Page 35 of Voices

He finishes his last slice as I take a bite from my first. “It’s good right?”

The cheese settles in my stomach, but I ignore it and take another bite. Acidic tomato hits my taste buds first. It’s quickly muted by something sweet. The crust is soft and airy, with a slight crunch on the bottom. I have nothing to compare it to, but it’s not bad.

“So?” He shakes my hand that’s still in his on the table. I nod as I wash down the bite with a sip of Sprite.

“It’s good,” I say softly, looking over at him. He has a goofy smile that somehow makes his eyes brighter. His bright white teeth are also on display, adding to how attractive he is.

“Are you finished?” he asks when I don’t pick up another slice. “I’ll pack this up in a freezer bag and put it in your fridge for later.” He gets up when I nod and takes the pizza box into the kitchen.

I don’t have freezer bags.

I quickly follow, gathering the garbage from the table on my way. He’s set the pizza box on the island and is opening all the drawers and cabinets. I dump the trash and make my way between him and the counter. He doesn’t step back so when hebrings his arm down from looking up in a cabinet, he runs his fingertips down the length of my arm. Goosebumps break out from my shoulder down to my wrist.

“You can leave it in the box. I’m sure it’ll fit in the fridge. Or you can leave it right there so you don’t forget it when you leave.”

It should be illegal for him to smell this good. It’s not his body wash anymore. No. It’s the irresistible smell of his deodorant. I used a little this morning and I might have spent an embarrassing amount of time sniffing it. And it’s not one of those super strong overbearing manly scents either. It’s fresh and clean and so. Damn. Delicious.

“Did you just smell me?”

When did I close my eyes? I open them and notice how close my nose is to his armpit.

I turn away from him and hide my heated face.

Fucking idiot.

The heat from his chest warms my back as he steps up behind me. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it or that you had to stop.” He places his hands on my hips and nuzzles the side of my neck. He takes a deep breath through his nose. “I like that you smell like me.” He softly kisses my neck and steps back.

He's being too nice.

Shaking that thought away, I turn around to face him and reach for his hand with my shaking one. Only a few people have seen my art room. It’s not a secret that I’m an art major but I only like showing people my completed work. This room is full of work in various stages of completion. But he shared a few parts of himself today that I’ve never gotten from anyone else.

“I converted the other bedroom into my art room of sorts. I…only Lily has been in it. It’s my safe space. And I want to show you, too.”

Shit, what if he doesn’t care about art?

You’re so fucking stupid.

Nobody cares about your childish art.

You’re wasting his fucking time.

“I’d love to see it, Charlie.” He squeezes my hand and smiles.

With his hand in mine, I open the door and flip on the light, stepping to the side. He stands there for a second before he walks to the tiger painting that’s almost finished.

“You painted this?” he says in awe. He gets close but doesn’t touch the canvas as he traces the swirls on the right side of the tiger. “This is stunning. I love all the bright colors with the black outline. Is there a story behind why you painted it like this?”

I walk up next to him as he keeps tracing the black lines. “The left side is anatomically correct and how the world sees the tiger. The right side is what’s going on inside the tiger, how he sees himself. I used neon colors to show how bright his light is on the inside. While on the left the realistic colors look dull compared to the right. The contrast in colors makes you think about which side you like best. The beauty in the realistic tiger or the vibrancy that’s trapped within.”

“I think he’s beautiful inside and out. The beauty of what’s on the inside can easily join the beauty on the outside. There doesn’t have to be a this or that. That tiger is one and he’s perfect the way he is.”

I have no idea if he’s talking about the tiger or me. The way he just said all of that without breaking eye contact has me believing it’s the latter. He walks to my sculpture of him next.

Damn, I forgot that was still out.

He tilts his head to the right, then the left. He squints and gets close, walking around it.

“Hold on one second,” he says as he leaves the room.

---