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“Yeah?”
“Yeah…”
“No place you’d rather be?”
“No,” said Romeo. “There is absolutely no place I’d rather be than right here, right now.”
Then he leaned over, slowly, and kissed her, softly.
It was a perfect first kiss and Ant just melted into it.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked her.
“Nothing,” Nikki said as she shrugged and looked down the length of the divey sports bar they were sitting in. “I thought we were going to, you know, wink wink.”
“Why don’t we have a drink first.” He grabbed the bartender’s attention. “Two tequilas please.”
“Sure thing bro.”
A minute later Nikki and Patrick were clinking and drinking.
“Aaaaaah…” he said, dropping the shot glass back down on the bar top.
“Shall we?” asked Nikki, gesturing to leave.
“One more,” ordered Patrick.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Could be.”
Again they drank. The liquor burned Nikki’s throat. Tequila was never her favorite.
“Hey. You sure you don't know where Ant went this evening?”
That pissed her off. “Really? Is that all we’re gonna do all night? Talk about my cousin Antoinette Capaslutbag. She’s out with a new guy. His name is Romeo. He works at Monty’s. Happy?”
“Whoa, whoa…” he said, calming her down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I was just curious.”
“Whatever,” she said, turning away.
“Hey. I’m sorry. How about I try to make it up to you.”
“Not possible.”
“Really? You sure?” Then he grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulled her closer and kissed her roughly.
“Mmmm…,” purred Ant, pulling away and taking a breath. They had been full on making out for the last twenty minutes or so. It was hot and it was moving fast.
She picked up her glass and took another sip of wine. It was a cool, juicy, ripe zinfandel that tasted of black cherry and chocolate. Her cheeks felt flushed, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the wine or the kissing. Probably both.
Whatever it was she liked it. And this guy, she liked him a lot too. She wanted to know everything about him. “So, why painting?” she asked.
“I dunno,” Romeo said reflexively. Because that’s what most people said when confronted with a question that they should probably know the answer to but were never forced to really consider.
He was about to give her the pat answer he always gave - colors speak to me. But, he knew how obnoxiously trite it sounded. So he stopped himself and instead he considered the question. Probably more deeply than he ever had before. And for the first time he knew the real answer.
“I think painting helps me figure out who I am,” he finally said .
