Page 39 of Spin the Damn Bottle

Car rides are always filled with an equal dose of tension, apprehension, and dare I say, anticipation. And that's just for the three minutes it takes us to reach the U from the lake. This time, he's driving us into town.

Almost as soon as the door shuts behind us, Jason pulls me into his lap, completely indifferent to traffic regulations.

"Don't you dare mess with my makeup," I tell him.

I want to make a good impression in front of whoever we meet tonight, and looking all mussed after an hour of messing around in the back of a car has never impressed anybody.

But instead he just kisses my exposed shoulder and asks me what artist I'm most looking forward to meeting today.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

David drops us off in front of an honest-to-god red carpet leading up to the lower Manhattan gallery currently surrounded by paparazzi.

Even the architecture is stunning, a work of art in and of itself, and I can’t wait to get inside. There’s a bit of a line, though, and cameras flash.

One of the paps spots Jace before we're off the curb, and I blink at the flashes of cameras. He wraps his arm around my waist and leads us up to the gallery.

"Jason, Jason, who are you wearing?"

"Jason, boxers or briefs?"

"Jason, who is that with you today, a special lady?"

We've almost reached the end of the line when Jace turns to answer that last question with a dazzling smile. "Very special." He kisses the top of my head and on that note, we head out of the cold and into a beautiful white hall filled with fashionable, trendy people.

"That was insane. You're just a high school guy, not some celebrity."

"Why can't I be both?" He offers me his elbow and I take it. "This way."

A smiling server offers us champagne, visibly unconcerned about our age. I'm no stranger to wine but I've actually never tried champagne. It's delicious.

My mouth drops as I take in the first piece of art on display, a smooth, larger-than-life pair of lovers carved in black stone. "My god!"

"Titans, actually. Not gods." A young, olive-skinned man in a purple winks. "Sylvan Doyles, at your service."

"You made this," I gush, as I spotted the name carved at the feet of the gargantuan shapes. "It's incredible. Like, how?"

"With scaffolding, a saw, a lot of time, and too much money." He winks. "I doubt I'll make it back; pieces like these rarely ever sell. I do smaller stuff too, though. Garden statues, fountain pieces, the like. But my Greek series, it comes from the heart, you know?"

"I can tell." My heart is racing. It's the first art piece I see, the first artist I talk to, and I've never been so elated in my life.

"So, which Titans are those?"

"Uranus and Gaia, obviously." Sylvan throws his hands in the air in frustration. It’s obvious he's tired of answering that question. "Who else would I start with?"

Who, indeed.

"I can't wait to see more." I could stay and chat forever, but there's too much for me to discover.

We keep strolling through the gallery, though extremely slowly, as I keep stopping to gape and exclaim and occasionally shout.

One piece renders me utterly silent, though I can't express why. It's an abstract with violent strokes of red and black, yet it brings forth so much emotion.

"What do you see?" Jace wonders.

"I don't know, a flower in the rain? Or maybe a howling lone wolf. It's not about what I see, it's about how I feel."

"Now, this lady has an eye." A man with an easy smile and a crisp suit joins us, his hand patting the back of Jason's jacket. "And a heart, which is more important. You should keep her close."