by T Gephart
“Well guys, I need to wrap this up.” Lana yawned, her butt already shuffling out of the booth. “I’ve got breakfast with the in-laws tomorrow and I have a hard enough time not puking from my mother-in-law’s shitty cooking. I can’t do it hungover as well. I’m not that talented.”
“Yeah, I should probably go too.” Heather sighed, following her out. “I have barely spent any time with Tom this week and he flies out to D.C. on Tuesday.”
“Noooooo,” I wailed dramatically. “You can’t leave. I haven’t gotten laid yet.” My pout as exaggerated as my voice.
“You haven’t been trying.” Kristen rolled her eyes, she too moving out of the booth. Obviously done for the night as well. “All you have to do is go to the bar and say, hey there Mr., you want to play with my hoo-hah tonight. Not sit here with us.”
“Please tell me that’s not your pick up line, because I will disown you.” My head shook, praying to God she was kidding.
“No,” Kristen mused sarcastically. “I say vagina when I’m talking to a man.”
“I am so glad I’m married.” Heather laughed.
“Me too,” Lana added.
Everyone was so freaking unhelpful.
“The direct approach works best.” Kitty was the only one who hadn’t attempted to leave. “Seriously. Just tell the guy what you want, they like it when you’re bossy.”
“Ugh, all your dating advice sucks.” I threw my hands up in defeat, my night of hot rebound sex slipping further away. “We’re going to have to reconvene and try this again.”
Yep, that’s what I needed to do. Get back on the horse and try again. Maybe wear something sluttier. It couldn’t be that hard to get laid in New York.
“Can we make it next Saturday night instead? I can’t do back to back nights.” Lana winced, her job at the law firm seriously hindering my social life. “And as much as I hate to admit it, weekdays kill me.”
“I second.” Heather raised her hand.
“Motion passes. Saturday night it is.” Lana high-fived Heather, their stupid rule meaning I’d have to wait.
“Fine, next week then.” I waved them off, conceding I was outnumbered. “You too, Kitty. This is going to be a team effort.”
“I’m up for anything!” Kitty smiled, my newfound friend a well of enthusiasm. This was good. I needed that kind positivity, made me seem not so crazy, as selfish as that sounded.
“Then I guess I’m going home.” I joined them on my feet, my buzz already starting to wear off. Alone. Frustrated. And still no closer to knowing what I should do. “See you all next week.”
“Bye.”
“See you.”
The chorus of goodbyes started, hugs exchanged and all of us ambled to the exit. It seemed settled but once our faces had hit the night air, Kitty had a change of heart and decided she hadn’t had her fill yet. She gave us all another sloppy hug and after repeated assurances that yes, she was fine on her own and yes, she would make sure she got home safe, and she did this all the time, so stop worrying, she retreated back into the dark noisy bellows of the club.
I was almost tempted to follow her back in, but I knew my head was already going to hate me tomorrow and figured I should try to be semi responsible.
Heather and Lana flagged a cab, deciding to share the commute and cheerfully waved goodbye as they disappeared up the street.
And then there were two.
“I still say you sleep with him, boss or not.” Kristen smirked, blowing me a kiss as she hopped into a cab that had stopped by the curb. Her destination of Brooklyn meant I was going to find my own ride home.
“No offense, but you give terrible advice.” I laughed; she had been the one who had initially introduced me to Oliver, and we all know how that turned out.
“Suit yourself.” The door closed, the cab only getting a few car lengths into traffic before it was stalled by the row of taillights in front of it.
Suit myself.
If only.
I would have liked nothing more than to throw that big man down and ride him. Because that would solve all kinds of problems. Gah. I didn’t need any more additional complications.
It had been an intense few days, and maybe I had no idea what the hell I was doing, but making a bigger mess wasn’t the answer.
Vibrator it was then.
But I was going to think all about my hot new boss while I was doing it.
It would be a decent compromise.
Or at least one that would hopefully be the least amount of trouble.
Josh
THE WEEKEND—WELL MY VERSION OF IT, Sunday and Monday—had been uneventful.
I’d wrapped up Saturday late afternoon after saying goodbye to Eve, and met up with some friends for a few drinks. There was a bar not far from the studio, which was also conveniently close to my house. This was a good thing because, rather than keeping track of how many beers it was going to take before I could no longer keep my car between the mayo and mustard on the road, I could walk home and enjoy the summer night.
It had subconsciously been my intention to hook up. And I say that because I was hard, and had a burn through my body that only a good session of sex could extinguish. But as I turned down blonde after brunette, I knew as much as my dick was happy to take what was on offer, my brain gave me a good case of the is-this-what-you-really-want? So all those intentions—subconsciously or otherwise—didn’t really amount to anything as I went home alone.
Strangely enough, my hand proved to be an adequate solution. Not even close to a substitute for the real thing but it reduced the fire to a low simmer and didn’t make me feel like a complete dick—Ha! Nice choice of words—in the morning.
What did give me a slight case of the awks was that while my palm and I were getting intimately acquainted, I was picturing Eve. Her mouth, her tits, her pussy—all of it—on offer for me to explore like my own adventure park. Made me come harder than I had in months. Whoever said jerking off peaked at sixteen obviously hadn’t been doing it right. And because I was dedicated to testing the theory, I did it a few more times. All in the name of science, right?
So Tuesday morning when I got to the shop early, I had to psyche myself up a little. Get ready to look her in the eye and not descend into pervert territory. Or at least not give off the vibe. Beggars couldn’t be choosers at this point.
“Hey!” She pushed open the door, tray full of coffees like she had last week. “How was your weekend?” Her bright smile gave me all kinds of warm and fuzzies.
She’s not here for you, asshole. So unless you can reincarnate yourself into Michelangelo’s David, she’s not interested in your dick. And let’s face it, the man wasn’t packing much, so not sure I wanted to go that route either.
“Weekend was great. Was good to power down for a few days.” I took my coffee like a good boy and took a sip, the hot black liquid a welcome distraction for my mouth. “How about you?”
“I was so hung over Sunday. A few friends and I went out drinking to drown my sorrows, or commiserate or whatever.” She shrugged, dropping her handbag behind the counter and took a cup of coffee for herself. “Retail therapy would have been less painful the next day. I think I’ll stick to a glass of wine and online shopping next time. At least then I don’t have to wear pants.”
Two things flashed through my mind.
The visual of Eve relaxed, drinking and having a good time, was hotter than was decent to admit. It was something I really hoped I had the opportunity to see. I wasn’t even going to touch the no pants part of the sentence.
And the other thing that got my attention was the commiserating/drowning her sorrows. That it seemed like part of her still bought into the bullshit other people had said about her.
“You still thinking about those reviews?” My mouth chose that option rather than tell her how I could show her how to have a good time minus the hangover.
“It’s hard not to.” She shrugged, taking another sip. “It still so fresh and everyone who knows
me has read them.” There was a quite sigh. “I have fantasies where I’m Kate Beckinsale from Underworld, and I go from house to house of my enemies and seek vengeance.”
Yeah, because that image—her suited up in a tight black leather cat suit—was something I was never going to get out of my head. She had unwittingly given me jerk-off material for the next twenty years.
“Interesting choice.” I coughed, stopping short to ask if she had the outfit, and if she didn’t if it was going to be something acquired during those pantless online shopping sessions.
“Artists are allowed to be dramatic, right?” She grinned, firing up the computer. “And what happens in your head is not admissible in court.”
And thank fuck for that.
“So, tell me what else goes on inside your head?” Even though I hadn’t meant it to be, it sounded sexual. Hadn’t helped that my voice was low and I was still thinking about her in that tight black outfit.
“Well, it’s weird.” She lowered her coffee, and if she’d got the unintentional sexual undertones, she wasn’t letting on. “My mood swings really wildly.”
“Between?” I rested my coffee on the bench, giving her my entire attention.
“God, listen to me.” She caught herself, suddenly realizing she was going to divulge something personal. “Sorry, I should probably go sort out the supply closet. You have more important things than listening to my problems.” She turned, pulling out the appointment book and using it as a bullshit excuse to stop talking.
“Let me ask you this?” I pulled the book away from her and forced her to look at me. “Did you stop talking because you’re worried about what I might think or because you’re scared to say it out loud?”
I knew avoidance when I saw it, and I had a fairly good idea that Eve needed to talk to someone who wasn’t going to give her the usual BS response. Friends were great for telling you it was going to be fine, and it would all work out in the end. But sometimes, shit wasn’t fine and you needed to be okay with it. And yeah, I wasn’t qualified to give her advice in any area but I sure as hell didn’t judge her. The thought she’d censor herself for anyone was mind blowing, but doing it because of me, wasn’t acceptable.
“You’re my boss, not my therapist.” She laughed, the light-happy-funny missing from her voice. “And I had to almost beg you to hire me. I’m sorry, I really am here to learn not bore you with my silly first-world problems.”
“Eve, you seem like a smart girl, but never assume you know what people are thinking.” I kept my voice level as I watched her eyes go wide. “If I asked you a question, it’s because I want to know the answer. I’ll tell you if I’m bored, and being your boss doesn’t mean anything.”
“Promise you’ll tell me if you get bored.” She narrowed her eyes, measuring my response.
“Scout’s honor.” I held up two fingers though I doubted anything she had to say would be boring. I wasn’t even sure if she had the capacity to be boring, and I was more than a little interested to test out that theory.
“Or if this is crossing the line or something. I don’t want to seem unprofessional,” she added, either further stalling or trying to convince me that she took the job seriously.
“Have you met Dallas?” I tipped my head to his empty room down the hall. Illustrating he wouldn’t be gracing us with his appearance anytime soon despite my boss status. “I think you’ve displayed more professionalism in your first day than he has in the entire time I’ve known him.”
She laughed, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders. “Then why does he still work here?”
“Because he is a damn good artist and despite being arrogant and sometimes annoying, he cares about what he puts onto people’s skin.” The answer one of the easiest I’d ever had to give. “We share the same vision, there are no short cuts when he works, and it’s more than just a job for both of us. I’ll take that over someone who’s punctual and who calls me sir.”
She stood silent, taking a minute before she opened her mouth.
“I want to be a good artist.” It was like it killed her to say those words, each one of them so full of doubt where possibly there hadn’t been any before.
“Maybe you already are and you’re distracted by the noise.” I wanted a chance to find out if this was a confidence issue or she really lacked the ability. And I figured it was time I probably found out. “Here’s an idea, my first appointment isn’t until eleven, right?”
She flipped open the book and confirmed what I already knew. “Yep, a sugar skull for Bea on her upper thigh.”
Perfect, gave us plenty of time to conduct my little experiment.
“So come back with me into my room, we’ve got time.”
“For?” Her face scrunched in confusion.
“I need to show you.”
I could see she was curious, and not the kind of girl who would back off when challenged, which is exactly the attitude I was counting on. And with a little more than a tip of my head, she followed me down the hall to my room. My hand automatically closing the door when we were both inside.
“What are we doing?” She looked around, nothing revealing itself. “I hope you’re not going to ask me to tattoo you again.”
“No,” I laughed, having learned that lesson the first time. And as much as I wanted to prove a point, I’d rather not be stuck with a jacked up tattoo. “Let’s leave that part to me, shall we?” I pulled out a sketchbook and turned it to a blank piece of paper. “You’re going to draw.”
“Well, that’s easy.” She relaxed taking the sketchbook, her smile making a reappearance. “Can I draw anything I want?”
“No, that would be too easy.” And we weren’t there to make things easy. “You need to draw me.”
“You? As in a portrait?” She didn’t seem concerned, wrongly assuming this was going to be like all the other things she’d drawn.
“Yes, but you need to pretend that your portrait is going to be the only thing anyone is ever going to know about me.” My head tipped to the direction of my drafting table. The pencils and everything else she was going to need lying on top. “Like your version of me is the last one anyone will ever get to see.”
I knew what I was doing, and I couldn’t help but grin as I hopped up onto my tattoo chair, turning it so she would have a better view. She’d wanted me to show her something different, that’s why she came to me in the first place, right?
“That’s crazy. I don’t know you that well to interpret—”
“Don’t interpret.” I raised my hand stopping whatever overused art crap she was going to sprout. “Your job isn’t to sell me, it’s to show everyone else what you see.”
“But what if my version isn’t what you really are, and the one everyone is stuck with is inaccurate?” She tapped a pencil against her lip.
I wasn’t sure if it was fear, maybe it was apprehension, but she was giving this too much thought. And that was the problem.
“I’m not asking for accurate, only for honesty. So draw me, Eve. Unless you’re not up for it, and want to go back to the gallery selling other people’s work.”
“Wow, that was a cheap shot.” She smirked, obviously taking my dig in the spirit it was intended. Not because I was an asshole, but because I knew it would give her the extra incentive. She tossed a pencil through the air in mock annoyance, hitting me in the chest before it bounced to the ground.
“So, you going to do this thing? Or are we going to analyze it until my appointment comes? Because the supply closest still needs attention.” My head hit the headrest as my hands folded behind the back of my neck.
Her confidence might have taken a rattle, but she wasn’t a quitter. Evident by the fact she was here in the first place. So, it was with silent pride that I watched her pick up another pencil and start.
“Knew you would come around.” I couldn’t help gloating, or wipe the smile from my face.
“Stop talking,” she hushed, her hands busy all over the page.
&nbs
p; It was weird for me to be on the other side of this, to sit in my own chair and let someone else work. Sure, I knew it wasn’t the same thing but I was super curious about what ended up on the page.
It didn’t take long before I relaxed a little more. My arms rested beside me and I watched her as she studied me. Her eyes rolled over me and then went back to her page, the to and fro making me feel a little like a zoo animal. Strangely, I didn’t mind half as much as I would have thought, loving her attention on me as I sat still while she worked.
And before I was ready for it to be over, she had lifted the pencil for the last time and gave her work one last once over. Her face, a locked vault.
“Let me see.” My butt shuffled off the chair, my boots hitting the floor.
“It’s not my best work.” She hugged the sketchpad close to her chest, her mouth screwing up into a pout. “Can I have a do over?”
“That wasn’t the deal, show me.” My feet took a step closer.
“Nooooooooooo.” Her head shook as her grip on the sketchbook got tighter. “Let’s say it’s a practice run.” Her fingers quickly tore the page out before I got anywhere close.
“Eve.” My hand was out, waiting for her to pass it over.
“Nope.” Her mouth popped off the p as she quickly took a step back and folded the page.
“You know I’m going to see it, right? I’m standing between you and the door and you’re going to have to pass me.”
Unless she was planning on vaporizing herself out through the air ducts, there was only one way out. I could see the cogs in her head turning as she saw there was no way out.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad.” My hand shook, waiting for the paper to hit my palm.
I was convinced I’d seen her worst work already when I did a search online. And while I knew I could be constructive and still be honest, I wasn’t going to tear her apart. Besides, judging by the concentration on her face while she was drawing, I’d bet it wasn’t even close to bad.
Her eyes went to my hand as I took another step closer.