by Kate Benson
“You lyin’?”
“No,” he shakes his head, his lips turned up in amusement. “I mean, obviously it’s kinda more symbolic than anything since the whole place is about to be in boxes, but…”
“Boxes?” I pull away. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a two-hour commute,” he shrugs. “Which has been fine up until now, but if you’re moving here, I can’t keep putting all those miles on Sue, ba-”
“Wait a minute,” I cut him off. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“What the hell do you think we’ve been talking about for the last five minutes?”
“I thought you were just giving me a key to your place.”
“Well, for now. We don’t have a place here yet,” he chuckles. “How else are you gonna be able to get to all your stuff?”
“You’re stupid,” I laugh, tugging his beard. “And I’d love to move in with you, but are you sure that’s what you want, Dash?”
“I’m sure,” he nods, biting his lip in thought. “How about you? Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Babe, you’re gonna see, sooner than you probably think, that you’ve got enough going for you that you can go anywhere, do anything, be with anyone,” he says quietly, searching my features. “I just want to make sure you’re happy. That this… us… me… all of it…” he trails off, locking his eyes with mine. “Look, I know you said you don’t want to go to New York and that I’m not the whole reason. And if that’s true, Evie, then that’s great, but if it isn’t…”
“Dash, I love you.”
“I know you do,” he kisses my hair. “But if you start having second thoughts about anything…”
“When are you gonna get it?” I cover his lips with my fingers, hating the uncertainty staining his masculine features. “New York is incredible, Dash,” I continue, holding his eyes. “But there’s not a single adventure that city has to offer that beats the one I want to have with you.”
He swallows hard as I lower my hand and give his beard and affectionate tug, clearing his throat before gripping the back of my head and kissing me fiercely. When he pulls away a moment later, I’m lightheaded.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips.
“I love you, too,” I say with another quick peck. “Now give me my key.”
“Evie?” Jodie pokes her head in once more, pulling my eyes to hers despite Dash’s lips curving into a wider grin against my neck, chuckling when I smack him. “Sam just hit the stage. You’re next.”
“Okay,” I nod, facing him nervously as I slide down his front. “This is it. Gimme one more.”
He bends to meet my lips, taking my lips with quick, but gentle force before pulling away with a wide grin.
“Go get ‘em, killer.”
chapter twenty-nine
evie
With a deep breath, I take my place at the edge of the stage, fighting the wave of nausea that fills my stomach with each flip of nerves.
Sam, the guy that went up before me, is almost finished. I take in the classical music he’s chosen, the traditional edge to every aspect of his performance and piece making me second guess everything I’ve planned.
When he completes his final stroke, the minimalist edge to his traditional folksy style earns him an impressive round of applause that makes my brow begin to heat with beads of sweat.
I risk a glance toward the crowd that’s singing his praises and immediately wish I hadn’t.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper to myself, fanning myself with my hands to keep from blacking out. “What the fuck was I thinking?”
“Evie?” Jodie starts, pulling my attention to her as she pats my arms with an excited grin. “They’re pulling your setup now. Did you check all your supplies? You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I nod, appreciating the gentle squeeze she gives my shaking hand.
“Don’t sweat it, girl,” she smiles. “You always do great.”
“There’s never been this much on the line, though,” I release a long, low breath. “Has everyone been that low-key?”
“Yeah,” she nods, smirking at my nervous reaction to her words before taking a half-step closer. “Boring if you ask me.”
“But they love it,” I gesture toward the crowd full of gallery representatives. “I’m regretting every artistic choice I’ve made in the last four years right now.”
“Just do what you do,” she shakes her head, giving me a final encouraging pat on the shoulder as the lights drop, signaling my turn. “He saved you for last because you’re his ticket to tenure,” she whispers, making me laugh as I reach for my phone, ready to set it in my bag when I see his message.
Just let go, babe.
I love you.
-dash
With a nod I step out, prepared to do just that.
dash
“How’s she holding up?” Mason asks as I slip into my seat beside him, silently grateful to be on the end of the row near the aisle. “She still pretty scared?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah, but she’s okay.”
“Good,” he says, glancing out around us to the dozens of rows of filled seats in front of the stage. “Fuck, there are a lot of people here.”
“I know,” I agree, my stomach swimming with nerves for my girl. “How were the others?”
“Pretty fuckin’ fantastic,” he says honestly. “Really different from Evie’s style, but those reps over there? They all loved it.”
“Yeah, but they haven’t met my baby girl yet,” Donna smiles wide, making me grin as I nod my head in agreement, glancing over at what must be at least sixty different art snobs. “She’s got this.”
The lights go dim and silence fills the room, the only sound the low creak of the massive easel supporting what is easily the largest blank, solid black canvas I’ve ever seen being positioned at the center of the stage.
“How long does she have up there?” Mason leans in, his voice just over a whisper.
“Ten minutes,” I mumble, the sound of quiet footsteps pulling my attention back to the stage.
After a platform, a few paint cans and other supplies and a quick light check are put in place quicker than I’d imagined possible, I finally see her petite frame.
Our seats aren’t as close as I’d like, but even from here, I can see her clenching her fists with anxiety and the subtle shake to her chest beneath the form fitting, solid black bodysuit she’s wearing. Using every Jedi mind trick I can come up with, I send as many good vibes as possible, watching her check her knee pads and push her long, double braids behind her shoulders.
She waits patiently for her assistants to join her, equipped with splash guards as they find their places on either side of the massive canvas waiting for her to begin.
The first few rows join me, looking up expectantly and waiting for the dialogue they’ve sat through from every other student. When the huge screen behind her begins to display text, though, its clear Evie won’t be using a microphone to say what she’s got to say tonight.
Art is… displays on the screen behind her as the lights dim, leaving only a spotlight on Evie and the canvas. The text fades on the screen behind her as the room fills with music, her first choice making it impossible for me to not grin wide.
Freakin’ hippie, I think to myself as ‘Groove Is In the Heart’ by Deee-lite begins to thump against the walls loudly, the text on the screen behind her returning.
I may think she’s got the worst taste in music, but by the way her hips begin to swing while she lifts her paintbrush, I know she’ll never know that.
The nerves, the anxiety, I watch as it all slips away leaving only Evie behind.
Art is a voice…
Her hands begin to move, a subtle wave in the center of the canvas forming seamlessly.
Art is happiness…
She reaches high, her fingertips flowing like water to the left side of the canvas as her bare feet arch with her movement.<
br />
Art is freedom…
She throws her right arm to the other edge, creating a blue wave that tapers out of view.
Art is despair…
She falls to her knees, dramatic lines of white and orange hitting the ground as she goes.
The track changes, the heavy opening bassline to Portugal. The Man’s ‘Feel It Still’ bumps out of the speakers, taking over her as the sway of her hips begin to shift.
Art is rebellious…
She thrusts her hands into the paint cans at the base of the canvas, gesturing toward her assistants who each reach for unassuming cords I’d not noticed before.
Art breaks rules…
The platform lifts, taking her with it as Evie is elevated a few feet, pulling a gasp from the crowd.
Art is expression…
She goes to work on the top of the canvas, filling in the blank, black spots with bright, glowing shades of blue and white from her fingers. Next comes two wide arches across the shadowed top, vivid shades of blue and pink working seamlessly together.
Art is insanity…
She gestures once more as the song changes for a final time to ‘Let’s Go’ by Trick Daddy, Twista and Lil Jon.
Art is fearless…
The platform drops faster than my typically steel-nerves can handle as she comes down. Her hands move frantically on her descent, filling in the pieces of her masterpiece, making my chest clench with anticipation.
Art is…
The screen begins to flash incessantly to the familiar guitar riffs, a new declaration with each and every beat as she moves in time.
Beauty… pain… war… love… escape… broken… reality… playful… passion…
By the time the platform returns to its place on the ground, she’s panting, exhausted and invigorated in ways I’d rarely seen her outside of my bed.
Truth… alive… hatred… heartbreaking… sexual… history… our legacy...
She thrusts her hands into the cans once more and begins to spin, her hands moving more wildly than a composer as the splatter of neon paint illuminates the entire canvas.
The lights suddenly cease and as the final beat of the song sounds out across the room, so does her final message:
Art is King.
She takes a step back from the completed canvas, the ten-minute presentation so flawless I wouldn’t believe it possible if I hadn’t just seen it myself. Evie drops her paintbrushes like a mic onto the stage and sucks in a deep breath before spinning to face the crowd in the now quiet room as we get our first full view of her creation.
The wildly erratic strokes, the crazy lines and waves we’d just witnessed in her manic state of artistic passion light up, revealing the hidden beauty on her canvas.
I’m speechless.
The once blank, black canvas is gone, but what takes its place is incredible.
A woman with blue-black waves throws her head back into a scream that’s beautiful, heartbreaking, empowering, angry, haunting and orgasmic all at once.
The splatters of glowing, neon paint that defy the darkness look like tears turned war paint.
At first glance, the piece isn’t as abstract as most of Evie’s work, but the sheer passion and subjective nature is so bold, so mind-blowingly beautiful, so… intensely everything Evie just put on the screen behind her, it takes my breath right along with everyone else’s in the room.
One breath passes, then two… I can see the fear in her eyes as she swallows hard, but it’s unneeded.
We aren’t silent because she wasn't good enough.
We’re silent because we’re in awe.
At breath three, the same silence that threatens to break her is a distant memory.
chapter thirty
evie
Once I step off stage, I’m shaking.
I nod my thanks and appreciation for the words of praise I receive as I move back toward my dressing room, completely overcome.
My phone dings incessantly, messages from Dash, Mason, my mom and a few classmates making my head spin.
As I step inside the room, I’m grateful the girls I’m sharing it with haven’t returned yet.
While I feel a sense of immense pride for having accomplished the first of many goals the last four years had been driving me toward, I’m feeling so many other things in this moment, I think I need a moment to process it.
I drop my bag onto the small table nearby before I lean against it, releasing a long, low breath.
“You did it, Evie,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears as I recall the reaction from the crowd that I hadn’t expected.
My chest seizes just slightly with emotion and as I struggle to compose myself, the feel of my stomach flipping once more has me on my feet at the same time the door swings open.
“Evie! You did so good!” Megan, one of my temporary roommates smiles, her eyes going wide as I push passed her toward the toilet, losing what’s left of the contents in my stomach. “Oh, my God! Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I wave her off, rinsing quickly before searching through my bag, cursing when my toothbrush is nowhere to be found. “Sorry, it’s just leftover nerves,” I explain, pulling a nod of understanding from her. “Ugh! You don’t have any toothpaste or gum or anything, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry,” she shakes her head.
“Crap,” I whisper, still rummaging through my bag before I give up and glance down at my phone. “What time are we supposed to be down there to meet the reps? Eight-thirty, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, that’s twenty minutes from now,” I sigh, pulling my bag onto my shoulder. “Hey, do me a favor, will you?”
“Sure,” she smiles.
“I can’t meet these reps without brushing my teeth or something,” I make a face, pulling another nod from her. “I gotta run to my room. I’m gonna send my boyfriend and my mom a text, but if they come by…?”
“Yeah, of course,” she nods, waving me off.
“Thanks,” I smile. “I’ll see you down there.”
“Okay,” she waves as I reach for the door, calling out to me as I’m stepping out. “Oh! Evie!”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a tampon?” she asks, pulling a shake from my head.
“No,” I say apologetically. “I can check my room when I get there, but I think I left them all at my boyfriend’s.”
“No worries. I can ask one of the other girls. I’m sure they have one,” she shrugs, before facing me. “How the hell did you find time to get ready for this and still make a trip home?”
“I haven’t,” I admit, making a face. “Not since spring break anyway.”
“Spring break was two months ago, ya nut,” she smirks. “What kind of birth control do you use?”
“The pill, why?”
“I’m gonna have to switch to whatever you’re taking,” she smirks. “I’ll take anything that’ll keep me from needing a tampon for two months.”
“Well, don’t start taking the pill then,” I shake my head, moving back toward the door. “I don’t know about other women, but my period has been the same for…”
Oh, fuck.
to be continued…
about the author
Kate Benson was raised in Texas and currently resides in central Florida with her husband and ever-growing army of fur minions.
She learned to read at the age of four and has been hooked ever since. She credits her passion for literature to her mother, her love of story-telling to her father and her unwavering faith in happily-ever-after’s to her husband, Sean.
Some of her favorite things include rainy days, loud music, superhero movies, hot tea and of course, lazy afternoons with a great book.
To find out more about Kate, her work or to just say hello, she loves hearing from her readers and can be found on social media.
acknowledgments
From the very first time I heard them bickering in my ear, I’ve been in love with Dash and Evie. After this b
ook, I love them even more. From that first loaded compliment and heated glare, I got why I loved them, but the response I have gotten from this unlikely pair has absolutely blown me away.
Thank you so much for loving them, too.
Thank you, God for giving me the gift to hear these characters, tell their stories and love every single second of it.
My husband, Sean… thank you for co-writing in my very favorite love story of all time every single day. You’re the happy-ever-after I never saw coming and I’m so honored to belong to you. I love you.
My parents and grandmother for being my first readers and for believing I was great even when I was making you listen to poems about pickles in the kitchen. I love and miss you so much.
My family for loving me and forgiving me for having terrible phone skills. Thanks for calling to make sure I’m not all the way crazy. And also for telling me you’re proud of me when I do things most people don’t get. Love you.
Heather and Charlie, my amazing PA’s. I just love the crap out of y’all. Thank you for everything you do for me… there’s no way anything would ever get done over here without you.
My alpha team/beta squad: Heather, Charlie, Jenna, Michelle, Nikki, Christie, Sara, Patti, Katie and Laura… you brave souls are wonderful and so appreciated. Thank you for helping me make another book better and for supporting me at every single step. I love you.
My closest friends- Heather, Jenna, Angie, Michelle, Amanda, Charlie and Patti… whether I harass you thirty-seven times in one hour or I flake out for a week and then just pop up out of thin air, you’re always there for me. That means a whole lot more to me than you might realize. Thanks for loving my crazy as much as I love yours.
Benson’s Book Babes: My Lovebugs. Aside from talking to my characters and writing their stories, talking to all of you is my favorite part of being a writer. Thank you for your messages and reviews, your comments and shares… for loving these characters and their stories just as hopelessly as I do. It means everything. You make every day better and I love every single one of you.
To my readers, every one of you, thank you for your support. Not a single second of me tapping away at these keys in my quest to dream-chase every day would be happening if not for you. Thank you!