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Wonder what else it’ll take for her to show me more of it.
“Tucker isn’t a real artist,” Norm quickly dispels. “Real artists get paid for their work.”
“Real artists make art whether they’re paid or not.”
“Ah, I see you’re still sticking with that bullshit philosophy that you dropped out of college with when you couldn’t hack it.”
“Not the reason I dropped out.”
And the reason I did is not a story I wanna tell June.
Not here.
Not now.
Not…ever.
“He’s just saying that so he doesn’t fuck up whatever he’s got going on with you,” the weaselly fucker in an unbuttoned leopard print long-sleeve shirt shoots back, stare on my girlfriend.
Um.
Pretend girlfriend.
Pretend girlfriend for about two more minutes.
Three tops.
“What I’ve got going on with June is solid like the security surrounding the Salvator Mundi.” My head cocks to display my withering patience. “So, stop staring at my woman’s tits like they’re something you’re gonna see in this lifetime, because just like that painting…you’re not.”
“What can I say?” He cuts his gray glare back to me. “You’ve always had second class brushstrokes but exquisite taste in women.” There’s no opportunity to refute the statement. “Anyway, I just stopped to see if it was really you.”
“And?”
“And before you went all daddy’s little crime fighter on me, I was going to invite you to my showing next week.”
“Not interested.”
“You should be. I could help you make a few connections in this industry. I mean I know Mommy Dearest and Auntie Brattiest could pull some strings for you – like I’m sure they did to get you into art school – but in case you’re interested in putting in the work yourself – as a real artist should – swing by. I wouldn’t mind making a few introductions.” His grin becomes so smug it physically hurts to look at. “I’m always happy to help out someone less talented.”
Norm winks at me, waggles his eyebrows at June, and saunters off back towards whatever snake dungeon he slithered out of.
The instant he’s out of sight, my fake girlfriend huffs, “I wanna poke that asshole in the eye with a paintbrush.”
Light chuckles precede my retort, “I’d bail you out.”
“And for the record?” Her body shifts so our stares can meet but our touch remains unbroken. “Your aunt has that same fucking shirt in brown.”
Louder laughs leave me without hesitation.
“You obviously were never friends-”
“Never.”
“But definitely more than just classmates.” Curiosity carves its way into her expression. “Rivals?”
“Somewhat.” The admission has me clearing my throat as well untangling myself from her, an action that ignites an unexpected ache the second her frame is no longer with mine. “But that was a different time and a different life.” Picking up the shopping basket is accompanied by resuming my wandering of the store, anxiousness to put distance between me and Norm…that part of my past…that part of myself…growing rampant. “I’m not that person anymore.” I swiftly turn the nearest corner, leaving the personal assistant babysitting me scrambling to keep up. “He died a long time ago.”
And every day of every week of every month, I do whatever it takes to keep it that way.
Chapter 6
June
Koose Koose lets out a loud honk of objection that prompts Tucker to nod at the freeloading feathered guest. “No, I heard her, too.” He extends his open palm to his left to offer the goose a leafy treat at the same time his mirthful gaze latches onto mine, “Is drinking wine and playing Monopoly really your idea of a good time on a Friday night?”
“Look, I can’t exactly risk taking you out to bar or a club or a concert or that weird duck call contest you suggested yesterday for obvious prisoner escape route reasons, but I didn’t want you to be so bored that you craft another goose feed for Koose Koose out of my empty coke bottle and wooden spoons I’m sure were meant for cooking humans.”
His brow furrows in amusement.
“Cooking for humans. Not cooking humans like cannibals.” Panic promptly pierces my eyes and voice in tandem. “This lake house doesn’t belong to cannibals. Like I know I can’t look that up in the review section, but something would’ve come up if they were!”
“Your feathers are ruffled so easy.”
“Stop touching them!”
An almost hungry hum is expelled prior to him investigating, “Is that what you really want, June Bug?”
What I really want is a fucking raise.
And a new job where I don’t have to chant a mantra about not sleeping with my temporary boss.
And for Tucker Frost not to be my temporary boss so that I can give into all the dirty little things that I feel like a pervert for masturbating to.
What I want rarely ever matters.
This situation is no exception.
“What I want is for us to pop open a bottle of Moscato, throw on a little One-Punch Man for background noise, and play this classic board game with a fun creative twist that I worked really hard to come up with.”
