Page 13 of Taking A Chance

“So, what, you have sex with them and then paint them? Do you seduce the women you paint? What’s the game here?” I blurt it all out before I realize what I’m saying.

Declan takes a step back from me, sighing. He doesn’t look wounded by my accusation. He sort of looks amused.

What the hell is so funny?

“I just like painting,” he says. “I see someone I want to paint, and I ask them to let me. That’s all.”

“You don’t sleep with them?” I raise my eyebrow in his direction.

Declan looks up and away, as if he’s thinking hard about the questions I’ve asked.

“You know,” he starts, “I don’t think I’ve ever slept with anyone I’ve painted.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe.”

“No, you mistake me. I’ve never invited someone over to paint them and then slept with them as a result. But I have slept with women I’ve then later painted.”

I shift my eyes back and forth, sorting through his answer, trying to find the difference. It makes sense, but when I think about the women I’ve seen come over, I can’t help but feel like it’s suspect.

Let’s not forget, Declan is hot. Like, really hot. I’m sure he has women swooning over him all the time. So, a woman sits half-naked for him, gets painted by him, and then doesn’t want to sleep with him? I feel like if I was attracted to a man on any level and then he painted me, I’d be beyond turned on. Being painted by someone sounds so intimate, like you’re sharing something with each other no one else gets to experience.

My friend clears her throat behind me, interrupting my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been carrying on with Declan like we’re the only two people in the room.

“So, Declan,” Claire says, “what are you working on next?”

“I have a couple of things going, and a few more I’ve planned out. Are you in the art scene?” he asks her.

“Well, I studied art in school, and I love it. I have a few pieces but would love to grow my collection. I enjoy the process behind the art as well,” she says.

“If you’d like, you’re welcome to come see my studio, see what I’m working on?”

Declan offers this to her like it’s no big deal. And maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’m the only one here who feels like it’s an extremely intimate and personal thing.

“Oh my gosh, that would be wonderful,” she says. Claire presses her hand to her chest, both surprised and elated by this. She’s obviously appreciative of such an opportunity.

“Great. Why don’t you take my number and we’ll set it up sometime?” Declan waves his hand as Claire reaches in her bag for her phone, rifling around for several awkward minutes.

After he gives her his number, he encourages us to walk around and see the other exhibits. So, I link my arm into Claire’s and practically have to drag her away from Declan.

“Oh. My. God,” she says. “Your neighbor is awesome! I thought he sucked and was like, a whore?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’s still a whore,” I correct.

“Right, but he’s an awesome whore. Maybe you can—”

“Don’t even,” I snap, cutting her off. I know Claire, and she’s been very much in favor of me abandoning my search forMr. Right, in favor ofMr. Right Now. She thinks I should just have fun andleave it to fate, whatever the hell that means.

“I’m just saying,” she says. “You seem to perk up in his presence.”

“You’re mistaking my being on high alert for perkiness,” I say.

“High alert for what?” she asks.

“For whatever happens to those women who get sucked into these relationships with slutty men. And I use the termrelationshipvery loosely,” I say.

We stop in front of another artist’s exhibit, studying their work for several silent minutes.

“I don’t like these,” she whispers to me. “They make me feel uneasy.”

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