Page 9 of Dirty Money
“You know, I have to say, Aulora…” His use of her full name sent a shiver down her spine, “I am quite bewitched by you.”
Aullie dropped her eyes, wishing she could come up with anything to say that would have half the suave or class that he did. “Thank you.”
Weston paid the tab, which Aullie was grateful for, given that she’d had to take the night off work to be here. Though on the other hand, she wouldn’t have traded the night for anything in the world. He walked her back out to the car and opened the car door for her, yet again. As she sat alone, in the dark, waiting for him to walk around the car, she took a deep, contented breath.
The air was cool, the car smelled like old leather. Aullie truly couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so ethereal, almost as if she were floating. He hopped in the car, started it up, and after a few semi-concerning pops from the engine, and a humble smile from Weston, they were off. Entirely too soon, they were back to a row of short, ugly brick buildings, one of which happened to house Aullie’s one room box of an apartment.
Weston jerked the ancient bug to a stop on the side of the road. The engine grumbled as the heat built between them in the tiny car. That Margarita had been strong, Aullie thought. She felt a pleasant buzz, enriched by the fact that she was with a man she didn’t need to keep her guard up around.
“So,” he mused
“So,” she replied.
She had thought he was just being coy but one of his wide, warm hands was on her jaw and he pulled her in for a kiss. His lips were soft, the intensity behind it was flaming. She could’ve melted into his arms just then. She was no stranger to sex on the first date, but this guy was different, and as his tongue began to sensually push its way through her plush red lips, she knew she had to bring a stop to it. Make sure he wanted to see her at least one more time before she gave it up. She pulled away, regretfully, and couldn’t help a little shiver of delight. Every nerve in her body was overloaded, especially the ones that mattered.
Weston blinked a few times, as if regaining his composure. “I said it once and I’m more than happy to say it again,” his silky voice was deeper, huskier. “Absolutely bewitching.”
Aullie smiled back shyly. “Good night, Weston.”
“Good night, Aullie.”
Getting out of the little orange bug was one of the hardest things Aullie had done in a while but she did it. She felt the heat of Weston’s watchful gaze until she rounded her neighboring building, the only one visible from the street. As she did, she heard a metallic screech and then a rumble as the little bug shifted and drove off into the night.
The date had ended at a logical place for a first date, Aullie thought, though it was only ten. Without work, she had nothing to do with the rest of her night, but she felt more inspired after her night with Weston than she had in months.
She peeled off the tight dress, which was tighter now after all that food. Digging through the dirty laundry pile on the floor near her bed, she found a pair of wrinkled, striped pajama pants and a baggy spirit shirt from her college, both of which were spattered with dried paint. The light fabric was soft against her skin, allowing for great ease of movement as she pushed her bright paisley couch up against the back wall to open up the sitting area for her easel.
Once set up, she selected a twelve by twenty-four-inch canvas out of the pile of blanks she kept stashed in her storage closet. She prepped it, propped it up in the easel tray, and then it was time for paints.
She was feeling very… warm. Very red. She squeezed and squirted tubes and her palette was soon covered with little piles of yellow, orange, purple, and different shades of red. Using her palette knife, she scooped and mixed different colors together, waiting as usual for the color that perfectly fit her mood to appear. Then, it did. Crimson and violet, with a huge glob of white, she had mixed them and the perfect shade of fuchsia was born.
Once the ball was rolling, she couldn’t stop. She played music on a low volume, hoping not to disturb her neighbors, and the classical notes swirled around her.
Before she knew it, the canvas was covered; a beautiful first layer of fuchsia and red, with little yellow and white sunbeams. Though it was beautiful, it had emotionally exhausted her and she eventually realized it had been almost three hours since she started. Time always flew when she painted, but not quite like that.
Tired, and covered in paint, she began to pack her things away when she heard a buzz from her phone on the counter. Must be Brittany checking how her date went, Aullie thought, taking the time to wash the thick oil paint off her fingers to avoid staining her phone screen. Once they were more or less clean, she scooped up the device and unlocked it. But, it wasn't a text from Brittany.
It was Weston!
-I can’t stop thinking about you. When can I see you again?-
Aullie grinned and blushed, happy to know he was feeling the same way she was. She considered her schedule, and the next night she had free was Monday.
She typed a quick text back
-Good, glad I’m not alone :) My next night off is, Monday. We could do something then?-
He replied that was great, and that he couldn’t wait to see her again. She said she couldn’t wait either and to have a good night.
His last text came in, making her heart race.
-I’m sure it’ll be a great night, considering I’ll probably be dreaming of you :)-
On that note, tired and aware of her long work day coming up, Aullie stripped down to her panties and fell into bed. Curling up in her soft sheets, she was still smiling as she quickly fell asleep.
The weekend passed in a blur. It was a busy one, thankfully, so Aullie at least made some good money on her back to back twelve hour days. When she could, which wasn’t often, she had exchanged flirty texts with Weston and it was clear that they were both excited for date number two.
That night, she opted for more casual attire. She wore a pair of medium-waisted bell bottom jeans, with a lace pattern she had bleach dyed herself down the front. The deep fuchsia peasant blouse she wore hung off both shoulders, accentuating her long neck and pronounced collar bones. The color reminded her of the impassioned painting she had done after their first night together, still drying on the easel in her living room.
