Page 77 of Puppy Love

“A Dirty Shirley?” I ask, my eyebrow cocked in a taunting way. Violet crosses her arms.

“What, not sophisticated enough for the woman in the oil-stained dress?” she asks, gesturing to me. “It’s pretty much the fun version of a Vodka Cranberry.”

I shake my head.

“It’s really not,” I say, fighting a smile. I take a long sip of the drink in my hand. My eye twitches when the vodka hits my tongue.

Damn that’s strong.

I must not be hiding my disgust as well as I thought I was because Violet’s lips tug into a smirk.

“Here’s that drink, miss,” the bartender says, interrupting our eye contact. Violet smiles at her, then swoops her drink off the bar, and walks away without another word.*

I take an even longer sip of my drink this time, staring at her as she saunters away. The bartender shoots me an amused look. I give her an awkward laugh.

“Bosses, am I right?”

She nods, like I’m completely insane, and I shuffle away quickly to find Adrian.

“Can I have that?” they ask, pointing to the cup in my hand. If I’m going to get through this night without sneaking Violet into the bathroom, I’m gonna need help. But Adrian’s eyes are desperate, their brows pressed together in a stressed plea. I nod and hand them the cup. They suck half of it down without even blinking.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” a woman announces, standing on a make-shift stage in the front of the gallery. Adrian clears their throat, stretching their arms out, and gestures to their body from the tops of their head down to their toes. The woman glances over, her head tilting as she looks at the silent spectacle they are making. Her face flushes. “And others. We are so excited to begin our night here at the Annual Greenrock Valley Art Walk!”

Everyone in the room claps, Malcolm letting out a loud cheer. His cheeks turn red when he realizes this isn’t quite that type of event. Violet chuckles, and Hayden sneaks him a fist-bump.

“Love the enthusiasm.”

“As I’m sure you are aware, Anassia Walker, the founder of the Pacific Mountain Gallery of Fine Arts will be joining us tonight, searching for a new addition for her institution.”

Anassia Walker is a tall woman, and by that, I mean she is probably five-foot-ten, but the black strappy heels she wears boost her to be closer to six feet. A coral top beneath her gray suit jacket makes her skin glow, the matching gray pants below tailored to her height perfectly. She steps forward, waves, then steps back.

“She’s hot,” Avery whispers, and we all shoot him a glare. His face turns red, and he adjusts his posture to sit up straighter.

The speaker continues.

“Other than that, there is a bar in the corner.” She points in the direction of the bar, and Malcolm gives another whoop. This time, everyone laughs. “And have fun!”

Everyone claps again, a bit louder this time, and Anassia turns, walking toward the easels on the other side of the gym.

We all turn to Adrian and watch their hand grip the white sheet draped over their piece. They take a deep breath, then pull it down to reveal a huge, colorful, textured canvas. I step back to see it in its entirety, my eyes adjusting to the popping colors, and variating textures.

“Is that… us?” Hayden asks quietly. Thick oil paint sculpts out recognizable faces on a recognizable tawny couch, in a recognizable living room. I can see it now, so clearly, Adrian’s soft brown skin and Avery’s thick hair. A tuft of white fur clinging to my scrub pants. Shining blue eyes looking down at me. The uneaten gyro sitting on a painted plate on the coffee table in front of us.

Adrian beams.

“It wasn’t what the original painting was supposed to be,” they admit. “But I started this one, and I liked it so much more.”

Tears prick my eyes as I stare at the piece in front of me. Every detail, every curve, perfectly painted in colors so bright my eyes have to adjust. I blink, a singular tear trickling down my cheek. My eyes dart to Violet, and her brows press together in a concerned gaze. The sleeve of a gray suit jacket presses to my cheek, Hayden patting the tear dry.

“Cam,” he whispers. I shake my head and clear my throat.

“I’m fine,” I say, sniffling. I square my shoulders and look at Adrian in a loving gaze.

“You know how much I love you?” I ask. They pull me in, squeezing me tightly.

“About as much as I love you.”

After the rest of the group gets a chance to “ooh” and “ahh” at Adrian’s painting, they wave their hands in the air dismissively.

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