8.
Chloe
“All right, you’ve got to tell me everything.” Tara took a big sip of her latte and looked at me, her eyes wide. “And I mean it—spare no details.”
We were sitting at one of the outside tables at the Sidewalk Café. Tara had insisted I meet her here after I was done at the studio—unless, of course, Graham and I were going to do something after that. That had seemed like a possibility, until the last few confusing minutes when it suddenly seemed like he couldn’t wait to get away from me.
“There’s really nothing to tell,” I said. “We talked about art, actually. It was nice. He’s not pretentious about it, and he gave me some good ideas for the sculpture. Which was what this whole thing was about, anyway.”
“Okay, but then what? I know you didn’t just talk about art the whole time.”
“Actually—we did.” I shrugged, knowing that I had disappointed her.
“Did you at least make plans to see him again?”
“Not really. I mean, he’s going to help me with this sculpture, so I’ll see him again, but we didn’t set anything up.”
Tara grinned. “Maybe you should sculpt him—sans clothes, of course.”
“I don’t think that’s the kind of thing Claudia is going to want in her show.”
“So, that’s it? Really? Remember what we talked about? How you’re going to get some practice before you meet your Prince Charming? He’s the perfect one to do it with. He’s hot. I bet he’s great in bed.”
I felt myself starting to blush. “Will you stop it? He’s probably got a girlfriend, anyway.” I decided not to mention how abruptly his attitude had shifted right before he left. Maybe I was imagining it. I wanted to believe that, but I knew it hadn’t been my imagination at all. But I also knew I didn’t want to hear Tara’s theory about it.
“No. He wouldn’t have offered to help you with this project if he already had a girlfriend, trust me. Although ... I had this idea last night. I need a few pictures of me and Graham together. Do you think he’d go for it? And then I can post them online and Michael will see them and he’ll feel like shit because Graham is way hotter than he is.”
I stared at her. “I’m not asking this guy I barely know if he’ll take pictures with you so you can make your ex-boyfriend jealous.”
Tara waved me off. “You don’t need to ask him—I will. We’ll go to the beach. It’ll be awesome. You can entice him in that cute bikini we got for you last year. You still have it, right?”
I did, somewhere, though I’d only worn that bathing suit once and felt embarrassed the whole time because we were at the beach surrounded by families with children. Not that any of them seemed to care, and I certainly wasn’t the only person there wearing a bikini, but I’d just felt weird, especially because all the moms had been wearing modest swimsuits.
“And don’t even try to tell me that you don’t want to wear it because you’re going to feel uncomfortable,” Tara chided. “You look great and now is the time to flaunt that. We’re not going to have it forever, you know, so we might as well enjoy it! Now, give me your phone.”
She leaned over and snatched my phone off the table. “Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m calling him and setting this thing up! You’ve got his number saved in here, right? Oh yes, here it is.” She had the phone up to her ear before I could grab it back. “It’s ringing,” she said, “so even if you make me hang up now, he’s going to know that you called—Oh, hey. Is this Graham?” She turned away from me slightly. “No, it’s not Chloe; it’s her friend Tara. I met you the other night. Yeah, it’s great!” She laughed. What were they talking about? I could sort of hear his voice but not enough to make out the words. I cringed. “I heard about that,” Tara was saying. “Sounds cool. So, hey, listen. You’re probably wondering why I’m calling you. No, it’s not about the tattoo, though I am still planning to come in and get it. Chloe and I are going to be beaching it tomorrow and were wondering if you’d like to join. Yeah, we’ll probably be heading out in the morning. I don’t know—around ten? That’s when they say the best suntanning hours are—ten to two.” She paused as he said something, and she started laughing. It was kind of hard not to be in awe of how easily she could just strike up a conversation with someone she didn’t even know—on the phone, no less. I hated talking on the phone, and rarely did it since texting was so much easier. That’s what I would have done, if I had been the one to invite him to the beach: I would’ve sent a text. Not Tara, though. She hung up the phone a minute later, handing it back to me with a satisfied grin.
“It’s all set,” she said. “He even sounds sexy on the phone. You better go home and find that bathing suit! I’ll pick you up tomorrow at quarter to ten.”
And just like that—it was decided.