Aria

 

 

Morgana reached over the wobbly booth table and gave me a high five.

“Despite all the money you got from the sale of your paintings, I’ll still pay for my own drinks, Dixon.” Evaleen lifted the glass tumbler of gin and tonic to her lips.

“That’s very kind of you, Aria, but I wouldn’t feel right taking your money like that.” Tiffany Blackburn, the last to join our group of friends less than a month ago, reached over to pat me on my back. As she did so, her chestnut hair appeared to fly into both Evaleen and Morgana’s faces. That woman had some thick hair.

“This is what? Our two-month anniversary of SWIM Meet. We should be celebrating. The last payment from Mr. Hawthorne deposited into my account today so I am in a partying mood.” I lifted my whiskey up and spilled a little on the table. Just as I was about to lick the drops from my arm, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned to find Evaleen staring at something across the room. “Dixon, doesn’t that hoodie look familiar?”

Large black leather booths with round blond tables dominated the bar. A few tall tables with stools were in the center but most of the seating was along the walls with a large wooden bar lining the back.

Glancing toward the back of the darkened room to a booth on the other side tucked in the corner, a familiar and heart tumbling pair of gray eyes stared at me.

I pursed my lips. “Yes, that hoodie looks very familiar.”

Once Evaleen and Morgana saved me from Alexander Hawthorne’s grip two weeks ago, at least that’s how they worded it, I haven’t seen him since. His money, on the other hand, I have seen lots of. Which, technically, is my money now.

I stood from the booth but Evaleen’s hand stopped me. “I wouldn’t go over there, Dixon. What if he tries to strong-arm you again?”

She released my arm as I shook my head. “I told you, Evaleen, we were only discussing Picasso. He didn’t do anything to me.”

Except almost caused me to orgasm by talking about a line in a drawing.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Both night and day. Many times, these past two weeks, I have woken during the night and had to use my vibrator to finish what he started in my head.

“Besides, I got my kick-ass SWIM Meet ladies here,” I point to everyone in our booth but hesitate when I get to Morgana, “at least Evaleen and Tiff—”

I bite my lip when I mention Tiffany. I didn’t know her as well as the others and with her having a twelve-year-old boy to take care of who’s in and out of the hospital, I didn’t want to put her at risk.

“I have Evaleen. You’ll keep me safe,” I said as I nodded toward her.

“Of course.” She winked.

Strolling toward Alexander, I heard Tiffany say she forgot what SWIM stood for. Morgana mentioned, “It’s an acronym for Smart Women with Idiot Men.”

The closer I got to Alexander the more he straightened, his eyes fixed on me.

“If it isn’t the most sought-after bachelor in the country,” I said thick with sarcasm.

While all the single ladies within a thousand-mile radius wanted him, or at least wanted to know what he looked like so they could track him down and date him, I did not.

Sure, I wanted to rip all his clothes off and find out what it’s like to ride a billionaire but that was just hormones and chemistry. His asshole attitude was the cold shower I needed to walk far away from him.

I learned long ago that when it came to men to never keep them in my life for too long. One-night stands were best but anything more and feelings started to spoil the fun. But with Alexander, as much as my body wanted that sex-filled night with him, the conversation I had at his place caused that slow burn to cool off quickly.

Except when he talked about Picasso.

Despite our mutual lust over art, Alexander tricked me and not just that, he hurt my feelings too. Maybe it was because I expected A. Hawthorne to be a weirdo with overly long fingernails and stringy hair; instead, I was shocked to find out he was tall, had thick muscles, and looked like he won genetic bingo a thousand times.

He’s wealthy, handsome, and had a home I could die in. Then he insulted my talent.

“If it isn’t the bartender.” Alex’s words cut deeper than I wanted them too. But I didn’t let it show.

If a man wasn’t attracted to me, I was fine with that. I could even handle if a guy was a bit of a jerk to me as I had dealt with much worse, but I had never had anyone tell me I had no talent.

Except my father, but I couldn’t care less what my dad thought of me anymore. What he did to our family—to my sister—was unforgivable.

I waved at the booth seat across from him and he nodded for me to sit.

“Did you think I worked here? Is that why you came? Have some fun with the poor folk?”

I knew I had hit his sore spot as his jaw twitched and his hand rubbed over his face. Maybe he was one of those out of touch rich people who truly believed they were just like everyone else.

It was sort of a turn-on to tease him and poke the wild, sexy beast.

“No, I know you don’t work here.” His eyes stayed fixated on his hands as he twisted a paper napkin to death.

“I see. Had someone check up on me? Find out everything about me, huh? You can buy art from a talentless nobody but not a shady talentless nobody.”

He groaned and shook his head.

“Can we just stop. Pretend like two weeks ago never happened. I didn’t mean you didn’t have any talent. I only meant that groupies don’t understand what real art is. They don’t see beauty and depth and emotion in works of art, they only see fame and popularity.”

Surprise held me in place as he finished his speech.

“You may not be popular or famous, at least not yet, Aria, but your paintings have more soul and heart in them than all the art groupies in the world have in their bodies. That’s why I bought them. That’s what I meant to say but it didn’t come out that way. I’m sorry.”

Alexander’s eyes lifted, sad as a cloudy sky, causing me to frown. I had judged him boldly, too quickly, and it was now his gaze that held my punishment.

“I didn’t mean what I said . . . that you should stick to your day job as a bartender. I was angry and didn’t mean that at all.”

I nodded. “Good, because I quit.”

His frown disappeared and turned into the slightest curve at the corner of his mouth. Damn it, but it was hot.

“Really?”

“Yes. I gave them my two weeks’ notice last week. My boss was sad to see me go, so I promised to help out from time to time. She’s a good person.”

He nodded and then there was silence. We both sat there awkwardly. I played with the gold heart charm on my necklace and Alex strangled more napkins.

I should apologize too. I don’t really know Alexander Hawthorne and it was unfair of me to assume he was some spoiled rich guy without a clue about real life struggles. But as I was about to say something he cut me off.

“It’s best if you don’t work anyway,” he said as a big grin took over his face.

“What? Why shouldn’t I work?”

That was weird. But I shrugged it off expecting him to explain himself.

His cheeks reddened, and it was sweet in a way. Like some boy about to ask a girl on a date. Maybe that was it? He wanted to go on a date with me. Though, that wouldn’t explain the whole no work thing.

Would I go out with him? Yes, I think I would. When he explained what he meant just now about the art groupies . . . well, it was flattering. Alex’s hot and obsessed with art as much as I am, I think that would be a great idea. If it goes well, I might suspend my one date rule and go out with him twice.

It would be refreshing to go out with someone I had something in common with.

“I, uh, wanted to hire you. To, um. I didn’t think this would be so hard. I’ve never had to ask someone, usually someone else hires them to, you know . . .” His eyes dipped to my lips.

That’s when it hit me.

“Like to have sex with?” I lowered my voice and leaned my head forward. “You think I’m a prostitute?”

The muscles in his jaw twitched as he leaned forward. “Who told you that? Did my mother talk to you?”

Of course, he wanted to go out on a date with me, a hired date.

I stood from the table but turned to him before I left. “And here I was about to apologize for assuming you were some spoiled brat. You know what?” His eyes grew wide as I took a step closer. “You aren’t spoiled. I made that mistake and I am sorry for that. But you are a sleazy asshole. Did you think just because I’m an artist that I’d be willing to have sex with you for money? For someone who appreciates art I’d rather hang out with shallow art groupies than you. Goodbye, Mr. Hawthorne. It was nice almost getting to know you.”

What a disgusting excuse of a man. I can’t believe I used my vibrator last night imagining him on top of me. Or this past Monday when I imagined us in the middle of the National Portrait Gallery. Or that weird dream about us on a giant pizza.

I craved pizza after that one.

Instead of heading back to the SWIM Meet booth, I made my way to the bathroom. I needed some quiet time. My head was pounding from the highs and lows of the night.

A part of me was angry at myself for being attracted to such a loser. I should have known better and remembered those rumors about him.

As I made my way down the narrow hall behind the bar toward the bathrooms, a hand grabbed my arm. I turned to find Alexander towering over me. His steel eyes bore into mine and my heart began to race.

He pulled me back until he found a door with a brick propping it open to a broom closet and pushed me inside. I stumbled over a bucket but righted myself just as he pushed the brick out of the way. He turned on the light switch by the door before closing it. Alex stood in front of it and blocked my escape.

With his arms folded over his chest he became an impassable wall.

Heat traveled up my neck as I broke out into a sweat. Maybe Alex wasn’t used to anyone telling him no. Maybe those rumors of prostitutes aren’t really about prostitutes at all, but women he forced to be paid sex slaves.

Morgana had tried to warn me that no good would come of trying to see what the famous art recluse looked like, but I didn’t listen. I may not have bills anymore, but it seemed like I may not live to enjoy my new debt free lifestyle either.