by Xavier Neal
The man sits up a little taller. “Oh yeah?”
“Definitely. And being here with him as his father definitely creates a bonding that he'll later appreciate.”
“Your old man do art things with you?”
The question grabs a small, sad laugh. “He was a Marine, so working with art materials was not his strong suit, but he did attend several wood workshop classes with me when I was nine then again at eleven. I'll never forget it or the bird house that's still in my parent's back yard.”
My mother even bought a bird bath to put right underneath. That's the kind of family we were. We worked together. Completed each other. Dad was the reason. It's why it all fell apart when he died.
He attempts to respond when his son demands more attention. He gives me another polite wave, ending the conversation yet leaving me with the perfect idea of something to make for June. I get focused and begin vigorously sculpting away, the sound of June's words of encouragement ringing loudly like bells of premature praise.
Every word out of her mouth is supportive. Her tone and affliction is similar to the one my Kindergarten teacher used. It's the type to build children up and water the seeds of dreamers.
As she travels around the room, she reassures them, “Remember, as long as your heart is in it, then it's a work of art!”
Hearing her quote a phrase that hits so close to home with my own belief system furthers my smirk. When our eyes meet, I can't help but blow her a small kiss that makes her bashfully glance away seconds before she bumps into the edge of the desk.
I look back down and smooth the head of the creation.
I wish I could ask June to drop everything here and run away with me. But we both know I can't. She's got responsibilities here, this class being one of them. Part of me wishes wanting to be with me would outweigh the need to stay in such a checklist life style. Wow. I haven't had a selfish thought like that in quite a while...Maybe it's best this whole thing has an end date. Not sure I'm cut out to be the kind of person who asks others to do the things he's not willing too.
June
I fold my arms firmly. “You want me to do what?”
“Take your top off so I can paint you.”
Tell me I'm mishearing this.
“Paint me? I am not a canvas, Tucker.”
“Correction. Your body is in-deed the most beautiful canvas I've ever seen.”
A small swoon escapes.
Right! The topless thing.
“Why do I have to be topless?”
“It's an art rave.”
“Which means I can't wear clothes?”
“Not at this one,” he says inside the small room where women are in the process of having clothes or designs airbrushed on top of their bare chests. “It's glow in the dark paint. Requirements are for men and women to be painted topless before entry. With a good enough job, June Bug, it'll barely look like you're not wearing anything on top.”
Disbelief shakes my head. “This is...this....so....not me....”
“Maybe not, but I did try a coconut key lime smoothie with you and your friends earlier-”
“Far from the same thing-”
“And helped you replace all the flowers in the Frost office building-”
“Only on the top floor.”
Tucker pulls me into him by the hips. “My point is, we spent the earlier part of the day doing things, normal things. Can we spend the evening doing adventurous ones?”
“You know, I don't like changing all the fresh flowers.”
It's not a choice either. Just one of the many odd tasks on my lists.
“Please?”
Resisting his puppy dog eyes becomes impossible.
Damn it!
“Is it gonna be dark?”
He tries to hold back his smile. “Only real lights will be for the bartenders to pour drinks and even those will be dim.”
I nervously nibble on my bottom lip before asking, “And are you gonna be the one to paint me?”
His eyes dip across my bikini covered top. “June Bug, I wouldn't ever let anyone else touch my canvas. Male or female.”
In a weird way it feels like he just called me his girlfriend.
I wrap my arms around his neck and cave, “Fine. You can paint me, but you have to promise me if I start to feel too uncomfortable or self-conscious in there, we can go home.”
“Promise.”
“Like immediately.”
“Immediately.”
As soon as I give him a little smile, his lips drop to mine and plant a soft kiss. When he pulls away he says, “I'll even request a back corner so no one else can see these...” His finger lightly tugs my nipple through the top and I have to stifle a moan. The feeling of his cock beginning to swell against me forces my teeth to bite down on my bottom lip. “You know...I'm beginning to have seconds thoughts on being here. Maybe we should go home and-”
“Tucker Frost,” a male voice pulls us apart.
The moment he moves to my side exposing the owner, my face helplessly scrunches.
I don't remember his name. All I know is I wanna poke his eye out even more now than I did the first time we met.
“Norm.” Tucker tucks me in closer to him. “Didn't think a hot shot like you went to small shindigs like this.”
“Have to stay close to my roots,” he sneers. “Unlike you who heedlessly runs from yours.”
“You don't know shit about my roots.”
“I know a little something about a dainty blonde
named-”
“Don't.” Tucker growls and points a finger at him. “Don't you dare say her fucking name.”
Who? Whose name?
To my surprise, Norm surrenders his hands, and turns his attention to me.
He gives me the heebie jeebies from just a glance. Ugh. You too?
“I can't wait to see that beautiful body of yours glowing in the dark. Why don't you let a real artist turn you into a masterpiece, baby?”
Before I can make a snide remark in return, Tucker's grip has relocated around Norm's throat. His head hits the back of the wall beside the entrance where we were lingering. The sight of his fingers tightening widens my eyes and sends my heart to my throat.
“If you ever lay a finger on June, I will turn you into an anatomy project for grad students with so much advanced knowledge of the human structure that putting you back together will earn them a spot in the history books. Am I painting a clear enough picture for you or would you like additional details?”
That was pretty crystal clear if you ask me.
Norm barely manages to shake his head. Tucker releases him and immediately Norm begins to gasp for air.
Two security guards approach the situation cautiously. The taller, more muscular one questions, “Do we have a problem here?”
Tucker takes a step back, slips his arm around my waist, and shrugs. “I'm fine. Norm?”
He rubs his neck where I imagine a bruise is going to form. In a hoarse voice he says, “All good.”
The men scan the situation once more before deciding to walk away. Norm makes a bee line for one of the empty stations while Tucker and I wait until he's settled. Afterwards, he leads me to the furthest corner where a tattooed blonde brings over equipment.
She gives me a sweet look and offers, “I can paint you up, baby doll. It'd be a pleasure.”
Not gonna lie. Feeling pretty flattered men and women are hitting on me.
“No one paints my girl but me,” Tucker sharply snaps moving the equipment to where he needs it. “But I appreciate the offer, Bonnie.”
She pouts. “You never did like to share.”
He smirks. “Nope.”
Bonnie rolls her eyes and walks back the way she came, flagging down another woman who has no problem stripping her top off even before she's asked.
It's not like I've got a bad rack or anything. They're really nice to look at. At least that's how it feels any time I wear a low cut top at the gym.
Wh
en it's just the two of us again, Tucker briefly tests the airbrush gun before moving his body to shelter mine from being seen by wandering eyes. “Whenever you're ready....”
I slightly hesitate before undoing the string at the top of my tankini. The moment it falls, he hones his attention on my exposed chest. His eyes caress my nipples causing them to harden and I find myself resisting the urge to moan.
Seriously. He looks at me and it's wham, bam, I'm wet now ma'am.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He asks as he helps remove my top.
I simply smile and watch him place the object in a Ziploc bag.
“Any requests for what I paint?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “I'm just the canvas. You're the artist.”
Tucker grows a grin that lets me know an idea is already brewing.
Why do I get the feeling that's not a good thing?
“Alright, I want it to be a surprise, so don't look down.”
“Got it.” I pick a focal point on the opposite wall and the sound of the machine begins. The cold paint causes me to shudder, which makes Tucker snicker. After the first few moments, I let out a deep sigh of relief, thankful it doesn't hurt and isn't as miserable as I imagined it to be. “How long will this stuff stay on?”
“It'll last while we're here. It's pretty easy to wash off once we're done.”
Silence starts to settle between us. Out of the corner of my eye I see Norm who only had a bow tie painted on, head for the guarded doors. Suddenly his voice is echoing in my ears and my mouth moves before I have time to stop it. “Who was the blonde Norm was referring to?”
His movements falter and the machine stops. “I'd rather not talk about it.”
“And I'd rather not walk around a room full of strangers with my lady lumps hanging out. How about you meet me in the middle here? How about we both be a little out of our comfort zones?”
There's no immediate reply. Instead he starts painting again and I impatiently wait, hoping he's willing to compromise.
Do you think I'm asking too much? I mean really. He's asking me to walk around topless in front other half naked drunk people. I'm simply asking him to share a little of his past. The part that actually includes him in it.
“Her name was Rachel.”
The name instantly clicks. “You...mentioned her at dinner that night with your family.”
“Her parents and my parents were members of the same country club. It's how we met. After having sex in a golf cart, we started talking and found out not only did we attend the same college, but we were both art majors.” His movements become a little faster. “Rachel had a hard time dealing with her family. They wanted her to be a pretty housewife. Eye candy to a senator or congressman or a future president if she could swing it. They didn't even give a shit if she finished college as long as she met someone who could take care of her future.”
Wow. Talk about being bred to be a stereotype.
“Rachel was a rebel though. Had plans to run away to Paris when she finished school. Eat French bread and fuck French guys.”
I try not to frown. “That didn't bother you?”
“Nah...” He denies quietly. “Part of me knew Rachel was just temporary and I was okay with that. I had plans to go to New York, sell my shit up there, so we made the most of our time together. Only problem was, Rachel had a drug habit. She had been popping pills to deal with the anxiety her parents had been giving her for years and liked to take X to 'release creativity'. One weekend, I went home for more than a routine visit. There was an agent who wanted to represent my work. Take it to some galleries he knew in Chicago and see if he could get it placed and sold. I wanted to wait to tell Rachel until I had told my family. I knew my dad would be proud and my mother thankful her patience with my doodling on everything from a young age having been worth it. Aunt Brandi and Uncle Brett would be impressed. We were celebrating when I got the call. She had been found in the bathroom of the country club. Overdose. Doctor's ruled it an accident but I got the feeling it wasn't.” I drop my jaw to say something, anything to express how sad it is when he adds, “And then my father died of heart failure six weeks later.”
Breathlessly, I say, “Tucker....”
The airbrush gun silences again and he looks me deep in the eyes, agony and sorrow swarming out of control. In a very low voice he says, “I've never told anyone that before.”
My hand softly touches his cheek. He leans into it only briefly before kissing me. Our lips remain lightly locked before they part to let our tongues connect. As gently as I can I try to comfort him while expressing gratitude for sharing something so personal.
He pulls back before the kiss gets away from us. “You can look now...”
I take a long, deep breath and turn around to view his creation. The sight of a Monet style Water Lilies covering my chest causes me to gasp. Even though I know I'm completely naked on my upper half it doesn't remotely look like it. All I can see are beautiful clusters of blues and greens in a pattern only a true admirer of the art would know.
His face smirks over my shoulder. “You like it?”
“I love it...”
“Figured you would.”
Our eyes meet in the reflection and linger for a moment.
Oddly romantic....Ha. Feels like that's everything in our relationship.
“What about you?” I turn around and run my hands down his t-shirt covered chest. “What are you going to wear? Oh! Can I pick?!?”
Tucker hesitates, “I'll let you pick, but you have to let Bonnie paint it. Not sure I want you fumbling around with an airbrush gun.”
Considering the fact on our way inside the building, I tripped over the sidewalk and managed to bump into the door, I don't exactly blame him.
“Deal.”
Tucker flags Bonnie to come back over.
She slides her hands into the back pocket of her jean shorts. “Change your mind, Tucker?”
He shakes his head and her eyes fall to the creation on my chest. With an impressed grin she sighs, “You never fail to amaze me....”
That makes two of us.
“Wanna paint me?” His question causes her attention to shift back to him. “June's not familiar with the tool and I'd rather not risk paint in the wrong places. Going to the hospital instead of the rave would be a shitty way to end the day.”
Bonnie snickers but nods. “Sure. What do you want?”
“That's up to June Bug,” he announces and rips off his shirt, stuffing it in the bag along with mine.
When she looks at me, I lean over and whisper in her ear while he scribbles on the bag.
“A secret?” Tucker playfully pokes. “It's gonna be a secret?”
“For now,” I giggle. “Just like mine was.”
He laughs again. “Should've seen that coming.”
Bonnie commands, “Face the wall.”
Once Tucker is in position, she quickly gets to work. To my surprise, she works almost as quickly as he did, accurately but swiftly creating the lines on the front of him before switching to the back. Intrigued at not only the craft but how life like it's looking, my smile increases exponentially.
He suspiciously says, “It's going to be embarrassing, isn't it?”
“It'll be fun,” I insist.
“I think it's funny,” Bonnie adds. “Now hush. You're moving is messing up my design.”
His lips press shut and I watch him become transformed.
Amazing how quick these people are with this stuff. Wonder how many of them have made a profession out of it?
As Bonnie adds the finishing touches around his face using regular body paint instead of the airbrush machine, she declares, “I think you're gonna be the most bad-ass mother fucker in the place.”
The moment she's done, he turns around to face the mirror, laughter instantly erupting. “No fucking way....”
I appear beside him and drop my hands onto my bikini bottom covered hips. “So?”
Tucker's mi
rth filled eyes land on me. “I'm Michelangelo...”
“Yup. You've got the M on your belt and everything.”
Excitement floods his expression as he continues to admire his reflection. “Damn Bonnie, I forgot what a pro you are with a gun.”
“Mmhm,” she hums. “And in case either of you ever want actual tattoos instead of this body paint shit, you're welcomed at my shop any time. I'll even give you a discount.”
