"Can I see it?"
She shrugged again and stood, still looking embarrassed. "It's nothing special."
Laney led me down the hall to a brightly lit room. One of the walls had a big window with drapes that were drawn to let sunlight flood in, but the room really was tiny. If someone tried to put a bed in here, there wouldn't be room for a whole lot else. As an art studio, though, it seemed to work. There was a big easel right in the center, an empty canvas sitting on it and a couple of tubes of paint balanced across the bottom ledge. Along the walls were other canvases of varying size. Some of them empty, but a few that were complete and likely propped up to dry. I walked along the perimeter, admiring each one in turn.
"Laney, these are... amazing. I had no idea how talented you were. Wow." It was true. I didn't initially take her claim to be an artist seriously. I figured it was just an excuse she was using to explain why she didn't have a real job.
"Do you really think so?"
I turned around, surprised to see apprehensiveness on her face. As if she was afraid to believe me. "Holy shit, Laney. Do you honestly not know how talented you are? This stuff should be in a gallery somewhere."
Something shifted in her face, but then she just nodded. "I guess. It's just that art is so... subjective. Sometimes it’s hard to know what other people will really think about your work. That’s why it's not always easy to put it out there. To let people judge."
"Why not? How could anyone look at this and not see how amazing it is?"
She laughed softly. "You'd be surprised."
"I doubt it. What you and I do isn't all that different, you know."
She raised an eyebrow at that. "You're a football player. I'm a painter. It doesn't really get much different than that."
I shook my head. "We're both entertainers, in a way. Sure, I play football and you paint pictures, but we both put ourselves out there for people to watch what we do and judge. If you paint a great picture, people will love it. If you paint a shit one, people will hate it. When I play a game, I might catch the ball, or miss the ball, or fumble the ball. People judge me, too."
This time Laney was the one to shake her head. "You're missing the key difference, Tanner. A football game has objective, well defined rules. You can practice and become the best at catching a ball, and when you play, if you are the best, then people love it. But that's not true with art, which is completely subjective. An artist might become the best in the world at their particular style, but people might still hate it. You might create a piece of art that is deeply personal, but no two people viewing it have the same experience because their own eyes are tainted by their own life experiences. What one person loves, another might hate. They may think you're doing it wrong, because it is wrong – to them. Which means that any time you create a piece of art and let people see it, you risk having them pass judgment on it in completely unpredictable ways."
I considered her words for a few moments, then nodded, even more impressed with Delaney than before. "I can see how that would be stressful and scary. But I'm serious when I tell you that to me, at least, your work is dazzling. Maybe I could hire you to make something for my apartment."
She laughed, as if she thought I was making a joke, but then saw that I was serious. She paused for a moment, the smile on her face only slipping for a moment before she stepped into the room a little bit further. The movement brought her closer to me.
"Don't forget," she said, her green eyes twinkling in the sunlight as her smile turned into a sly sort of grin. "I saw your apartment before Izzy moved in and you cleaned it all up. The trophies, the magazine articles, the photographs. I know exactly what you'd want me to paint. The only question is, would it be a portrait of you catching a football to score the game winning touchdown, or would it be something more intimate, like you lounging suggestively on a bearskin rug."
"Well, definitely not option two. I have a daughter, now." I stepped forward as well. I was next to the easel now, and only a foot or so away from Laney. If I breathed deeply I could smell the scent of her freshly washed hair.
"Ah, so you admit that you would want me to paint you, then."
I laughed, turning to the easel and running my finger along the unpainted white canvas. "Would it be so bad, painting me? I'm sure I could strike a pretty enough pose for you."
Laney took another step. "I don’t doubt it. Believe it or not, I think painting you is a fabulous idea."
Then, before I knew it, she grabbed one of the tubes from the bottom of the easel and twisted off the cap, raising it up to my face and squirting me with it.
I stood there in shock as she laughed. Her fingers pressed against my skin, sliding the oily liquid up along the side of my face. "Yes," she nodded. "That's a definite improvement."
Recovering my senses, I grabbed the other tube and twisted it open. Laney saw what I was about to do and tried to spin away but I grabbed her arm and pulled her close to me. Her body slapped into mine and I brought up the paint, squeezing a blotch of blue onto her face and then squishing it into her skin.
"Hey, I thought I was painting you," she protested, although both of us were laughing now. I squirted another dollop onto the other side of her face and continued to smear it in.
"What color is mine?" I asked.
She held up her hand to show me the crimson color staining her fingertips. "Red." Then she wiped her fingers across my chin.
"What do you get when you mix red and blue?" I had stopped laughing, and although my hand was still holding onto her arm, she wasn't trying to get away anymore.
"Purple," she answered, meeting my eyes as her own laughter died away.
"I like purple," I nodded.
"Me too," she whispered in agreement.
No more words were needed.
29
Delaney
I don't know why I had that sudden urge to squirt paint onto Tanner's too perfect face, but part of me must have at least considered the possibility that it would end up with the two of us rolling naked, covered in paint, across my studio floor.
And yet I did it anyway.
Following the kiss our clothes quickly ended up tossed into a corner of the room, but then somehow the paint fight began again until both of us were howling with laughter, covered in red and blue acrylic.
Moments later we were on top of each other again, my body slipping and sliding against his, creating a mess of purple ass-prints that mapped our progress across the room.
We started in the center, where Tanner tackled me once he tired of me spreading red paint across his chest. His lips found mine and I pulled his body against me, spreading my legs to let him fall between and then wrapping them around his waist to make sure he didn't escape until I was done with him. The hardness of his cock was pressed against my thigh, reminding me that he was ready, but we both ignored it. For minutes we were content with simply kissing each other, letting our hands explore the greasy surface of each other's paint slickened bodies. He left a trail of blue hand prints along the sides of my body, then my breasts, and after some maneuvering, my ass. For my part, I covered him with red prints of my own.
Mostly on his ass.
Soon he rolled us over, pulling my weight on top of him but never breaking the kiss. The motion landed my pussy against his cock, pining the tip between us. With a bit of a wriggle I let it flip free, causing it to land perfectly nestled between my legs. He responded by rolling us again, moving us to another part of the room with him on top once more. Somehow his cock remained nestled between the tops of my thighs. We kissed some more, and then rolled again. Paint was getting everywhere, but I didn't care.
Each movement of our bodies was a tease, his skin rubbing and pulling against my sensitive lips and clit. I was on top again, and all I wanted to do was shift my hips back and impale myself along his throbbing length.
"I'm on the pill," I whispered between kisses. "And clean." Well, I was anything but clean at the moment, but I knew Tanner would understand the context
.
His eyes widened in delighted surprise and he nodded. "Me too. Although I'm not sure if we're talking about the same pill..."
"Oh, shut up," I said, then pushed myself backward along his smooth body and filled myself with him entirely.
That did the trick of shutting down his jokes, although he still had plenty to say.
"Jesus fuck, Laney, your pussy is so damn tight you better slow down or this isn't going to last. And I really want to fuck you long and hard today."
"Who said this will be your only chance?" I winked as I lifted my body up to sit down onto him completely. It served the intended purpose of driving his cock even deeper inside of me. He groaned, hands wrapping around my waist to squeeze my ass.
"I'm going to hold you to that if you make me come too quick," he growled.
"That better be a promise." I lifted my body using my knees and then sat back down on him. Every nerve ending in my body lit up at once.
"If you're gonna ride me, then let's go. Show me what you got," he challenged.
I didn't need to be told twice. I picked up the pace, lifting my body and then letting it drop back down onto his cock. Over and over. Faster and faster.
Tanner's hands were on my chest now, fingers pinching my nipples gently but firmly, his eyes closed as his hips lifted and sank in time with own – as much as they could between me and the hard floor, at least.
"Fuck, I can't hold back," he panted, squeezing both of my tits with his whole hands. "So fucking tight."
Suddenly his hands pulled away and grabbed my hips, fingers digging into my ass and pulling me down hard onto him. I felt his cock swell inside of me, right before it unleashed a jet of pure heat. Tanner sat up and wrapped his arms around my body, pulling me against his chest. His heart pounded against my breasts.
"Sorry, I wanted to wait for you but I just couldn't." His cock was still buried deeply inside of my pussy, but I could feel it starting to soften.
"As long as you're planning on sticking to your promise, I don't mind."
"Laney, I plan on spending all day and all night making sure your body is so sore by tomorrow morning that you'll have to spend the day in bed, recovering. My advice to you now is drink plenty of fluids."
"Oh, is that so? And how do you know I'm free for the rest of today? I don't remember inviting you to spend the night, either."
He raised an eyebrow, but then nodded. "You're right, I should ask for permission first..." Tanner's hand moved between our legs. He was still inside of me, but when he leaned back he was able to reach my clit. His fingers gave it a soft rub and I shuddered. "...and I will, right after I take care of something important first."
His lips dropped against the crook of my neck as he continued to stroke my slickened nub. He slipped his cock out but replaced it with two fingers of his other hand before I even had time to object. In moments, he had me on the brink of coming.
"Hey Laney, did you want me to leave now, or would you mind if I spent the day here, and then maybe slept over?"
His fingers paused as he asked the question and my eyes snapped open. I narrowed my eyes. "That's not fair."
"All's fair in love and war, my lady. Now, shall I stop and get dressed or...?"
Tanner ended up staying over after all.
The day was a blur of hedonism, and we didn't once put a stitch of clothing back on. My favorite encounter was in the shower after washing off the paint. Tanner lifted my leg up, placing it on the edge of the tub and then knelt down in front of me. I must have come three times on his tongue, each time screaming louder than the orgasm before. I would have pushed him away after the first one, but he had an iron grip on my ass, using it to grind me against his face. I thought each climax would be my last, but then I came again, even harder. It wasn't until my balancing leg began to shake that he finally let me go before I collapsed.
We'd taken a break after that, but still ended up having sex at least two more times before crawling into bed at night, exhausted. All I remember thinking, before drifting off to sleep, was how Tanner had kept his promise. There was no doubt I was going to be sore in the morning.
My body did ache when I woke, but so did Tanner’s. He had multiple bruises on his back from me bouncing on top of him while he lay on my hard studio floor.
He didn't seem to mind, though.
"A fair price to pay for literally the dirtiest sex I've ever had," he shrugged. I laughed, despite the reminder of how much of a pain it was going to be to clean that room up. It would have been a lot easier to do yesterday before the paint dried, but we'd been too preoccupied.
"What did you have planned for today?" he asked as he pulled on his pants. He had told the Marcelo's that he would pick Izzy up before lunch.
I was sitting on the bed, still in the pajamas I'd thrown on this morning when we got up to have breakfast.
"I'm getting together with my friend Roxie. I have a big decision to make and she's waiting on an answer."
"Oh? What decision is that?"
"Whether or not to go to Europe for a few weeks. There's a big art exhibit in Paris that her Gallery is sponsoring, and she can get me in. Not as a feature or anything, but still, the exposure would be great for my career."
Tanner paused, still holding his shirt in his hands. His well-defined, tattooed chest and arms were a distracting sight. I idly wondered whether I could convince him to be a bit late on picking Izzy up, and if I did, whether the experience would be more pleasurable or painful give the soreness of our bodies. "Europe for a few weeks? When?"
"Soon. I probably should be there already, to be honest. Some of the other artists already are, probably snagging all the best spots." I really had left the decision until the last possible minute. I was lucky that there was even still room for me.
If I even decide to go, that is.
"What the fuck, Laney? Were you even gonna tell me about this?"
Wait, what? Where did this sudden anger come from?
"Well first, since when do I need to run something like that by you? And second, I haven't even decided for sure if I'm going yet."
"That sort of decision became relevant to me the minute you made that bullshit offer to help look after Izzy."
"What? Tanner, what are you talking about? That offer wasn't bullshit, I—"
"Really? How exactly were you planning on watching her from fucking Europe? Flying home on weekends, perhaps?"
"I'm not going forever, it's just a few weeks, a month at the most, and anyway, you never even agreed to the idea of me helping out. As I remember it, you didn't say anything about it at all." Now I was getting angry.
"A month?" He completely avoided addressing my accusation directly, but he did shift his next argument which may have been his way of acknowledging it. Yet what he said was completely unfair and just got my blood boiling even more. "And you think Izzy will be fine with you disappearing for a whole month?"
"I can't believe you're going to throw that in my face. You're the one that took her from me in the first place."
"And if you remember, when I did take my own daughter, I promised that you could visit as often as you wanted. I did that for both you and her. But now you're going to just up and go to fucking Paris for a month."
"You don't think I'll miss her? Of course I will, but—"
"And me, will you miss me? What about this here?"
"What about it?" I asked. A small part of me was surprised that he even brought up the question of us at all, but a larger part of me was still furious at him for everything else. "What is this here, Tanner? A fling? Something more? I have no idea, because despite us spending the whole day in this apartment yesterday, fucking, we didn't speak one word about it. So excuse me if that's all I think of this as. Fucking. You're Tanner Garrick, after all. Your reputation with women is world renowned. Or wait, is that not how this works? Am I supposed to wait around for you to get bored first and then cast me aside?" Somehow, somewhere, I could feel Gia looking down on me with pride for ho
w far I'd come from that little girl that was getting pushed around in the sandbox.
"It's not like that, Laney," Tanner said, shaking his head and letting out a heavy sigh.
Isn't it? Then why the hell didn't you take me up on my offer to help with Izzy the other day when I made it? Or yesterday, even? No. It's coming now because you, like every other guy, only recognize something good when it's about to be taken away.
There was no point in saying any of that, though. He would just deny it.
"Maybe it's time for me to go and have a life of my own for once. Stop thinking about what everyone else wants, and start thinking about what's good for me."
That stopped him cold, and the color drained from his face. Immediately I replayed the words I’d just said in my head, trying to figure out what he was reacting to so that I could prepare myself for his next assault.
But Tanner just nodded, then put on his shirt. "Yeah, okay Delaney. You go and have a life of your own. Don't worry about shit here. I'll take care of everything."
Then he just turned and left without another word.
What the hell just happened?
30
Tanner
It had taken me about two days, but I was finally ready to admit that maybe I was wrong and had over-reacted.
I had good reason, though. The last time I'd heard someone use the argument that they needed some "me time" was when my dad skipped out on the family, leaving me to pick up his slack. He was tired of feeling tied down by a wife and kids, never getting to do what he wanted, and so he just picked up and left. But it was unfair of me to compare Laney with him.
It was just that having her declare that she was leaving just when I was ready to ask for her help really struck a nerve.
Still, Izzy wasn't Laney's kid. They weren't even related. She didn't make a choice to get married and have a family. She simply had a best friend that got sick, and with no one else around to step up, Laney took her kid in – fully prepared to raise her as her own. She was ready to give up everything in the process. Pretty much the exact opposite of my old man. Who the hell could blame her, now that those responsibilities had been lifted from her shoulders, for wanting to go and do something with her life. Laney didn't owe Izzy, or me for that matter, anything. She'd done enough. She absolutely should pursue her art career.
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