by Shealy James
I stared at her work, thinking how his interpretation of her goal seemed so accurate. Each image could be anything you made it. Her imagination wasn’t the only one coming through the colors; it was mine, as well.
Unfortunately, my appreciation of her work was also suddenly tempered by a slight onslaught of uncomfortable emotions. I wondered if he and Blythe had shared some deep conversation about what their art meant to them or what they wanted it to mean to others. Jealousy poked at my gut when he was talking about her art and watching her create it, but reason won my attention. They were just friends. If they wanted to be anything more, they would have already made that leap. Then I realized it was totally possible that they had made a “leap,” and the jealousy found its way back. Ugh!
“I, on the other hand…” He grabbed my hand, and my attention then led me to another section that was covered in people doing seemingly mundane things, like sitting on a bench reading or walking a dog. “I like to put it all out there. I want to show the relationships people have with each other and with the space around them. My goal isn’t to make you think, it’s to make you feel like you are part of the moment.”
I stood still while I absorbed his whole wall. “This is beautiful,” I finally said after a long moment. “I don’t know how you make them seem so real, but I feel like I could walk right into that painting and exist.” I approached the wall as if I could do just that. Of course, it was nothing but concrete behind the paint, so I couldn’t climb in the painting like it led me to believe from farther away. I turned to look up at him and saw him watching me with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “So, why the bar if you can do all this?” I asked while waving my hand toward the impressive piece of art.
“Ever heard of starving artists?” His lip lifted into a sad smile.
“Of course, but this looks nothing like starving.”
He shrugged and took the few steps to stand beside me. While staring at his work he said, “It didn’t start out that way. When I finished college, I couldn’t sell anything. I was a no name kid with an art degree. I didn’t matter in this town. I still don’t, really, but I have just enough connections to do what I love without selling out or resenting the job. The bar was my first painting. I was a bartender slash artist. The bar used to be really rundown but still a cool hangout. The original owner, Hank, didn’t care much about the upkeep, but I did. I asked him if I could do some work, and he agreed as long as he didn’t have to spend any money.”
“Cheap bastard.”
He let out a quick laugh. “Turns out, the bar wasn’t making any money. Anyway, I painted the mural on the wall and did some other work. When he decided it was time to retire where it was sunny and warm, he sold me the bar for a hundred dollars.”
“Really?” I asked surprised. “He gave up his bar for a hundred dollars?” Huh.
“Yeah, but what did I know about running a business? Like I said, I was an art major.”
“You seem to be doing well now.” I looked up at him.
His dark eyes met mine, and I could see the seriousness in them. Playful Maverick was long gone. Honest Maverick had taken his place and was giving me a glimpse into where he came from. “Desperation will make you do things that you never thought you would be able to do,” he explained.
I took a step closer this time and grabbed his hand. I felt the need to show some sort of support, affection maybe. I wasn’t sure. I just knew I needed to touch him. It was the first time I had ever felt grateful that someone was sharing a piece of himself with me. Perhaps it was because he was sharing a genuine piece of himself with me.
“What about the painting?” I asked.
“Still there. My buddies Corbin and Brock, and my brother Jack helped me turn the bar into what it is now. One day someone came in asking about the artist who painted the back wall, and just like that, I had another job. I only work at the bar between jobs or if I need to fill in. Otherwise, I’m just the owner. Corbin actually runs the place for the most part.”
“I think it’s sweet you kept the name of it Hank’s,” I told him with a smile. “He must have been a good guy.”
He snorted and blushed a little. It tickled me to see someone covered in tattoos and dressed in black leather blush over being called sweet. This was a far cry from the growling, protective man from the coffee shop, and even further from the sexy man with the damn smirk I woke up to this morning. The many sides of Maverick were getting more and more appealing with every passing moment I spent with him.
“I owe everything I have to him in a way. I’m able to live on the bar’s earnings and even help my mom out, and with the commission on my paintings, I can update the bar.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out.”
“Not yet, Duchess,” he replied lightheartedly. Playful Maverick was back.
I turned back to his painting. “Well, there’s no doubt you have the art thing going for you now. I can’t even finger paint.” I took my phone out to take a picture of the impressive work of art. I never came down this way, so I wanted a way to remember Maverick and the paintings for when our time was up.
“Stand in front of it,” I told him.
“Absolutely not.” His voice was stern, but his smile told me another story.
“Come on. I want a picture of the artist with his work.”
“How about this?” he said just before he took my phone and pulled me in front of him. He then held the phone out to take a picture of both of us in front of his masterpiece. We both looked at it, and I saw we were both smiling like loons.
“Did we just take a selfie?”
He laughed quietly. “I believe we did. I like it.” He texted the selfie to himself and smiled when it came through on his phone. Maverick couldn’t get any more charming if he went to the Prince Charming School of Charm Your Way into Any Girl’s Pants. And me? Giddy…Katherine Peters is flat-out giddy, I tell you.
He grabbed my hand and started leading me away from the park. “Moving on. Stop number two is close.” I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I tried to keep up with his rapid pace.
We spent the day like that. We went to six paintings and took selfies at each. We laughed and had a wonderful time. I couldn’t remember a time when I had so much fun or laughed so hard in my life. Even better was his constant attention. His hands were always on me. If he wasn’t guiding me with a hand on the small of my back, he was holding my hand or had an arm around my shoulder. It was all friendly, but I felt the heat, the connection, the tingles up my spine, and the butterflies in my stomach. This was the good stuff, the stuff romances were made of. It was the feeling women longed for. I liked Maverick. I lusted Maverick. I longed for Maverick. No matter how I said it, I knew this connection was rare. He could be the guy I had dreamt about my entire life.
The last stop was Hank’s. The place was closed, so it gave me a chance to really look around. It was polished and pristine but rugged enough to attract both the suits and the flannel shirt-wearing community of Seattle. If I didn’t know better, I would say he stayed true to the original industrial building in his design of the space. The hardwood floors and exposed brick were probably all original, but he must have added the wooden columns, cherry-stained bar, and large stage at the front of the room. The space was perfect for a local pub.
“Last one,” he said after he flipped the lights on at the back of the room highlighting the mural. I had seen it the other night, but now, with the lights on, I could see the details that I had come to recognize as Maverick’s special touches. The dimples that complemented a woman’s smile, a shoelace untied, a toothpick and olive sitting on a napkin next to a martini glass—Maverick had a way of showing real life in his paintings. The people were life-size, and the movement and depth were mesmerizing. Needless to say, his work was an experience.
We took one last selfie, and as we looked at the picture together on his phone, I quietly hummed my appreciation for the art in front of me and for the man behind me. “You�
�re incredible,” I said quietly. I didn’t need to speak any louder. My back pressed into his front with his arms coming around either side of my body, trapping me in his space. His arms had wrapped around me so we both fit in the picture, but he never took his arms from around me. Instead, he held me close while he leaned over my shoulder, so we could both stare at his phone.
As we stood there so close together, the mood shifted. The next thing I knew, his body was pressed even closer against my back, and he had one arm holding my waist while his phone disappeared into his back pocket. He used his now empty hand to brush my hair to the side before his nose gently ran up my neck. I leaned to give him access, to encourage everything he was doing or planning to do. He kissed just below my ear then whispered, “You see, Duchess, I think the same about you.” His warm breath spread against my neck, sending chills down my spine. Butterflies, I tell you. But. Ter. Flies.
He turned me around to face him but kept me in the circle of his embrace. Once our eyes met, they flicked back and forth for a long moment. I swallowed hard, trying to get my mouth to work. I wet my dry lips and said, “Thank you for today.”
His eyes strayed to my lips when my tongue darted out and stayed on them for another silent moment before he said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
Like the desperate hussy I had become, I pleaded, “Please do,” just before our lips touched. He held me close as our lips connected and explored and excited and aroused, and did everything a kiss could do. His tongue gently begged for entry, so I opened and met his passion with gusto. We weren’t just kissing with our lips. One hand was spread across the small of my back, pressing my lower body against his hardening arousal, while the other was snaking into my hair, holding my head exactly where it needed to be in order to experience everything he wanted to share with me. I had to grab his arms to hold up my weakening body. I had never experienced a kiss like this. No first kiss came close to comparing to this kiss. It. Was. Epic. Katherine Peters definitely does kisses with Maverick.
All too soon, a door slammed, causing both of us to jump. Our lips were forced to separate, leaving my body feeling bereft immediately. His heat was gone. The passion was interrupted, and this Duchess was not a happy camper.
“Oh! Sorry!” a woman’s voice called out from the other side of the bar.
Maverick’s hand traced up my back as I turned to see the interrupter herself. It was the bartender with the teased-up hair and giant tatas. Today her ponytail was just as teased, and her tank top was just as tiny. I couldn’t help but notice the little show she gave as she unzipped her leather jacket and slid it down her arms. It was like she was performing. All she needed was a pole and a few sleaze balls with dollar bills. And I thought I was being a hussy? As if!
“No worries. I didn’t realize what time it was,” Maverick said with an apologetic look my way. He gave my hand a squeeze as he led me back over to the bar. “This is Katherine. Katherine, this is Dee, one of my bartenders.”
Dee…hmm, what a fitting name. Although, I was sure she was more of a double D, but whatever.
“You were in here last night? Vodka tonic, keep ‘em coming, right?”
“Uh…yes.” I blushed a little knowing that she remembered my night of debauchery so well. Maverick was one thing, but Double Dee did not get to judge me.
“Huh. All right. Let’s do this,” she said to Maverick, seeming unaffected by the way she embarrassed me.
“Actually, I’m going to have to take a rain check.” Maverick told her.
“Seriously?” she asked.
“Seriously. You wanna stay and do inventory, though?”
“Why not? Someone has to,” she muttered as she walked around the bar grabbing things and moving others around.
“I can go if you have other things to do. We don’t have to go to dinner,” I told him quietly. When he suggested we see the last painting and then grab some dinner, I had been excited. Now? Not so much. I felt like an intruder.
“No. This is no big deal. Dee and I were going to look over the plans for the bar extension. She used to rehab houses, so she was going to help me with the design, but we can do that any day.” He looked to her for confirmation.
She read his silent communication and waved us off. “Yup. You kids go have fun.”
“Are you sure?” I asked quietly as he slipped my coat over my shoulders.
“Yes. I texted her this morning telling her there was a chance I’d be unavailable. Stop worrying and let me take you to dinner.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek then led me out the door and back to his car.
Over dinner, he told me all about expanding his bar into the rest of the bottom floor of the old brick building. He planned to do a lot of the work himself. He wanted space for pool tables and darts, in addition to needing more space for nights with live music. I was impressed with not only his successful business investment, but also the fact that he was so handy. Most of the men I knew had soft hands because they had never done hard labor in their life. Maverick didn’t seem afraid of getting his hands dirty in more ways than one. Hussy.
Dinner lasted longer than most, not that I noticed until much later how long we were out together. I wondered if he wasn’t ready to say goodnight. I knew I didn’t want to leave him. Even after spending the day together, I still wanted more. I didn’t care that I had an article to work on, or Sunday TV to watch, or an early yoga class the next day. I wanted to be wherever Maverick was, learning everything I could about him, touching him, kissing him, and possibly doing other things with him.
Yes, Katherine Peters may have officially turned into a hussy.
Chapter Eleven
After dinner, Maverick dropped me off at home with a sweet goodnight kiss and nothing more.
“Goodnight, Duchess,” he said simply.
“Goodnight, Maverick,” I replied the same way.
It was perfect.
As much as I didn’t want him to leave, I didn’t invite him in. It just didn’t seem right. Besides, I needed time to squeal into my pillow and dance around my condo to get the excitement from the day out of my body. Then I took a bubble bath with a glass of wine to help me calm down, but instead, I replayed the whole day in my head, and the excitement bubbled inside of me once more. I felt like a teenager with a wild crush, except I had never had a wild crush when I was actually a teenager. It seemed apt that I was making up for the lost experience at the same time I was rebelling against my parents.
The next morning, I woke up early. I lay in bed for a long time, letting reality set in. Forcing myself to wrap my brain around my life, I thought about the future. On one hand, I had this guy—this fascinating and incredibly sexy guy—that in a normal world I would date, maybe even sleep with, and see where it went. I felt amazing with Maverick; I felt like I was the very best version of myself, the version I hadn’t actually known existed until he came along and turned my world upside down. Unfortunately, I knew it couldn’t last, because, on the other hand, I knew the month my father gave me was really only a month, if that. I knew he would find a way to make it impossible for me to move on without his help. Dick would wait for the perfect opportunity to get the upper hand again, and this month would have been just a taste of the freedom that I would never have. He wanted me to marry a man who he could control because power was the one thing my father craved.
All my life I had waited for the day that Dick would ask what I wanted. Maybe just a “Kitty, what do you want to be when you grow up?” when I was a kid would have been enough. No one ever asked, though, especially not my father. It was always, “Women have a place, and it isn’t in the business world.” His strong opinions didn’t keep him from using me to get gossip to help him make business decisions. Dear ol’ Daddy didn’t like to invest in a company unless he knew everything about the people running it. That was where I came in, with my years of priceless social training. I didn’t know how he used the information, not that I wanted to know anything. I viewed my conversations with my father as
if we were two hens gossiping about the neighbor. That way Dick got what he wanted, and I kept my nose clean. Win-win.
Except it wasn’t a win-win situation. Being at my father’s beck and call meant I didn’t have any freedom. I had always been too afraid to rebel against his authority because I had seen too much. Dick controlled everything my mother did as well. My mother challenged his authority once, and I knew I never wanted to be on the receiving end of his wrath.
I was twelve, and my mother had hired a new housekeeper without my father’s approval. Not only did my father fire the poor unsuspecting woman, but he also made my mother clean the house without help for the next year. The worst part was the way he ignored her. He didn’t speak to her for months. I watched my mother go from a confident woman on the arm of a successful man to a desperate version of herself confined to her mansion. As a child, it was terrifying to witness my father use her weakness for affection against her like that. Even at such a young age, I understood my father was ruthless and would use any tactic to get his way.
Remembering just how far my father would go to keep me in line made me shudder. Here I was, thinking I could possibly live happily ever after with Maverick, when I knew that it was just a matter of time before my father interfered. When the realization sunk in, I suddenly felt deflated. Even without being there, my father still had control, and I hated him for that.
After I finally had enough of the thoughts in my head and felt more despair than ever before, I climbed out of bed to start my day. I showered and dressed before making my typical fruit smoothie. It wasn’t bacon and eggs, but it was the one meal my mother made that I actually liked. I had just sat down at my computer to finish my article when a text came through.