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“Well…I want the other one, but seeing as I don’t think you’re gonna give it up, I’ll take what I can get.”
“What other one?” I ask as we step foot into my studio.
“That one.” He points to the painting I did from the other day that is still on my easel. I haven’t found the time to come back in here since then and put the final touches on it. “I’d give it to you, but it’s not even finished.”
“Then finish it.”
He’s dead serious. “Right now?”
“Sure.”
I contemplate his offer. Looking at the painting, it doesn’t need much. I could do it right now. But I’m not sure that I want to let it go. It’s really so dark, but beautiful, a mixture of pain and pleasure.
“You gonna watch me do this?” I ask, and he laughs at me, sipping his beer, “Hell, yeah I am.” He has a smirk on his face, and I sit down, taking in the painting as I imagine what I’m going to do to it.
With Thane next to me, I’m feeling a bit nervous. I’ve always painted alone. Ben supported me painting but never watched me do it. Thane, on the other hand, is right behind me. I look back at him, the closeness consuming me. “I can’t work with you hovering over me.”
He grabs a chair from the other side of the room, removing the painting from it and asks, “Can I set this here?”
“Sure.” Then he sits down right next to me, just the way he did the night we saw each other at the boys’ school, our thighs almost brushing against each other’s.
“Are there any colors you want in it?” I ask.
“Whatever you want, you’re the artist.”
“Oh please, a painting like this Braxley could do.”
“No, he couldn’t. This is a masterpiece. Just paint already.”
Bossy.
Dipping my thin brush into the cup of water, I clean it. Then I fill my tray with a few colors, and as I hold on to it, I envision what I want the end picture to look like. Closing my eyes, I can see it clear as day.
Sticking the tip of the wet brush in the water, I add some black and gently begin to add a thin vein through the picture, bringing depth and life to it that it was missing before.
“Wow, that looks amazing,” Thane says.
“It’s really easy. You wanna try?”
“You sure?” he asks and sets his beer down, obviously excited. I get the brush ready and pass it to him. “Where should I start?” he asks me.
“Wherever you want. Don’t push hard, though. Keep the brush away from the canvas and let the stream of the paint and water move you along.”
He stares at my lips as I speak. The tension between us tonight is thick, and I don’t fight it. I let it just be. Then he looks away; his eyes are concentrating hard as his tongue is between his teeth. The brush is hovering over the paper, and I find myself getting lost in him. In the way, he moves the brush. In the way, his scent whips around me. In the way his lips have me wanting them. That pull and connection towards him tonight is so strong, stronger than it’s been since we met, and now I can see why he kissed me when he did, ‘cause right now I could kiss him.
“How’d I do?” he asks, bringing me out of my daydream.
“Good, really good.” Looking at the line he made on the canvas; it’s almost identical to mine. Both are parallel to one another. He has a steady hand; that is clear. “You’re a natural,” I tell him and find myself leaning in closer. Letting my emotions take over.
My palms are sweaty, and I lick my lips. Something is pushing me forward, telling me I should do this, then out of the blue, he touches the paintbrush to my nose, stopping me dead in my tracks. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” I ask him confused, with a wet nose of paint.
“Don’t come on to me like that. Last time this happened, it didn’t end well, and then we went a week without talking.”
He’s giving me that look again, and I know he feels it too, but maybe he’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Wiping my nose dry, I look down at my black hand. The gob of paint he left is huge, and I can’t stop myself, I press it against his cheek. My small hand smears the color into his skin. The stubble of his face is under my fingertips as he looks at me with his mouth gaping open.
“What was that for?”
