Page 54 of Taming His Rockstar

Chapter 28

Two weeks later, I’m at home alone when I hear my doorbell ring. Since I’m not expecting anyone, I wonder who it could be. Kent runs to the door, and as usual, begins scratching at it. I thank God I didn’t buy him as guard dog. He’s way too friendly for that. When I get to the door, I see a delivery man standing outside and frown, wondering who would be sending me a package at home. Normally, any package I receive goes through Jane and her team, who make sure there are no nasty surprises waiting for me. After the incident where I opened a parcel and saw a pair of soiled briefs, I happily leave the task to them. But I’m curious enough, and I open the door.

“I’ve got a delivery for this address,” the delivery man says and points to the package behind him.

It’s big. Almost six feet tall and half as wide as that. I sign for it and carry the surprisingly light package inside the house.

“Stop,” I chide Kent when he scratches as the paper used to wrap the package. “Sit, boy.”

He plops his butt on the floor but keeps on vibrating, and I know it won’t long before he gets up. I turn to the picture, and even though the delivery man couldn’t say who had sent it, I have a very good idea who and even more what is in the package. I wonder if I should return it. That would be the best course of action. But I’m too curious too do that. Too starved to let the piece go. So, I reach out and tear off the cover. When I’m done, I take a step back and feel my heart begin to pound in my chest. I think I’m finally getting over him. I think I’m finally learning to breathe without the pain in my heart.

It’s a painting of me. I’m sleeping naked on the bed with just a sheet covering parts of me. Even though there’s nothing to tell what day it is, I can still tell. That day he had exhausted me, and I fell asleep almost immediately after he made me come for like the fourth or fifth time. When I woke up, I found him staring at me and smiling. Maybe he sketched me while I slept. Maybe he painted me from memory. But looking at that picture, I realize why he would assume there was something between us. The woman in the painting looks sated, content, and in love. Maybe it was easy to hide my truth when I was awake. But the sleeping woman, she gave all my secrets away. The way I slept with my hands stretched out, as if reaching toward the painting. The tilt of my neck and arch of my back make me look like I’m mid-stretch. And my mouth. A smile, and yet it isn’t. Like a woman teasing her lover with promises of kisses she never gives. He manages to capture my very essence, and even though it doesn’t tell me what I didn’t already know before, it tells me he always knew.

I suddenly see tucked to the very bottom of the frame that holds the painting a small note. I quickly pick it up and unfold it. The message is simple and direct.

Come to 3899 Pin Oak Drive at 9 pm tonight.

I tell myself he has no right to tell me what to do. I tell myself I’m angry at him for just assuming I have nothing to do and will just jump at the chance to see him again. I tell myself that sending me a painting of me doesn’t change my mind. I tell myself that doing what the note says will only cancel out weeks of progress.

By eight thirty p.m. that night, I’m dressed and on my way to the address on the note.

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