Rumbled
(Skye)
Damn, I realize I didn’t text Ava to say I wouldn’t be home. Either Friday night or last night. I dig out my phone and text her.
It hadn’t been my intention to stay over for one night, let alone two. But Lawson gave me no choice, he was impossible to walk away from.
And it’s not just his touch. We stayed up late every night, talking and laughing until we fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion. I’ve never felt so connected to anyone.
Throwing myself into my art at such a young age meant I never bothered much with friendships. In college I was at least surrounded by lots of likeminded people, and I count them as good friends, but our connection was always art.
With Lawson, the connection is much deeper. It’s about me and him and nothing else.
By the end of the second evening, I realized how silly I was being, thinking his money would’ve turned him into a bad person.
Especially after everything he told me about his charity and his childhood. I can’t imagine how hard it is to lose both your parents so young, and so suddenly, but to also have to drop out of school and support your sisters is heartbreaking.
We’re sitting eating the breakfast that Lawson made, again without even letting me help. It’s a clear, bright morning and sunlight pours through the breakfast room window. A beam of light illuminates Lawson’s tattooed arm, the Laughing Cavalier image in particular.
“So, why the Laughing Cavalier?” I have to ask. “I mean, most people go for a Monet or Van Gogh, you have to be pretty arty to know of Frans Hals.”
“I like the look on the smug bastard’s face.”
“He reminds you of you?”
“Very funny.”
“But how do you even know about him? Are you going to tell me you have a degree in art history or something?”
“No degree. I told you, I’m a high school dropout.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
“When I started opening hotels in Europe, I lived in London. My place was around the corner from the Wallace Collection, and I used to go in whenever I needed to escape Kelso’s bullshit.”
“That’s it?”
“Afraid so,” he says, arching an eyebrow.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Europe to see the art collections and paint in the light of Provence.”
“Are you free next weekend?”
“What?”
“Let’s go. We can go to Provence or the Louvre in Paris, the Uffizi in Florence, your pick. I can only spare a couple of days this time, but as soon as the lawsuit’s over we can go for as long as you want.”
My heart is pounding. It’s been my dream since I was a little kid to go to Europe and see all the art. I can’t even comprehend his offer being reality. Would going make me a hypocrite? I wouldn’t want Lawson to tease me the entire time.
I can’t contain my excitement anymore. With a smile I can’t hide, I say, “I can’t imagine how awesome that would be. I mean, that’s something I’ve wanted for years, and now you’re offering it like it’s no big deal.”
Lawson reaches across the table and grips my hand. “I can’t think of another way I’d rather spend my weekend than initiating you into the mile-high club.”
“Oh, I get it now.”
“Don’t say you don’t want it.”
“So anyway, in college, my friend Amy and I took a Greyhound to New York. We spent all day in The Met, slept in the grottiest hostel ever, spent another day at The Met, then caught an overnight bus home.”
“I can take you back there too, if you want. We’ll stay in the penthouse of my hotel and fuck all night.”
I fold my arms and roll my eyes but still can’t help laughing. “You can’t just woo me with your money.”
“I’m not trying to. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the kind of guy who woos.”
“Well, whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
“I’m trying to get in your pants.”
“You are such an ass. But if you missed it, you already got in my pants.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.”
I’m now a day behind on finishing the scarecrow painting — two days if I don’t leave here soon.
“I really have to get home now to work on my paintings.”
“What car do you want to go in? The Range Rover? Maserati? SLK?”
“Not that I care about overpriced cars, but let’s take the Maserati, I want to hear the noise.”
Lawson revs the engine a few times, a roaring purr that grabs my attention. We take off down his street, the engine singing. I hate the effect it has on me, but I’m tingling between my legs.
Laughing, he looks at me, “It’s good, isn’t it?”
I want to call him an ass, but I shake my head. I’m not admitting what it’s doing to me.
“You know, they’ve scientifically proved that the sound of a Maserati turns women on, biologically.”
“You don’t say.”
Though I’d never admit it, fantasies fill my head for the entire journey of him ripping my clothes off and bending me over the hood. I can’t help it.
The feeling passes when we pull into Ava’s driveway. I hang my head, feeling like I’m fifteen all over again. Even though it’s my first, this is going to be the world’s worst walk of shame.
“Do you want to come in?”
Lawson responds by switching off the engine and opening his door. I guess that’s a yes.
Ava doesn’t appear to be home. I lead him through to my studio.
“Those are both incredible.” Lawson stands in front of them, his arms folded.
“Thanks. I think you said that already.”
“Are they for Kelso’s?”
“His stuff is all being painted on-site. These are for private sale.”
“I thought you weren’t going back to Kelso’s.” His arms drop first to his sides, and then he brings his hands to his hips and stares at me.
“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it isn’t safe. I’m telling you. If he gets you alone, there’s no telling what he’d do to someone as hot as you.”
“How naïve do you think I am?” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“You don’t know him. I do.”
“Look, the creep is still away in Florida anyway.”
“He won’t be there forever. Walk away before something happens.”
“It’s fine, stop trying to stop me going. I am going. End of story. This is a job, and I am doing it.”
“I’m going to get you an assistant.”
“No way, no how.”
Lawson lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. I expect him to do something: touch me, hug me, something, but all he does is stand with his hands on his hips, holding my gaze in his.
I swallow. Part of me is on the verge of falling into line and doing what he wants. From somewhere within me, I find the ability to tear my eyes away from his. They fall on my half-finished paintings and the resolve to carry on at Kelso’s rages back through me.
I throw my smock over the dress I’m still wearing from Friday, and start preparing my paints. Lawson leans on the windowsill, watching me.
“I should paint.”
“Can I watch?”
“That’s fine with me.” When I’m creating, the whole world drops away. It used to drive my mother crazy that I’d never hear her calling me; she’d have to come and physically touch me to get my attention. It was the same for my teachers and classmates in college.
Ava has it marginally better, she only has to walk in into the room, instead of touching me. Part of me sees that as a sign I’m losing my ability to focus.
Now, with Lawson in the room, I struggle to find any focus at all. Not willing to make mistakes, I put everything down and rip off my smock in frustration.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“You distract me. I can’t focus.” My voice is playful. I like having him here, even if he does try to tell me what to do. But I have to finish these paintings so I can start generating ideas for the next ones.
Ava told me Gordon had another new inquiry for my work, from a couple all the way in Texas. I’ve completely neglected my blog since I moved to California, so it’s a wonder they found me.
What I really need to do is sketch out all the other paintings for Kelso’s so I can minimize my time there.
Lawson moves to my side, drawing me against him. “I have to get home and do some work. You’ve been distracting me from it all weekend.”
I look up at him and smile. He leans in and kisses me. When our kiss deepens, I break away. If we carry on, we’re not going to stop.