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He turned his head toward the wall, to make sure the painting was gone like he ordered. He stopped for a moment to stare at the replacement, to see the painting I created from memory. He paused to look at it, to see the details I’d memorized after he was gone. He must have recognized his tattoos, the exact replica of his strong body. I didn’t need his picture to recreate his image. Like the back of my hand, I knew every single detail, every dot of ink, every scar.
He turned back to me, less angry but still hostile.
I knew this fight wasn’t over. It was only beginning. I stood up with my arms across my chest, the couch between us.
He stood rigidly, his arms still tensed by his sides. His muscular shoulders stretched the cotton of his t-shirt. Even when he was covered in his clothing, the strength of his body couldn’t be denied. He stretched everything, from his jeans to the back of his shirt. He showed the same look he used to give me when we met, a look that suggested he hated me and wanted me at the same time.
I waited for him to say something, to figure out exactly what his mood was. But of course, he could handle endless silence since there was no level of intensity that made him uncomfortable. He could hold this intimacy for hours, refusing to say anything until I spoke first.
“I didn’t have a chance to take it down,” I said. “And I wasn’t thinking about him or his painting, so the thought didn’t even cross my mind. It’s gone now, so let’s move on.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, his eyebrows furrowing at the same time. The second he cocked his head slightly, I knew he didn’t like what I’d said. “Let’s move on? Are you fucking kidding me?” He pronounced every syllable coldly, as if he was disgusted by what I’d just said.
I’d never seen him so jealous before. He was always so confident about himself, but one painting drove him mad. “You didn’t care about him before. I tried to explain the relationship to you, and you said you didn’t care. You didn’t even ask if I slept with him. It’s just a painting, Griffin. What is the big deal?” I never kissed Antonio, hardly touched him. Bones had no reason to feel threatened by him.
“What’s the big deal?” His voice turned quiet, making it far more menacing. He walked toward me slowly, circling around the couch like a predator about to pounce on his prey. His eyes stayed on me, his threatening arms by his sides. “It’s a huge fucking deal. He’s a painter, Vanessa. A damn painter.”
“What does that matter?”
He stopped ten feet away from me, his gaze becoming even more terrifying. “If you fucked the guy because you were depressed and lonely, it wouldn’t have mattered to me. That doesn’t mean he ever meant anything to you. For all my life, sex has been meaningless. I don’t even remember the women who have been in my bed. I don’t remember their faces because the only face I care about is yours. But this guy makes art that reminds you of your childhood to put on your wall. The two of you have a connection. He doesn’t just paint, he’s good at it. I knew it wasn’t one of your pieces the second I looked at it. It’s not your brushwork and it’s not your color scheme, but it also reminded me of you the second I saw it.”
I listened to everything he said, following his train of thought with surprise. Since Bones didn’t ask anything about Antonio, I never told him about the relationship. I didn’t mention how we met or what our relationship was like. It didn’t seem important to him. But now that he knew Antonio was also an artist, he was threatened. I never told him about the connection the two of us had. That’s what made him angry, that I’d connected with another man even if I’d never slept with him. It was more emotional and intimate than sex ever could be. I could see the way it ate him from the inside out.
He stepped closer to me but kept several feet in between us. “Did he paint that for you?”
I didn’t want to answer this question. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “Griffin, I picked you. I only want you. Let’s forget about him and be happy.”
As if he didn’t hear my answer, he repeated his question. “Did he paint that for you?”
I tightened my arms over my chest. “I told him I was still in love with you and I wasn’t ready for a relationship. So we just spent time together as friends. There was nothing else there, Griffin.”
