Page 42 of Omega Artist
I should have suggested that he join me.
Lustful thoughts don’t invade my mind like they should, though. It’s not Eric’s strong body that baits me, but rather his last words, and I also replay my conversation with Greer.
There’s no way I’ll ever fall for Tig. He’s so self-centered and uncaring about the women he meets that he didn’t see the resemblance to my sister; granted, we don’t really look alike, but still. Yes, I had a good time with him; that doesn’t mean that he’ll reach out. I hate to seem clingy, but I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to pursue him to initiate his fall from the pedestal upon which both men and women have placed him. He’ll be the perfect medium to express my disapproval of this patriarchal world we live in.
No matter how famous the tattoo artist playboy once was, for both his work and reputation, he doesn’t impress me—far from it. I’ve set high—but not impossible!—standards for the man of my dreams. Eric is simply assuming things. He doesn’t know the first thing about me. I don’t shut people out. Proof is: I welcomed him into my bed.
Now that I’m clean, I’m ready to get dirty. As I join him, he thanks me again, and it’s his turn to brush his teeth. Pacing the room while my desire for him rises, I peer through the large window and see that the weather hasn’t cleared.
I head to the desk to pick up my phone and listen to Father’s message, giving me a piece of his mind regarding my escape and requesting that I be back in time for Sybil’s engagement party in June. I was hoping that he’d cut me some slack; good!
I decide to post John Wayne’s quote that I discussed with Tig on my blog. When I’m done, Eric motions towards the bedroom, and a notification pops up, alerting me that I have a message from the man whose skin will never be as soft as Eric’s.
Tig: I had a great time Sunday night. Want to catch up later this week?
He waited three days to text me; now it’s his turn to wait. After all, we haven’t stopped communicating altogether. I mean, I comment on all his posts and he always replies to them or likes them.
Yeah, there’s no rush.
Instead, I turn my attention to the able, willing, and naked specimen before me while pondering how my illness has heightened my need for sex. I’m done hunting for Prince Charming for a bit. It might not be the mile-high club, but Eric’s cleared for takeoff. It’s as if it’s my only means to prove that I’m still here.
Alive.
Chapter Fifteen
A Kiss to Build a Dream On
Tig
Five agitated nights.Four dull days. Three horny women.
“And why is that a problem?” Soraya’s voice echoes from my desperately empty living room that’s currently filled with stacks of boxes of every size.
What’s left of my life has been divided into them. After I sorted out what I should keep. After my friend sorted out reminders of Delia and put them into smaller ones. After we sorted out which should go to my new official apartment and which should be kept by Soraya so that I’m able to move on. At least, that’s what she’s been hammering into me ever since this place was up for grabs, courtesy of Troy, who decided that it was about time he moved into Mike’s place in Greenwich Village. That’s when Troy confessed that they were engaged to be married… Of course, Troy doesn’t have a clue that Mike’s secretly planning their wedding for next week—on Valentine’s Day.
A condition of Mike’s proposal was that they live together first. Hence, Troy’s place had been sitting empty for months. When the couple recently informed Claire of their updated living arrangements, she notified Soraya that I had a shot at moving out. Countless fights ensued regarding my former place. My opinionated friend claimed that staying in a place where Delia’s ghost loitered around every corner wasn’t healthy. Needless to say, my other friends stood behind Soraya. It was about time for a fresh start.
Long story short, I’m the owner of a one-bedroom/one-and-a-half bathroom in a beautiful brownstone with plenty of space to install a painting studio. Naturally, the associated responsibilities of the loan and the process of moving in have fallen to my shoulders. Soraya and I rarely see each other during the week, but unpacking has kept us busy for a large portion of this Friday afternoon, and I can’t wait for Graham and a couple of his friends to join us later. As stupid as it may seem, it’s been emotionally draining.
“What do you mean? I don’t have a problem.” I tear the box open and abandon its contents, preferring to have this conversation face-to-face. “I mean, besides the fact that Chloe’s gonna be disappointed when she realizes that she doesn’t have her own room anymore.” In truth, it’s actually bigger than my former colorful two-bedroom rental, and the sofa bed will do. The contrast to my previous place was jarring at first.
My new place.
This one resembles a bachelor pad, which it was…well, still is. Light grey. Dark blue. Exposed stones… and a fireplace.
She lets out a screech, and she jumps when she senses my presence. I apologize, instantly thinking back to my dinner with Alie.Apologies are a sign of weakness… Too late; what is she up to anyway? In any case, my friend’s question halts me from traveling down that road. “Interesting… So, the line between your brows is a figment of my imagination?”
“Oh, you speak so well now that you live in a posh area.”
“Says the guy who recently bought an apartment in one of the hippest areas of Brooklyn.” I moved from Brooklyn Heights to Park Slope—right near Prospect Park, aka the Central Park of Brooklyn—but that doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten about Delia or deny what we had. It won’t stop me from visiting my wife’s grave, although I don’t want to make it a ritual on certain days. I prefer to go talk to her when the need arises. Like on Monday, after I ran into Virgil Blake at the Heights Cafe; despite the recent changes, it’s one of the only places that I continue to frequent, along with my gym. “Don’t think your tactics to sidestep the subject have gone unnoticed.”
Busted!
I shrug, then help her to unpack the box while explaining that the three women I most recently slept with did less to scratch the itch.
“Give it time, Tig. You’ll know when you meet the right person.” She goes on tiptoe to kiss my stubbled cheek.
“You know as well as I do that’s not what I’m after.” How many times do we need to have this conversation? She simply doesn’t get it. The fact that she fell for Graham so hard and fast, and that their feelings were strong enough to overcome obstacles, provides her with some certainties that I don’t have… any longer.
