She moaned, biting her bottom lip. Briggs loved to be manhandled. She also loved my dirty fucking mouth.
“I’ll let you give me anything you want,” I rasped, her eyes glazed over. “Just tell me your name. That’s the only gift I really want from your mouth, baby.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” she sassed. “What about this gift?”
Her hands instantly ticked under my chin and around my neck. Laughing hysterically at my reaction. I grabbed her hands, locking them behind her back.
“Ah! You’re hurting me,” she lied so I would let go.
“You fucking love it. Don’t lie, little girl.”
I kissed her lips, let go, and got out of the bed.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” I said without looking back.
“Wish I could help you with your problem, Austin. God knows your hand must be getting tired.”
I playfully flicked her off and walked into the bathroom, chuckling to myself. “Rosie Palms is a nice lady,” I said loud enough for her to hear, opening the bottle and taking two pain pills down.
She started laughing her ass off on the bed.
It was the best fucking sound ever.
We spent my birthday roaming around New York. We ended up in Central Park, where Briggs read one of her smut books and I sat drawing inappropriate pictures of her. A few weeks ago while walking past an art gallery that had always caught my attention since I first got to New York, she asked me why I never pursued a career in art. I just told her that it had always been a dream of mine, but it wasn’t in the cards. She dropped it after that, which I was grateful for.
We went back to the apartment to get ready for dinner. Briggs made reservations at some fancy place on Fifth Avenue. I would have been happy staying in and ordering pizza, but she insisted. When she walked out of the bathroom wearing a black, tight, short dress with red fuck-me heels, we were late for her reservations.
I decided to eat her instead.
After dinner we walked around, holding hands, talking about nothing in particular, just laughing and enjoying each other’s company. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday. The last few had been pretty shitty, spending them by myself.
We passed my favorite art gallery, the one that had always caught my eye. The glass windows displayed the room full of different artists. Everything from sculptures to abstract paintings, to sketches and photography.
“Come on.” She nodded toward the door, leading the way inside.
“You want to buy some art, baby?”
“Maybe.”
“Is that right? Mine not good enough anymore?”
She shrugged, grinning at me as we made our way to one of the other rooms.
“Way to crush a man's dream. You going to kick me in the balls next?" I said, holding my heart, forging hurt.
“There’s actually this really hot new artist that I have been dying to show you.”
“The fuck?” I breathed out.
“Briggs,” the owner walked over to us, interrupting our conversation. “Is this him?” he asked, looking only at me.
She beamed.
“Austin, right?”
I nodded.
“Rafael.”
We shook hands.
“I told Briggs I had been dying to meet the man behind the sketches she showed me. They make a great addition to my collection,” he informed, catching me completely off guard.
“Excuse me?”
Briggs cleared her throat, stepping in between us.
“I’m going to go give him his present now. We will be right back.”
Rafael nodded in understanding.
“Baby, what’s going—”
“Close your eyes.”
I arched an eyebrow, cocking my head to the side.
“Don’t you trust me?” She smiled, blowing me a kiss.
I caught it in the air and placed it near my heart.
“With my life,” I simply stated, closing my eyes.
It didn’t take long to walk through the small crowd, reaching our destination.
“Keep them closed, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She let go of my hand and turned my body in the direction she wanted me to face. Standing behind me, she placed her hands over my eyes.
“Happy birthday, Austin,” she murmured into my ear, taking her hands away.
I blinked my eyes open, trying to get rid of the haze. I stood face to face with the picture I drew of Briggs the day she told me about the meaning of her first tattoo. Except, it didn’t have the date written over her clavicle bone anymore, it had been replaced with…
Daisy.
<>Briggs<>
I had wanted to tell him what my name was for the last four months. I was just waiting for the right time. When he told me about his dream of going to art school and it not being possible, I immediately got an idea for his birthday that was coming up.
There were very few people in New York that my uncle didn’t know. When I asked him if he could pull a few strings and get me a meeting with the owner of the art gallery, the same one that Austin had been eyeing for several months, I was expecting an interrogation of why from my uncle.
He didn’t.