Page 57 of Omega Artist
“The guy I met online…” I point at her son’s wedding picture, down the burning liquor before David has time to set the glass on the table. “That’s him…”
Bits and pieces of my earlier conversation with Eileen come to mind. I shamelessly told her about the guy that I discovered an unlikely chemistry with and the truth hits me, making everything all too real at once.
“Tig.”
Chapter Twenty
Shape of You
Tig
I can’t holdback a grin when I notice that my latest Instagram post, one of my paintings, elicited a comment from my top follower. Alie and I have been seeing each other on a regular basis since christening my bed over a month ago. I love that we’ve continued our public communication via social media and let our bodies do the talking when we’re together. In addition, we truly enjoy spending quality time together.
“Look at you!”
“What?” I growl, shooting Soraya an irritated glare. “Would you get off my dick already?”
“Oh, I’m not getting anywhere near it, my friend.” Her good mood is underscored by the turquoise tips of her hair. Her pregnant belly is proudly flaunted in a matching long-sleeve dress. Her wicked smile is evident, and I wonder how I missed it when she started this convo. “Especially now that it’s embellished with—”
My head swivels to search for my bigmouth business associate. “Claaaaire!” My angry voice echoes through the trendy art gallery’s second floor; no matter how powerful Leroy’s speakers are, I think everyone heard me. The fucker has the audacity to chuckle at my rising temper while testing out different mixes. It’s like he doesn’t care what’s the matter. He’s just amused, which tells me that he smoked pot earlier.
“Don’t be too hard on her! We were having a girl talk and… it kind of… slipped.”
“It slipped?” My temper flares, and my mouth becomes dry. I take a quick look around. Unfortunately, the dozens of bottles of champagne and ice buckets being set out by the catering staff are the only nearby liquid. My attention returns to my friend. “I can’t believe this!” My palm slams against my forehead, and I jam my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “You two had nothing better to discuss than my dick? Should I be proud or offended?” I stride towards the railing and survey the area for the culprit. “Claaaaire!”
Within seconds, I hear her voice behind me. “Would you stop yelling? I was downstairs rearranging your canvases because whoever worked on the setup has a serious problem with your work.”
“I worked on the display,” I mutter, trying to control my nerves. “Thank you very much for the vote of confidence. Anyway, that’s not what I’m pissed about. I need to know why you decided to chat about my piercing with Soraya!”
“Oh, please, you’re such a prude sometimes. You guys practically grew up together! She must’ve seen your cock back in the day. What’s the big deal?”
My hands fly from my pockets and move with my words. “Believe it or not, to me and plenty of women in New York, my dickisa big deal.” My fingers thread through my wavy hair, and I start pacing. “Anyway… I thought that you had a privacy agreement and—”
“Hey, gorgeous.” Graham wraps an arm around Soraya’s waist from behind and kisses the side of her neck softly. Then, he glances at me with pride. “Congrats on this,” he makes a wide gesture with his free arm and points at the paintings that are, according to my chatty new frenemy, improperly hung on the walls. “What are you guys talking about?”
The girls and I answer at the same time, only they reply, “His dick,” and I respond, “My art.”
Graham tilts his head quizzically, looking back and forth between the girls and me, with his eyes as big as saucers, which says a lot for a guy who’s hardly ever floored. The one and only time I’ve seen him like this was when he was courting Soraya, pretending to be in charge when she was actually the one running the show, but I won’t ever tell him that.
“You’re right. Your cock is a piece of art now.”
My brown eyes shoot daggers at my friend. “I’m warning you, Soraya… I’ve had enough!”
“What the hell is going on?”
“You don’t want to know, Graham,” I remark before one of the two giggling she-devils can. “What I wanted to say, though, is thank you. I wouldn’t be here tonight without you.” I’ve had quite a few art openings in the past, but never as big as this one. The fact that Graham plays golf with one of the most prominent gallery owners in the city might have helped… and I’m nervous as fuck. Tonight needs to be a success so that Graham can brag about discovering me and I can be rewarded for my hard work.
“Nah, I didn’t do much.” He waves his hand dismissively, an expensive watch on his wrist. “Your talent convinced Mr. Van Dyke, not me. If he hadn’t believed in your potential, he wouldn’t have lifted a finger. He runs a business, not a charity.” He pats my shoulder blade. “Good job, man!”
“Fingers crossed,” I add, doing just that.
And just like that, the conversation is redirected and flows easily as I keep an eagle-eye on the final preparations. Thank God, my piercing is forgotten.
Countless smiles. Numerous handshakes. Several business deals. A couple of hours later, I heave a contented sigh at the event’s success. Resisting the urge to celebrate the occasion with a champagne toast has been a challenge. I’m ready to escape the upstairs buffet when I spot the one woman that I’ve been longing to see. To touch. To fuck. I’ve hooked up with a couple of women since meeting her, but I haven’t thought about anyone else when I was rubbing one out.
She’s downstairs, schmoozing with Soraya, her hand on the banister of the metallic staircase that leads my way. Their body language shows an odd familiarity, since they must have just met… unless I’m mistaken.
My seltzer in hand, I spy on them. I should have thought this through. I don’t date, and yet, inviting her tonight felt as natural as my next breath. I don’t date, and yet, warning her that dating’s off the table was a mistake. I don’t date, and yet, seeing her mesh so naturally with my best friend makes me think that it might be a date after all. Maybe the karaoke night was one, too.
