“My mom, I guess,” Tenley said, stopping to stare at a work by Dalí. “Although she was more about photography, and even then it was just a hobby, kind of like my drawing.”
“You could have gone to art school if you wanted,” I said, kissing the top of her head. Being in a public place made it easier to be affectionate without succumbing to the urge to take it to the next level.
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “My parents never would have gone for that.”
“Why not? You’re insanely talented.”
“Hardly,” she said with disparagement.
I turned her so she was facing me, not the painting. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you how gifted you are?”
Her eyes dropped and her fingers moved along the exposed ink on my forearm. “I’m really not.”
“Hey.” I waited until she looked at me. “You really are.”
I stared down at her, wondering what she had been like before the accident. Had she bent to others’ whims in order to avoid disappointing them? It was entirely possible. She treaded a very careful line. Her piercings were subdued, pretty even. Her clothes stayed firmly within what would be considered “acceptable,” but she was edgy, at times even eccentric. It came out most when she was in the comfort of her own space. She still grabbed people’s attention, though. Not because she sought it but because her inherent beauty made it impossible not to be drawn to her.
“That’s sweet of you to say.” She rose up on her toes, and I dipped my head so she got my lips instead of my chin. She smiled and took a step back, breaking the connection. “But it’s just something I do for fun.”
“You must have taken art classes, though,” I pressed.
“Sure. All through high school and college. But I majored in sociology because there were lots of career options after I finished my degree. Then I got accepted into the master’s program at Northwestern, so that was that. Come on, I want to check out some of the medieval paintings.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sometimes there’s nudity.”
I dropped the art school discussion, although I had a feeling there was more to it than she was willing to divulge at this point. Tenley was passionate about art; it was obvious in the way her eyes lit up when she discovered a piece that really spoke to her. Even the articles and textbooks she was using to research her thesis had some foundation in art forms, alternative or otherwise.
After the museum, I took her out for dinner and drinks at a little pub close to home. The guy who served us wouldn’t stop smiling at her, beyond what I felt was necessary. After he dropped off our drinks I moved from the spot across from her to the one beside her, tucking her into my side just so he knew where things stood between her and me. When our dinner came, I fed her the French fries because it embarrassed the shit out of her and turned me on for some strange reason. Maybe because they were phallic? Who knew?
I liked taking her places, watching her get excited. It was the perfect way to get to know more about her apart from the painful pieces of her past. From what I learned about her, she struggled with who she was and what she wanted from life, but then, who didn’t? Beyond that, doting on her felt good. I liked that I could take her out, buy her dinner, even stock her fridge with groceries. It was archaic and totally contradicted my previous ideas about relationships, but I hadn’t really had one before, so it had all been theoretical. It made what we had more real, like she was mine and I was hers. My only problem was that I couldn’t take her home and claim her the way I wanted to. Not for another four days. Talk about delayed gratification at its most extreme.
23
TENLEY
Hayden folded after five days. His ability to hold out that long had been commendable. After our date I cranked up the heat in my apartment and strutted around in shorts and a threadbare T-shirt, hoping it would be enough to push him over the edge. Unfortunately, this was not the case. On the fourth day I pulled out the big guns in the form of frilly underpants and donned the cupcake apron thinking maybe he would cave, but once again he didn’t. In fact, to get back at me, he refused to stay over. I liked it better when he was taking up two-thirds of the bed. I was well behaved the following night.
I discovered his ultimate weakness unexpectedly. In his haste to vacate my apartment after I brought out the frilly underpants, Hayden left behind his STRYKER hoodie, the same one he lent me the day after he completed the outline. I liked being able to steep in his smell all day. It made me feel safe. Letting me wear his hoodie felt like a show of protection as well as possession. It didn’t bother me the way it might have before the crash.