“Yep.” He chuckles as he sips from his margarita. “It gives me a headache, but people freak over it.”
Illuminated by museum-style lights, the canvas glows with muted blues and greens that slather the surface. “This is embarrassing, but tingles just went down my spine. I’ve seen them before at museums, but wow, to think Pollock painted this, and it’s here.”
“Looks like a kid did it to me. I can whip one out for you and sign Pollock’s name to it, if you want?”
I grimace. “We can’t be friends anymore. Bye. It was nice knowing you.”
I pretend to leave, then come back and gaze up at the work. “Sorry. I can’t walk away from Jackson Pollock.”
He laughs. “You came back for me, darling.”
“Sure. You’re like a baby dolphin at feeding time. Adorable.” I pinch his cheeks, and he practically swoons at the attention.
He grins, then points at the painting. “Tuck’s mom gave this to him for his twenty-fifth birthday. He stares at it a lot. Gets all moody and stuff. Tuck likes to talk about Pollock. Apparently, he had mental issues and was an alcoholic. He died in his forties driving drunk. He hit a tree near his house.” He stops, frowning. “Whoa. Tuck’s father died in a similar accident.” He winces. “I shouldn’t talk about himwhen he isn’t here, but he’s my best friend, even if he doesn’t know it. I worry ...” He stops.
“About?”
A pained expression crosses his face, and he shakes his head. “My guy ... he needs something good in his life right now. Jesus, let’s change the topic. I’m gossiping like the old ladies at my church back in Utah.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It doesn’t take much for me to talk. You talk now.”
As we look at Tuck’s art, I tell him about some of my favorite pieces I’ve seen in New York. I ramble about Titian’sVenus and the Lute Player, his sensuous, naked women. I thought he might like that, but when his eyes glaze over, I switch. “Then, there’s Monet and hisBridge over a Pond of Water Lilies. The peace, the pastel colors, the soft brushstrokes—”
He holds up a hand. “Enough with the TED Talk. I heardnaked, then started thinking about sex.Brushstrokesis the same.”
“I used to tell Brogan about art so he could go to sleep. Cece enjoys it. She loves art.”
“Ah, yeah, Brogan. Big T found out he’s your roomie. I thought he’d be weird about it, but ...”
I stiffen. “There was no plan to meet Tuck.”
“I believe you, but I don’t want anyone to hurt him, ya know?” He exhales. “He likes you.”
“Does he?”
He gets a text on his phone and pulls it out. “Whoop! Someone is bringing up my bracelets! Keep looking around; I think there’s a Georgia Somebody Famous drawing down the hall.”
He disappears, and I keep walking until I find a Georgia O’Keeffe drawing. When my bladder chimes, I keep walking, hoping to find a restroom. I’m about to try a door when Courtney steps out of one, a handful of lacy fabric in her hand.
“Hi,” I say, startling her. I study the garments in her hand. “La Perla? I recognize that blue bra. I have a taste for expensive lingerie.”
She glances down at the clothing, her face reddening. “You caught me. I was picking up my things from Tuck’s room.”
I have a hard time believing her, especially after the bookstore, but he is a man, and she’s beautiful. “Oh.”
She shrugs a delicate shoulder. “Don’t look surprised. Tuck is open with me. I’m aware of your history. He told me how you spilled tequila on him, then Jasper made a bet to seduce you.”
I wave my hand. “There’s a debate on who seduced whom.”
Her lips tighten. “Fine, whatever, I see your appeal—you have that whole mysterious, artistic vibe, but Tuck and I go way back. What you have with him is a night at a disturbing place.”
Her words bring a swell of bitterness I didn’t expect. She’s been living here for weeks, seeing Tuck, eating with him, talking to him.
Swallowing thickly, I remind myself of who he is.
A playboy. With a yacht.