Even though he sounds completely exasperated with me, it’s his use of my actual name that prompts me to keep talking. “It’s a piece that was created in 2007 by an artist who explores a lot of mediums and uses a variety of materials. When he created my favorite piece, I read that he was still a drug addict.”
“A drug addict? That sounds against your moral code, Birdy.”
“He’s clean now. People misstep sometimes. None of us are perfect,” I say with a shrug.
“Except for you.” He smirks at me. “You’re the most perfect girl on this campus.”
“Please. I’m definitely not perfect,” I stress, hating that he would think I am. It’s hard living up to everyone’s standards. My parents. My teachers. The girls at school who look up at me. Even the people who think I’m ridiculous.
He completely ignores what I said. “What does this piece look like?”
I sit up straighter, excited to explain it. “It’s a giant canvas covered in kisses.”
“Kisses?”
“Yes. He had the same woman kiss the canvas in varying shades of Chanel lipstick.” I smile when Crew frowns. “She’d kiss the canvas in a different way every single time. Harder. Softer. Her lips open wider, or pursed close together.”
“Okay.”
“It’s originally untitled, but it’s known in the art world as ‘A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime.’ My father tried to buy it for me as a surprise for my birthday last year, but whoever owns it now won’t part with it. And there’s another piece that’s similar, but you can’t find that one either.”
“How much is the one you want worth?”
“A lot.”
“Define a lot. That could mean a variety of amounts.”
“When it went to auction, it sold to a private collector for over five hundred thousand dollars.”
He makes a scoffing noise. “Easily bought.”
“Not when the owner won’t sell. To them, it’s priceless.” I grab my phone. “Do you want to see it?”
“Sure.”
I open Google, and in less than a minute, I have the piece brought up on my screen. Just seeing it makes my heart ache in a good way. In that visceral sense, where something calls to you, touching a part of you buried deep.
I’ve never been kissed, but I can only imagine what it would be like, to kiss a man and leave your lipstick on his mouth when you’re done. That seems so…
Romantic.
“Here it is.” I hold my phone out to Crew and he takes it, studying the piece for long, quiet seconds. “What do you think? Can you see how it almost undulates? The artist had the woman press her lips to the canvas in precise spots to create the illusion.”
“I see it,” he says as he squints at my phone screen.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” My voice is wistful, as it tends to get when I talk about my favorite piece of art. It’s still such a disappointment that the work isn’t mine. My father tried so hard to make it the starter piece for my own collection.
When he couldn’t get that one, he purchased another piece by the same artist. It’s lovely, but not the one I wanted the most.
“I think you could recreate that on your own, no problem.” He hands my phone back to me.
“But I don’t want to recreate it.” I stare at my screen, at the lipstick-covered canvas that I adore. “I want this one.”
“How many Chanel lipsticks do you own?”
“None. I don’t really wear lipstick much.” Just lip balm and mascara. That’s about as far as my cosmetics regimen goes.
“With a mouth like that, you should invest in some lipstick,” Crew says.
An unfamiliar sensation trickles through my blood, making me aware of how he’s currently studying my lips. “What do you mean?”
“No one’s ever told you?”
“Told me what?”
He reaches out, his thumb pressing at the corner of my lips, lingering. A barely-there touch that has me tingling all over. “You have a sexy mouth.”