Ethan

My flight got in late Wednesday night, and I went straight to my studio. I couldn’t help adding more to my sketch, it was an addictive pull to take my pencil to the canvas, to hear the soft scratching of the charcoal on the canvas.

I limited myself to a few hours, knowing I needed to be well-rested when I showed up at the gallery.

She wasn’t spending even half of the day alone, not if I had anything to say about it.

If she wanted to go to the farmers markets, we’d go together. If she wanted me to help her cook, I’d don an apron and start chopping. Whatever she wanted.

I drove to the gallery that morning with a huge grin on my face. I’d texted her first thing to be sure she was still planning on working, and she said she was. Then she said she’d already been to the farmer’s market and the grocery store, so she’d be ready when Dana got off work.

It meant we’d have to wing it, as far as what to do for the day, but I had no doubt we’d think of something. There was far too much to do in New York to ever be bored.

Our messages over the last couple of days had been…edgier than usual. Filled with flirtation and innuendo. We’d been getting friendlier and friendlier over the last few weeks, much to my dick’s delight, but texting something salacious and saying it in person were vastly different things.

I had no problem being direct, but I planned to follow her lead. I’d only act on our flirtations if she made the first move.

My dick wasn’t a fan of that strategy.

I hadn’t been with anyone since before the show, hadn’t even thought about it because I’d been so wrapped up in Emily.

If it happens, it happens.

And my poor neglected penis would just have to deal with it, if it didn’t.

But I’d be lying to myself—and my dick—if I said I didn’t care either way.

The truth was that I couldn’t decide which version of myself wanted her most. The drummer who was always ready to bang or the artist who liked to use long, slow strokes.

I’d never been with a woman who knew me as both the musician and the painter.

Maybe that was why I’d told her in the first place— because I wanted something different, someone who I could be myself with; my true self.

My whole self.

There was just something about her that made me want to invite her in, so I had. And now I was fucking clueless on how to proceed. I didn’t want to ruin what we had going.

Damn, I was so into this girl.

Suddenly, I wanted to take her to my place. Not to bed her, though that wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the afternoon either.

No, I wanted to show her my studio.

Holy shit, I want to take her to my studio.

* * *

The look on her face was priceless when I strolled through the gallery’s front door. She was seated behind the reception desk, only the top half of her face visible over the high counter that surrounded her.

She did a double take and jumped to her feet. “Ethan! What in the world…”

“I thought I’d keep you company until Dana gets off work.” I shrugged, playing it cool.

“But you had a meeting with your managers today,” she stammered.

I gave her a sheepish look. “I may have misled you about that.”

“Misled?” She narrowed her eyes at me, blinking rapidly like she was about to cry.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Mission accomplished.”

I glanced around at the mostly empty gallery. There were a few visitors milling around in the adjacent room, but no one was paying attention to us, thank goodness. “If you’d rather stay here, I understand.”

She was already shaking her head before I finished. “No. I’m not in the right frame of mind to be here today. Where should we go?”

I reached out a hand and waited for her to slip her slender one into it across the counter. “It’s going to sound like a total come-on, but I want to take you to my loft. My studio is there, and I’d like you to see it.”

Her eyes went wide as saucers, and she just sort of stared, not answering.

Okay, bad idea, Chase. She’s not ready for that.

“Shit, never mind. I wasn’t thinking. I should know better than to ask you to do something like that so soon.” I’d intended to invite her to brunch or a show, maybe stroll through Central Park, something to distract her.

But once the idea was in my mind, the image of her in my sanctuary, I couldn’t help myself.

Fuck.

I moved to pull my hand away, and she snatched it back. “Are you kidding? Of course I want to see your studio. I was just caught off guard by the invitation, the idea that you would want to share that with me. I know how protective artists are of their workspaces.” She leaned forward, a sincere look on her face. “I’m not afraid to be alone with you, Ethan.”

Something in the way she said it sounded like more than a declaration of trust. It sounded like she wanted to be alone with me, and not just to see my work.

Maybe she’d been a bit bolder over text, but she wasn’t afraid to get her point across in person, either.

She was flirting, but not in the overtly sexual way I was used to from fans. It was subtle and refreshing to behold, like the peck on the cheek in my car.

I’d forgotten how nice the buildup could be—those moments when eyes locked and breath caught, when the inadvertent brush of someone’s hand could be the most captivating thing in the world.

It hadn’t occurred to me to miss those things, until now. Living in the spotlight, having fans swarming us at every turn, and fighting for the chance to spend a couple of sweaty hours on our bus or in some random backstage dressing room had become routine. It had been exciting in the beginning; those first few tours were like an endless parade of women, faces and bodies that held my attention for fleeting moments before I moved on to the next city and the next batch of hookups. After a few years, I’d toned it down, being more discerning but still having my fun whenever I wanted because, hey, I was a fucking rock star, right?

So what if I didn’t connect with anyone?

So what if I was working out lyrics for a new song or mentally noting what paints I needed to pick up while some chick had my cock stuffed down her throat?

It was all I’d known for nearly a decade, and it never occurred to me that it could be any other way.

Then I saw Emily standing in this gallery, looking for all the world like she might just throw me out herself, her fiery gaze full of passion. Passion for my art, for the part of me I never got to let see the light of day. And suddenly, I wanted someone to know me, all of me.

I wanted her to know me.

And it was made more intense by the fact that I was the one pursuing her. She wasn’t throwing herself at me like the women I was used to or using me to get ahead. I knew this because I was the one instigating it all. She hadn’t even mentioned my offer to work with the gallery again, though I was sure Arthur or the owner had asked about it. She wasn’t asking anything of me, and I’d noticed.

It just proved that she was exactly who I’d imagined her to be.

And she was spectacular.

She leaned in with a worried frown, breaking whatever trance I’d momentarily slipped into. “Are you all right? If you’re having doubts about showing me your studio, it’s okay.”

Our hands were still clasped on the counter between us, and I lifted them up, covering the back of her hand with my other one. “I’m fine. I guess I surprised myself with the invitation. I’ve only ever let the guys from the band into my place, and even then, they mostly stayed out of the studio.”

I held her eye, searching for something I couldn’t even name in their emerald depths. “I want to show you the loft, the paintings I’ve hidden away, the ones I’m still working on, the clutter and the chaos…all of it. Damn if I know why, Emily, but I feel like I can be myself with you, like I can trust you with things I normally don’t share with anyone.”

She squeezed my hand and smiled the warmest, sweetest smile. “You can.”

I returned her smile. “Can I tell you a totally embarrassing secret?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Absolutely.”

I leaned in and dropped my voice to a whisper. “I’m nervous.”

“Why?” she whispered back, her expression shifting to concern.

I inched closer, until I was near enough to feel the tickle of her hair against my cheek and spoke softly into her ear. “Because I’m bringing a girl to my place for the first time.”

She leaned her cheek against mine, her breath skittering over my ear as she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to be gentle.”

Her playful response broke my concentration, and I chuckled, pulling back to give her a slow once-over that had her blushing like mad by the time I was finished. “I never said you had to be gentle.”

Despite her flushed cheeks, she surprised me with a challenging smirk. “Then I guess we’ll just have to see how the day plays out, won’t we?”

My dick twitched in my jeans.

I loved that she was so comfortable with me.

I helped with her coat and held the door open for her. “I guess we will. I don’t know about you, but the suspense is killing me.”