Me: I like being your woman.
Kyle: I’m hard as a rock. I wish you were here.
I remove images of Kyle’s cock from my mind.
Me: I refuse to be drawn into dirty thoughts.
Kyle: You’re no fun.
Me: I know. Not when Isla is on the bed next to mine. Anyway, I made a decision about Greg seeing my paintings.
Kyle: Don’t keep me in suspense.
Me: Okay.
Kyle: Okay? Oh, sweetheart, I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Hang on while I do a little dance.
I laugh. His enthusiasm is catching, and I find myself grinning in the darkness. I won’t think too much about this. I’ll just flow with it. If Greg likes my paintings, awesome. If he doesn’t, life continues. I’m sure Kyle will be more than happy to console me. In bed.
Kyle: Can I bring him over later in the afternoon?
Butterflies fill my stomach. What if’s crowd my mind. I shove them away. He’s just looking at my paintings. Not a big deal.
Kyle: There’s nothing to be nervous about. Greg doesn’t bullshit. If he likes the rest of them, he’ll let you know. I’ll be right there with you.
Tears sprout in my eyes. Kyle understands. That alone is comforting.
Me: You’re awesome, do you know that? Late afternoon is great.
Chapter 18
Kyle
It’s four o’clock, and Ethan is driving Greg and me to Grace’s place. I’m excited to hear what he’ll think about the rest of Grace’s paintings.
“Does this mean that things are going well for the two of you?” Greg asks.
“Better than I hoped,” I tell him. “But I have a feeling she’s only half in. If I’m not wrong, she’ll bolt the moment word gets out about us.”
“I really do want to meet this rare species. Most women want to do the exact opposite when they hook up with a famous person. Are you sure that Grace is real?”
I laugh. “She’s real all right. You’re about to meet her.”
Ethan drives the car to the back of Grace’s building. We’re parking at the back of the building, away from prying eyes. I know a couple who dated for years, and the media only found out on their wedding day. I’m hoping that Grace and I will have a similar story.
We get out of the car, and as usual, I’m wearing a cap and sunglasses. I lead the way to the entrance and hit the bell. A buzzer sound goes off, and I push the door open.
Then the elevator stops on Grace’s floor, and we get off. The door opens before I can knock.
“Hey,” I tell her and step forward to plant a light kiss on her mouth. God, she smells good.
I step back and introduce Greg. I can see that he’s impressed by her looks. He probably thought she was an eyesore because of her dislike for the limelight. I chuckle softly until Grace stops me with a look.
“Come on in,” she says. I can tell she’s nervous, and when she shuts the door, I take her hand and squeeze it.
She shoots me a grateful look.
Greg is looking around the living room, probably hoping to spot some of her paintings. That’s the other thing about Grace. She doesn’t hang any of her paintings in her living room. Probably because she doesn’t want anyone to ask her about them.
Grace looks at me questioningly.
I give her a subtle nod. “Maybe you can show Greg your work?” I say loudly.
“I’d love that,” Greg says, too polite to point out that it’s the reason he’s here.
“Sure, this way,” Grace says, and we both follow her down the hallway.
My body reacts when we pass the door to her bedroom. I can’t wait to get her alone. Meanwhile, I’m just on edge as Grace probably is to see Greg’s reaction.
She opens the door, and we follow her in. “I use this second bedroom as my studio. The light is great here.”
I want to take her in my arms and tell her that everything will be okay. But no matter how much you care about someone, there are some things they have to do by themselves. You can be by their side, cheering them on, but ultimately, they have to do the hard bits themselves.
She takes Greg around the room, explaining her work. Watercolor landscapes are her first love, but her portraits are great as well. Greg only asks a question or two. The rest of the time, he just looks at the paintings with his hands buried deep into his pockets.
When they’ve done a round of the room and looked at all the paintings propped against the wall, Greg turns to Grace. His eyes are shining, and I can tell that he loves her work as much as I did.
“Grace, your work is beautiful and unique, and I feel honored that you let me see it,” Greg says.
“Thank you.”