Page 65 of Tanner

Last night, I dreamed about her, naked in my studio as I painted her body again. In the dream, I ran my tongue over every inch of her body and told her how beautiful she was. I licked the sweetness right out of her until she came in my mouth. I woke up with an erection so hard; I had to relieve myself in the shower.

It’s not just that I find her physically attractive. I’m enraptured by her stories. She’s spontaneous and smart, funny and sophisticated.

None of it matters.

As I enter my studio again, I turn the music off and look at the mess I’ve made. I’m engrossed in a portrait I’ve been working on, a painting of a woman so strong and beautiful that every feature jumps off the canvas. It’s almost done, and now, I have a four-by-six painting of the one girl I should be forgetting.

The book Chéri is staring at me. She checked it out of the library. Nice. Not only did she give me the story of a woman who falls for a rich young playboy who marries someone else, but she also gave me the added bonus of having to return it.

And she thinks I’m the child.

I toss on my shoes and grab a coat.

Paul is at the bar when I walk through the doors of The Den. It’s pretty packed for a Friday night. I take a seat in the first stool. He slides a bottle of scotch my way along with a rocks glass. I pour slowly and sip.

He hands me a cocktail napkin and a pen. I start to draw.

The hours pass, and I’m not too far into the bottle when the place starts to clear out. I didn’t come here to get drunk. Just to think.

“You got any jokes tonight?” I ask Paul as he grabs himself a glass and pours a shot.

“What’s the difference between a G-spot and a golf ball?”

I’ve heard this one before, but I let him tell it anyway.

“I’ll look all day for a golf ball.”

“And that’s why your wife kicks you out once a month.”

“Meh. She does that because I snore like a bastard. So, what’s your problem, kid?”

I flinch at his use of the word kid. “Apparently, there’s such an age where you’re too old to play pretend but not old enough to live in the real world.”

“We talkin’ family problems or lady trouble?”

“Both.” I run my hands together and play with the ring on my right hand. “I have two older brothers back in San Francisco. We own a family business, and when it comes to the decision-making, they treat me like I’m a child. Just because I was young when my mom died, they don’t think I know what it was like when she was alive. And, because I haven’t worked for the company, they act as if I don’t know the stakes. I know them better than they do. I’m smarter than the two of them combined, and I have been taking finance courses, so I can be a better asset. Not that they know or care. They let me come out here to school to season myself and have a degree for the company website. They’ve been waiting for me to become an adult, but I know, once I take a seat at the table, they’ll still treat me like the baby brother.”

Paul nods and takes a sip of his drink. “And the lady?”

I look down at the napkins and the images of Harper I created on each. “She’s eight years older than me. Stormed out of a bar because she couldn’t deal with the age difference.”

He scrunches his mouth in consideration. “She could have handled it better.”

“And then I went back to this woman’s apartment … not my girl, another girl. We started on a bottle of tequila, and before I knew it, she was unbuttoning her shirt. And do you know what I did?”

“Took her to bed?” he asks like it’s an obvious answer.

“I left. I left with blue balls—and not for the one who’d just started taking her clothes off for me. I’m still hell-bent on the woman who looks at me like I’m a fucking child.”

Paul pours us each another glass. “Good news is, you’re not a child. No brother should treat a man who’s old enough to fight in a war like anything other than an equal.”

I down my shot and nod. “Even if one of those brothers actually did fight in a war?”

“Especially him. The Jewish community considers a boy a man at thirteen, yet we coddle them. In my day, guys were having kids at eighteen and going to work to support a family. Now, you can’t even buy a pack of smokes until you’re twenty-one. Society says you’re too young to know right from wrong. Let me tell you this; your age doesn’t make you. Your attitude is what makes a man.” He points a finger at me. “You, my friend, are one of the maturest guys to walk in this place. That’s why I’ve been letting you drink in here since before you were legal.”

I laugh into my glass. “Caught on to the fake ID, huh?”

“Your brother’s got brown hair, and his name’s Austin. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist.” Paul takes a beer from the cooler and pops the cap off. “Bad news is, you’re a pussy.”