“
That
’
s right.
”
I give him a peck on the cheek.
“
So you brought your paints?
”
I nod to answer his question.
“
Let
’
s set up by the window. That view is amazing. Let
’
s see your interpretation of this great city of ours.
”
“
What are you going to do?
”
“
Sketch.
”
He leans back, releasing me and pushing up his sleeves.
“
The skyline?
”
“
You,
”
he says with a smile.
“
An artist at work. I
’
ve been wanting to do this since the Art Room days, but back then, it was a little difficult, sharing a workspace with you.
”
“
Liar,
”
I joke with him as I get up and cross the room to get my materials.
“
I
’
m not lying,
”
he states,
“
not at all.
”
I turn around and smile at him.
“
Need some pencils?
”
“
And a sketch pad,
”
he says.
“
Got an extra one?
”
“
Of course.
”
I take the supplies he
’
s requested first, then return for the drop cloth. He carries my desktop easel to the table by the window and sets it up for me. I rearrange it once I find the angle I want to paint from.
My palms on the
windowsill
, I lean into the window. Jon
’
s right. It is a beautiful view, but I can
’
t wait to see what it looks like in spring, when the flowers and trees are in bloom. I focus on the reservoir, deciding I want that to be the background for my painting. The day is calm, the water still and perfectly reflecting the beautiful blue sky.
When I return to my easel, the windows on my left, I glance to my right to see my boyfriend. Jon rearranges the pillows on the bed and kicks his shoes off, sitting with his legs crossed and leaning against the padded headboard. That image, in itself, is worth painting
: the
stark contrast of his jeans, and dark shirts against the pristine white bed linens. I almost change my mind and begin painting him, but realize I can paint him any time. I may not get to see this view of the city again for awhile. I take my phone out of my back pocket and snap a quick picture of him while he
’
s not looking.
I pull the smock out of my bag, and then my mom
’
s black dress. Putting the garments on ritualistically, I wonder if it was in this very room that Mom wore the dress when Nate said he loved her. He had been painting. Could he have been standing right in this very spot? I wrap my arms around myself, taking a moment to revel in the moment.
“
You still wear that?
”
he asks.
“
What?
”
I look down at the dress.
“
I like it.
”
“
Why? It hardly does any good, it
’
s so threadbare.
”
“
It inspires me,
”
I explain.
“
See this paint here? And this one?
”
I point to two splotches that I
’
m pretty sure have been there since I got the dress. He nods.
“
That
’
s Nate
’
s paint. I hand wash it so it won
’
t go away.
”
“
Hmmm,
”
is his only response, looking at me curiously.
Nate
’
s music continues to play in the background, a subtle folk sound, as Jon and I create images to mark what
’
s shaping up to be a perfect day. I notice a woman in the park with a bright purple coat and a multicolored scarf, and decide she will be the only person represented in the painting. In truth, hundreds of people make their way through the park. Many couples, hand in hand, stroll the sidewalk. But this one woman, alone; I can see her smile from twelve stories up. There
’
s something remarkable about her, and I want to acknowledge her presence.
After putting the finishing touches on her long, black hair, I glance over at Jon, who
’
s staring at me.
“
How
’
s the drawing coming along?
”
“
It
’
s decent,
”
he says.
“
Your expression keeps changing, and I haven
’
t decided which one I want to capture and immortalize on paper. I love them all.
”
“
Ohhh, that
’
s sweet,
”
I say, a little taken aback.
“
You should get me smiling, because I
’
m so happy.
”
“
Yeah?
”
he asks.
“
Yeah.
”
I lay my brush down and take off my smocks, setting them carefully on the drop cloth. Jon puts his
sketchbook
and pencils down on the nightstand and holds his arms out to me, inviting me to join him on the bed. I know it
’
s not a good idea, but I push rational thought aside and decide to go with what I
’
m feeling. I hear his voice in my head.
I came prepared
, he had said. He takes my hand in his and pulls my body to him. I settle in his lap, my feet dangling off the side of the bed. With his arms around me, he kisses me slowly.
“
I bet I could make you smile even more,
”
he says suggestively, his eyes searching mine. He threads his fingers through my long hair, his stare intense and wanting.
“
I don
’
t know.
”
I swallow hard, feeling my pulse quicken exponentially by the second.
“
Is that a challenge?
”
The left side of his lips curls up mischievously.
“
I don
’
t know,
”
I answer again, this time with a bashful grin. He kisses my mouth softly, then my cheek, then trails his lips to my neck. I lean my head back, knowing full-well that I
’
m encouraging him to continue. His hands supporting my weight, he lays me back against the plush bed and leans over me, his lips returning to mine.
“
You
’
re sure that no one
’
s going to find out about us being here?
”
he whispers as he lies down next to me. He drags his fingers from my throat all the way down my torso, stopping at the waistline of my jeans. I shiver at the sensation and feel the blood coursing through my veins. I want him and I want this.
“
I
’
m pretty sure,
”
I answer as I put my hand on top of his. He kisses me again, but I can feel his fingers fumbling with the button of my pants. I help him out, anxious for him to touch me. He unzips my jeans, his kisses more passionate, but his hand slides up the front of my shirt, instead. He caresses my breasts tenderly over my bra. Just as I
’
m about to lean up and unfasten my undergarment for him, his movements cease. He takes his hand out from beneath my shirt.
“
Pretty sure?
”
he says, pulling away abruptly.
“
That answer doesn
’
t sound as certain as it did when we got here.
”
“
I paid off the doorman and valet,
”
I explain.
“
I
’
m sure they won
’
t tell.
”
I run my fingers through his hair and try to pull him back to me, but he doesn
’
t move.
“
But you
’
re the only one with the key, right?
”
“
We can fasten the chain,
”
I suggest.
“
That way no one can walk in.
”
“
Who has a key, Olivia?
”
“
Jon, it
’
s fine,
”
I try again.
“
Livvy?
”
I can tell he
’
s frustrated with me.
“
Granna,
”
I tell him.
“
Just Granna. Please, Jon,
”
I plead.
“
I want you.
”
He shakes his head, signaling a no, but his hand travels down my body and rests exactly where I need him most.
“
How do you want me?
”
he asks.
Confused, I just stare into his eyes.
“
How?
”
he questions me again.
“
I want all of you,
”
I tell him.
“
I
need
you.
”
He pulls his hand away, and I answer with a whimper.
He chuckles a little, leaning his body against mine and putting one of his legs between mine.
“
You told me you weren
’
t ready for that yet, remember?
”
“
I know what I said, but–
”
“
But nothing, Olivia. Believe me, it is wonderful to hear you say you want me, and I want to be your first, I do. But I think it
’
s too risky to do it here, today. Not when Donna has a key, and not when you start the day, clear-headed, telling me no.
”
“
So I changed my mind!
”
I explain, adamant. He drags his leg against my body slowly, and just as I think I
’
m going to get my way, he shifts away from me and stands up.
“
Where are you going?
”
He doesn
’
t answer, just walks toward the door
at
a determined pace. He fastens the chain and leans his head against the door for a few seconds before turning around and glaring at me, his eyes never leaving mine as he returns to the bed.
“
That
’
s
the expression I
’
m going to use,
”
he says as I try to catch my breath. He leans over me
,
and plants another firm kiss on my lips. I hold him close, not wanting him to leave,
ever
.
“
Let me go, and get off the sketch pad,
”
he laughs.
“
I
’
m not ready,
”
I whine as I run my fingers down his naked back.
“
Hold me some more.
”
“
If I hold you some more,
”
he says as he nudges my hair out of my face with his nose,
“
I
’
m going to want to
do
a lot more.
”
He looks at me intently, letting me know he
’
s serious. I look away from him, feeling a little guilty, and blush.
“
Now move over and show me that sexy, satisfied smile one more time.
”
I shift slightly to the right so he can get the
sketchpad
that had fallen from the nightstand and shuffled beneath my head while we were making out. He moves it aside, but then positions himself on top of me. His strong arms keep his body hovering above mine, not touching. He glances at my red bra, and then moves his eyes back up to mine.
“
What do I have to do to get that smile back?
”