I got rejected for another exhibition. I was so freaking sure that they were going to accept my art this time around. The curator had been talking me up for the last few weeks, asking me to submit pieces and crooning over how amazing they were. Instead, she called me this morning to inform me they had gone with another artist.
It was annoying as hell. It’s not like I haven’t gotten rejected before. And it’s not like I haven’t been featured in other exhibitions. My pieces sell steadily throughout the year, that isn’t an issue. I know I’m good at what I do, and I love it with my whole heart. My work bleeds my soul. People see that. Even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t stop me from creating my art. But I really wanted this gallery. Annalise Owens, the curator, was known for bringing in the best. She was only rivaled by Caleb Hayes. Getting my art into their galleries would be the sign to my parents that what I was doing was real.
Instead, I got rejected by Annalise and spent four hours avoiding reality by playing Cherry Farm. When I finally decided to be a human again, I realized I was out of wine. So, I went to go pick some up only to crash my car. The Jeep wasn’t even moving. It was parked. I hit a freaking stationary vehicle. Who does something as stupid as that?
I let out my hundredth groan of the day.
“You know what you should do tomorrow?” Deanna’s voice filters back in.
“Drown myself in a bottle of wine?”
“No. You should go buy an extremely hot as hell dress for the Taylors’ ball. Retail therapy and revenge always go hand in hand. Nothing like trying on pretty dresses to put you in a good mood, and then you can top it off by knowing that you are going to look seventeen times better than the Taylor tramp.”
I lift my head up from the counter.
“I always look better than Felicity.”
“That’s the spirit, girl.”
I smile at her. I can always count on Deanna for a pep talk.
I push away from the island and slip off the bar stool. Grabbing my phone—and abandoning the wine—I pad over to the couch and sink into the corner, knees to chest. There is something about being curled in a ball that just makes everything feel better.
“Anyway, enough about my sorrows. What are your plans this weekend?”
“Maya is back in town, so we have a dinner date planned.”
“Jealous.”
“Yup, and lots of sex.”
“Wow, thanks. Way to rub it in.”
“Oh, I’m going to be rubbing many things.”
My jaw falls open. “You did not just say that.”
She smirks at me from the screen. I swear, she has the wit of a teenage boy. And I love it.
“You really should find a nice one-night stand.”
“What do you want me to do? Go to a bar by myself and sit there until a man approaches me?”
“Well, my first thought was a dating app, but that works, too.”
“Ew, and be subjected to unsolicited dick pics? No thanks.”
Maybe I should’ve gotten that guy’s number today…
“What guy?” I look down and see Deanna shoving her face unnecessarily close to the camera.
“What?”
“What guy’s number?”
Shit. I must’ve said that out loud.
“No one. Really. Just the friend of the guy whose car I almost totaled.”
“Oooh,” she crows. “And he was hot?”
“I guess.”
“He must have been super-hot for you to be this evasive about it.”
“I’m not being evasive.”
Great. I can feel my cheeks heating at the complete lie.
I most certainly was not expecting to meet a dreamboat in a mall parking lot. His friend was attractive, too, but Aleksander? His features were begging to be drawn. My soul is calling me into my art room to find the right colors to capture his sultry green gaze and caramel hair.
Pair all that with the leather jacket and motorcycle helmet, and he was a walking bad decision, no doubt about it. I’m pretty sure my brain glitched for a half second before rebooting. I should’ve listened to Horny Stevie and gotten his number before she drove off. Although, I probably seemed like a hot mess to him.
“Stevie?”
“Ok, fine. Yes, he was hot. Like super, mega bad boy vibe hot. But I didn’t get his number, and I doubt I’ll see him again.”
“Well, that’s a lost opportunity. What happened to my confident best friend?”
“She lost her game after her ex sucked the life out of her.”
“Your actions at the VSAs say otherwise.”
I laugh at her, “Now that would have been an amazing one-night stand.”
I wonder if Blade keeps the mask on during sex. If he took it off, the person would know his identity, right? Maybe they sign an NDA. Although, sex with the mask on isn’t exactly a turn-off. God, what I would do for anything to spice up my sex life right now. Chase basically turned everything into store-brand vanilla ice cream, not even the fancy kind.
“Yet another example of a missed opportunity.”
“Come on, Dee.”
“I’m just saying.”
Maybe she’s right. I need to stop letting every opportunity pass me by. I’m not held back by Chase anymore. I can do whatever and whoever I want. Plus, I can’t keep waiting to get back in the saddle. I haven’t been on a first date in years.
“Fine. The next hot guy I meet, I’ll take the chance.” I promise it not only to her but also myself. No more sitting in the passenger seat.
“That’s what I like to hear.” She yawns. “I’m heading to bed. I’m running on like four hours of sleep.”
“Alright. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The screen goes dark, and I stretch. All this talk about hot men has my mind spinning in five different directions. It’s only nine at night, but my body is wired. Blade’s red mask flashes in my mind again, and suddenly, I know exactly what to do.
I slink off the couch and head back to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of red wine. I pad into my art room and settle the glass on my table—which used to be white but is now stained with charcoal and oil paint—before pulling out a new canvas to set on my easel. Taking a sip of red wine, I let the rich taste float over my tongue while I stare at the blank beauty before me. An image flashes in my mind. One of pure darkness with slashes of red and white. I smile to myself before squeezing out a tube of black oil paint.
My mind becomes lost in the process, my body moving on its own as it bleeds to get the image onto the canvas. It feels like a dance. My head and my hand are partners, working together to create a masterpiece of the heart.
It’s not until I pad into the kitchen for some water that I realize it’s almost three in the morning. I debate pausing and heading to bed. But there is something in my core that tells me to keep going. That there is something about this piece that is special.
Fuck it. I head back into my art room, the smell of fresh paint wrapping me in a hug. I pick up my brush and allow the vision to dance with every stroke until the birds begin their morning call.
TWELVE
* * *
STEVIE
I’m going to show up to the Taylors’ annual ball naked.