Page 39 of Starrily
“Exactly.”
“But there’s so much of the canvas to cover.”
“Then we’d better start rolling.” He walked to the center and slowly angled the bucket full of blue paint, then moved around, letting the paint drip down in long lines. “Come. We’ll begin with the sky.”
The beginning was awkward, as they tried to find the best technique. Simon crawled through lines of paint; Callie tried a more refined method, reminiscent of rollerskating. She’d inadvertently made a good choice with the painting; the style lent itself well to the smudged, intermittent lines they made with their movements.
“Now, for the stars,” Simon said. They stood carefully, trying not to smudge anything else with their bodies, and checkedthe guiding copy. Most of Callie’s suit had been spattered with shades of blue, white, and black, and Simon’s looked even worse—unlike Callie, he’d adopted the “dead bug” pose to paint with his back.
At least the paint disguised the outlines of his muscles.
And some other parts.
“We’ll need yellow and a bit of orange in the middle.” As Simon studied the painting, he stroked his chin, transferring some paint. “Let’s start with the one on the left and do the moon last.”
“Should we make a circle with the paint and walk out of it to expand it?”
“We could, but surely we can be more innovative.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I have an idea.” He led her to the spot of the first star and pooled a generous amount of paint between them, then sat straight onto it, a slurpingpopcovering up Callie’s gasp.
He wiggled, and Callie had to look away, bursting out in a laugh. He was like a kid playing in a mud puddle.
“No, no, you don’t get to run.” He reached for her hand and gently pulled her down. “We’ve a star to make, remember?”
“How are we possibly painting like this?”
A corner of his lips rose, together with one eyebrow. “We swirl around the center—me—and paint with our feet.”
“There’s no way for the physics to work out unless I sit—”On his lap.
He raised his eyebrow a fraction of an inch more.
Damn Simon and his challenges.
She lifted into a squat and slowly wiggled into position, acutely aware of every brush against his thigh and the warmth of the unyielding muscles, hiding underneath the much-too-thin jumpsuit.
“Got some paint on your feet? Good. Now extend your legs past me.”
She dabbed her heels in the sunny yellow paint, then did as he said—but to keep her balance, she had to put her handson him. She tentatively touched his shoulders, trying to think of anything but the fact she was sitting in his lap and they were touching everywhere—well, everywhere it mattered—and that it should feel like a horrible breach of privacy, but instead, currents of desire ran through her being and gathered in her belly, and she only wanted to stay in his embrace—
“Phoenix?” Simon was looking at her, head slightly tilted.
What the hell was that thought?“Yup. Yeah. We can do it—I mean, you can start—”
He chuckled. “Got it. Hold on. Here we go!” He reached back with his hands and pushed off the ground; once, twice, three times, as they started spinning in a circle and gaining momentum. Callie carefully lowered her feet to scrape along the floor, then lifted them back up. She kept repeating that in a sporadic rhythm while extending and contracting her legs, leaving behind interrupted circles of yellow paint.
“Oh, yeah. Look at that star forming.” Simon’s voice carried laughter, and Callie leaned her head back, laughing in delight. How was this so much fun?
“We need to make a swirl to the next one,” he said. “Quick, while we have momentum!” He reached back for the bucket of yellow paint and sprayed it in an arc. “Go, go! Roll!”
Still laughing, Callie crawled out of their intertwined position only to hook her foot on his calf. She wasn’t sure if she’d brought Simon with her because of momentum or if he tried to intercept her roll, but suddenly, he was holding her, and they were rolling together, stopping a few feet away with a wide yellow trail behind them and Simon on top of Callie. He caught himself ontohis hands, so he didn’t crush her, their faces ending but inches apart.
Callie’s breath caught in her throat, and her lips went dry. She felt a sudden need to lick them—no, worse. She wondered how it’d feel if he did it. He was so close, his mouth caught in that perpetual beginning of a smile, one she usually thought mocking. Now she could only think about those lips descending to meet hers, and how they’d taste, and how he’d feel if he enveloped her whole …
Simon frowned, rolled off her, and quickly got to his feet. He offered her a hand to help her up.
