, an adoring smile accentuated his beautiful face. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re… flustered like that.” His voice was sweet and smooth, like honey. Aullie wanted to drizzle it into her tea and drink it up.
“I should go,” Weston said. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Still speechless and breathless, Aullie turned in a daze and watched him walk toward the door. Just then, Bruce hopped out of a kitchen cabinet, tail erect and eager to sneak out the door when Weston left. He perked up his ears and meowed a little greeting to the stranger, no doubt trying to be cute for the potential pity of being let out.
“Well hi, Kitty,” Weston bent his knees, squatting down to scratch Bruce’s soft, gray little head between his pointy ears. Seeing him then, his sweet nature and his tenderness toward her pet, Aullie began to consider giving him a real shot.
In her experience, rich guys were shallow but the more time she spent with him, the more she recognized he really, truly wasn’t. She enjoyed the sight for a moment before she called the cat.
“C’mere Bruce,” she clapped her hands and clicked her tongue. “You can’t go outside right now, baby.”
“Listen to your mommy, kitty.” Weston gently grasped the cat by his sides and turned him to face Aullie. He gave his furry little butt a pat and the disgruntled cat m
eowed in protest and made his crabby way back to his giggling owner.
Weston placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to face her. “I had a great time with you today, Aullie. I really hope you’ll consider giving me the chance to spend more of it with you.”
“Yeah.” Aullie nodded. With a sheepish smile, she said, “I think I’d like that.”
In his sexy, accented voice he said, “Good.” He turned the knob and let himself out, folding his tall frame through a narrow crack in the door to mind the cat.
Once he had gone, Aullie locked the door behind him, feeling like a silly rom-com star as she leaned against it and smiled.
Chapter 7
Tuesday meant two early classes, followed by a shift at work. Those shifts were usually pretty slow but Aullie had a surprisingly good night. Still on cloud 9 Wednesday morning, she decided to treat herself.
Things with Weston were still good, he texted her the appropriate amount with the right level of flirtatiousness and just a touch of sensuality. For the past thirty-six hours, Aullie had been thoroughly satisfied with her choice to give the handsome Brit another chance.
Digging through her chaotic closet, she found her favorite pair of shoes; a pair of ratty white converse she had colored with sharpies when she was in high school. She tied them onto her feet, slipped a wad of cash in her pocket and decided to go for a walk.
The weather was nice, it was probably one of the last nice days left before winter took over completely. The air was crisp, but not chilling, and clumps of crunchy brown leaves littered the sidewalk.
Aullie zipped up her baggy concert hoodie and wandered down the street. There was an art store there, more of a specialty place than your typical big craft stores. They sold good pencils, higher quality paints, and brushes, and Aullie’s school definitely did a big part of helping keep them in business.
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