Page 33 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
“It makes me embarrassed to talk about myself.”
Veronica chuckles softly. “Because you’re a man and you were probably raised like most men. You think these kinds of things shouldn’t be talked about.” Without granting me a chance to really think about it, or perhaps fight on that subject, she takes the pillow on my bed and places it on her lap. “So, we’re not sleeping.”
I hum. “Most likely, no.”
“Hence, we need to find ways to kill time. And since I still feel like there’s so much that I don’t know about you...” Her voice trails, perking up with the appearance of a smile. “Let’s play twenty questions.”
Only Veronica Del Real would ask me to play such a thing at age twenty-seven. “As in, the middle school game.”
“I think it’s a good game.”
“Never said it wasn’t.”
“Then, you’re down?”
Down bad for her? Absolutely. “Sure, I don’t mind.” I respond, jotting a hand in between the locks of my dark hair. “You first.”
Caught in the act of focusing, Veronica’s tongue traces the line of her upper lip, a fleeting, unconscious movement that precedes the sudden, decisive snap of her fingers. “First thing you look forward to in the morning.”
“Breakfast.” Simple as that response, her shoulders drop before letting out an amused laugh. “What? I love breakfast. Now that I have it, I mean. I used to wake up way later in L.A.”
“Fair enough.” She responds. “Your question.”
Somehow, I don’t think deeply about what to ask her. Not with her, because baring another layer of her persona was a benefit that I couldn’t believe I had. “When did you have your first kiss?”
“I don’t know, must’ve been sixteen or seventeen. I think it was around that time.” She sounds like she’s trying to play it off as something that she doesn’t care about enough.
“More details, please.”
“You said when!”
“Yeah, I phrased that wrong.”
“Tough luck.” Veronica plays around, fluttering her eyelashes. “Who’s your favorite musician of all time?”
“Elton John.” I confess easily. “My mom made me take a picture with him when I was a kid and he got to sing something to me. That’s when I lurked through my mom’s album collection and fell for his music.”
“Just like everyone else,” Veronica replies, though I poke fun at her by throwing another question her way.
“My second question. How was your first kiss? Details, please.”
“Nathan...” Her breath comes out in a soft rush, a smile contained by the press of her lips as she rubs her neck. My eyes trace her, from the bright, excited flecks in her eyes, down the perfect arch of her nose, along the smooth column of her neck to the gentle roundness of her chest, now framed by the fallen strap of her dress. “Why are you so curious about this?”
“I don’t know. I have a feeling that the man that broke your heart so badly that first night we met holds some kind of meaning that...I don’t know, I’m curious about.” Though, when I hear her sigh, I spread my hands forward. “You don’t have to respond if you don’t want to.”
“My best friend, Ezequiel, has a brother, Lorenzo. I kissed him when I was seventeen. It was frankly the best that one can get from a first kiss...I’ve only kissed two men in my life.”
“Really?” The surprise is evident in my tone. Heck, I can’t remember how many people I’ve made out with at parties.
“I guess I just have to feel something for someone for me to kiss them, so whenever I kiss someone...it escalates to something else. Something deeper.” Veronica shrugs. I can picture what others must have thought, even her best friend’s brother. Veronica exudes that rare sense of permanence, making you wonder if every past experience, good or bad, was simply a path to this moment. With her. “Any other questions you have about me and kissing?”
That question shouldn’t trail to that portion of my brain, clouded by a whispering voice, that tells me that what I feel for her is growing. This escalating interest, this undeniable pull, this burgeoning liking has me studying her mouth, hoping for a silent consent. Veronica’s lips are flawlessly shaped, a captivating sight made even more so when she traps her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up with an innocent air that hints at a hidden depth. A layered intensity, a secret wildness revealed to only a chosen few.
“I don’t want to ask...” I sit up straight to tell her, my elbows planted on my knees, and I watch her face as a smile flickers across mine. Sleepiness might be loosening my tongue, making me say more than I intend, but I let the words flow. “What is in my head right now is a matter of doing, not talking.”
Part of me expected Veronica to pull away, perhaps striking my shoulder and saying I was crazy, yet she didn’t. However, she leans forward, spreading a palm on my shoulder and caging the pulse on the side of her neck with the cupping motion of her hand. The artery must be palpitating to surprising extents against her skin, distorted by her. A hot gust of breath flies across my lips as her own brown eyes study my mouth.
“Don’t do that.”
