Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Will it be hard to show them? It’s so fucking personal, and considering our…extenuating circumstances…”
It was Lane’s turn to drive, and he glanced at me from the driver’s seat. “Does it bother you that I show them? I should have asked. I didn’t even think about it.”
“No. It doesn’t bother me. Are you kidding? I want to shout that shit from the rooftops. Make sure everyone knows it’s me that’s so inspiring.”
Lane chuckled. “Okay, well, what if I told you that I wasn’t sharing paintings of us?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It is you and me in the paintings, don’t get me wrong, but to someone else, it’s them. That’s part of the beauty in them, and part of the reason there are no faces. They represent love as a whole. For you and me, that’s us. For another couple, that’s them.”
“Fuck, it’s hot when you talk about art like that.”
“That’s good, then, because it’s one hundred percent what I was going for.” He grinned.
I placed my hand on his nape, twisted his hair around my fingers and massaged his scalp. “You’re incredible. I love the way your mind works.”
“Even when I’m messy, leave a sock on the counter, and use your toothbrush without asking?”
“Yes, even then. Seriously, that’s a beautiful way to look at it.” Jesus, I was proud of him.
“Thank you. I’d like to expand it. I’d love to create female couples, hetero couples, some where you can’t tell their genders at all.”
“I think you should.”
“I plan on it.”
“You dork.”
We didn’t talk about Helena and Dad. It seemed we were both trying not to focus on it because it hurt too much. It’d been ten days, and we were trying to just keep going, to focus on each other.
It was late afternoon when Lane pulled into the Manhattan parking garage where he kept his car. I understood why he drove as little as possible there. I didn’t like dealing with traffic in Atlanta, but New York City was a beast of its own.
We got our bags and headed down the street toward his building. Like it always was in the city, there were people everywhere, cars clogging the streets, honking, and construction on a nearby building.
The lobby was sleek, decorated in black, silver, and gray. I’d never been to his apartment. How sad was it that he’d been the most important person in my world since I was fourteen years old, and I’d never been to his home?
Lane unlocked the door. It was early evening, and the sun shined through one of the large windows in his living room. Unlike my condo, Lane’s was more comfortable and lived in. There was artwork all over the walls, different styles and colors that all came together in a way I wouldn’t know the first thing about doing. His couch was thick and plush, a light blue. Clothes hung over the back of it, a blanket balled up in its corner. A shoe under the coffee table, the other across the room beside a chair that matched the sofa. Stacks of sketchbooks littered the space as well.
A few pieces of clothing on the floor made a trail down the hallway. In the corner of the dining room, he had stacks of canvases, and supplies all over the table. He had an easel there too, even though I knew he had a studio.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place that’s more you.”
Lane grinned. “I love it here.”
I wrapped my arms around him from behind and nuzzled his neck. “I’ll move here if you want. I won’t have a problem finding work. Plus, my boyfriend is a famous painter. He can support me.”
His laugh vibrated through his body and into mine. “I love Atlanta too. I appreciate that I don’t have to be on as much there. That I don’t have to be around people the way I do in the city. I missed being home. I missed you and Mom and Timothy…” His words hung in the air, the truth we’d tried to bury. That our parents were hurt right now. That they didn’t want us to be together.
“I’ll be here with you, though. I mean, can you think of anything better?”
“No,” Lane replied. “We’ll figure that out. Come with me. I want to show you something.”
I let go of him, let him lead me away. When we passed his studio, I said, “I want to peek.” It was clearly a much better one than he had in my apartment. It was set up to be more functional, with shelves and cabinets for his supplies.
A blank canvas sat on an easel, and I couldn’t help wondering what he’d planned to paint before he left.
We ended up in Lane’s room. The bed wasn’t made, and a slideshow of him and Jayden there together flashed in my head. “Did you fuck him in those sheets?”