Page 10 of Art of Love
Why did I think drinking everything the bar owned had been a good idea?
I still remembered my problems just as much as ever, and my meeting with....
Oh fuck! The meeting! The meeting with John! What time was it?
I scanned the room for a clock but didn’t find one. And where was my bag?
I winced and damn it, Mr. Brad Pitt shuffled and reached out over the sheet like he was reaching for something... or someone. Me.
“Love,” he mumbled.
I froze, trying not to breathe too hard.
This was so embarrassing. So very embarrassing and complete shit.
I watched the strength in his chest as it rose and fell. The sun from the window bathed him in a radiant light, making his hair sparkle. Panicked as I was, I couldn’t help but watch him. He really was gorgeous. Beautiful even, like the painting of a perfect man.
The perfect man who got me, Miss Bad Luck, to his place for some kind of a wild night that left me with amnesia.
I couldn’t believe I couldn’t remember. That was so crazy, reckless, and irresponsible. Who knows what could have happened to me? Thank God, I wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere dead.
But that was just one bad thing that could have happened to me. I didn’t know what awaited me.
I wouldn’t kid myself and believe I just happened to fall asleep on this guy,naked, and we didn’t do anything. So, on the very likely chance that we had sex,unprotected sex,I could be looking at all manner of eventualities.
Pregnancy just being one of them. My father wasn’t a part of my life.Hedidn’t want to be a part of my life and wanted nothing to do with me or Mom. It bothered me a lot when I was younger, but as time went by, I accepted it. Mom had been the other woman. She got involved with a married man and had me. My father chose to stay with his wife, who took him back.
End of story.
The man in our home had been Todd. Older than me by eight years, he had to grow up too fast, especially when Mom died, then Grams. His father was a Marine who died in the gulf war. Nothing like mine, who had no honor or dignity.
What if Mr. Gorgeous over there was married? I couldn’t believe this crazy predicament.
He seemed to drift back into sleep.
Good, this was my chance to dash without him seeing me.
I took the chance and basically fled. I found my purse downstairs but still no clothes, or shoes. The clock on the wall said it was ten.
At least I had time on my side. Time to work out where I was and get a taxi back to my apartment. I just hoped I wasn’t too far away.
Outside, I froze when I saw my clothes floating in the wind as they hung from the branch of the willow tree that overlooked the house. My top and my capri pants. It looked like they came through the bedroom window.
When I saw that, I really did flee. Me barefooted and in this barely-there shirt.
***
Iwaited until I wasa safe distance from the house before I called a taxi.
It took me an hour to get to my apartment, two hours to practically give myself a serious makeover, and then less than an hour to head to the gallery with fifteen minutes to spare.
Now, instead of trying not to think of my dire financial situation, I was trying to calm my poor heart from popping out of my chest every time I thought back to last night.
It was the part about not remembering that got me and got me good because it was as if someone had wiped my brain clean of everything that took place after I joined Mr. Gorgeous.
And right now, I couldn’t be thinking about that. I hadn’t seen John in years. He was the most inspiring person I’d ever met, but at the same time, he had some unusual ways about him that no one could understand.
He was the kind of person who knew he wasn’t just good, but a legend, and he knew too that people like me would sell their arm and leg, and possibly their soul, for a chance to work with him.
