Page 64 of Taking A Chance

“Oh, Ryan said this is when I could come over to start my painting,” she says, stepping past me into my apartment.

By all means, come on in.

“Oh, um,” is all I can manage. It’s obvious to me Ryan planned this, purposely left me out of it, and told this woman I knew. Judging by the look on her face, she’s got every intention of staying until that painting is started.Fuck.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” I say, stepping into my bedroom.

Me:What the fuck?

Ryan:Great, right?

Me:I don’t want to do this.

Ryan:Dude, she’s paying twice your rate for a custom painting.

Me:I don’t care if she’s paying in gold coins from a treasure chest, I told you I didn’t want to at the party.

Ryan:Look, she’s there now. You might as well go with it.

I shove my phone back into my pocket and step back into the living room.Oh, Christ.Natasha has removed her long coat, her shirt, and her pants, leaving only the smallest set of lingerie I’ve ever seen. There’s more string than actual material. Her nipples are popping out of the center of what I assume is supposed to be a bra; but it just looks like two cups, a shred of lace, and like someone forgot to make the rest of it.

“Is this okay?” she asks, seating herself extremely provocatively on a chair I have in front of my easel.

Goddamn it, Ryan.

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Sure.” Truth be told, I don’t give a fuck how she sits, what she wears. I just want this over with. I’ll paint her in a clown suit if it means she’ll leave.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, take a drink, and then pull my phone back out. After I’ve had a couple of sips, I set both the water and my phone down on the counter, then head toward my stool. I can’t paint with my phone in my pocket and I can’t leave it out near the paints. I’ve gone through three phones in two years because paint caked into the speakers.

I mix a few colors onto the palette and grab a fresh canvas, setting the one I was working on aside. Then I stare at Natasha for a few minutes. God, she’s boring. Bleach blonde hair cascades over her shoulders and nearly covers her fake tits. And they’re definitely fake. There’s not a lick of genuine bounce to them. I’m pretty sure she’s gotten filler in half her face, too. Everything is very plastic-like. I detect no body hair, with the exception of eyebrows. Though, they look mostly drawn on. Truth be told, I feel really shallow assessing her like this. She’s fine, I guess. I’m sure many men find her attractive and interesting. I’m just not one of them. And I’m sure the things she’s done to her body have boosted her confidence, which is all that matters.

“So,” she says, “was that your girlfriend at the party the other night?”

“Yes,” I say without a moment’s hesitation.

“Are you guys serious?” she asks.

Her tone implies she couldn’t care less, but I still hesitate on this one. Because I don’t know. I feel like we are. I like to think things are moving in that direction. I mean, going away for a weekend, that’s something serious couples do, right? But we haven’t exactly talked about it, and I don’t like to be presumptuous.

“I think so,” I say honestly.

“You think so?” she asks. “You don’t sound so sure.”

Instead of answering her question, I focus on the canvas in front of me, letting silence take over. I don’t owe her any information about my personal life. One thing I know for sure is Cora isn’t going to be happy about this. She made it pretty clear she didn’t like her, and I said the same. So I doubt her being in my apartment, as nude as she is, is going to sit well. I’d prefer to tell her about this, rather than her show up and see it with her own two eyes.

It’s not that I’m trying to hide anything; I have nothing to hide. I’m not even remotely into Natasha. That would be the same whether Cora was in my life or not.

The paint on the canvas starts to take shape, the curves of her petite form beginning to fill out. I start to flesh out the details of her face next, pausing to turn and check the clock on my shelf. Maybe another hour of this and I can send her on her way. I’ll tell her to come back next week for the second session.

Another couple of hours and I’ll be doing what I really want to do. Holding Cora. Kissing Cora. Looking at Cora. All things Cora.

What’s another hour of this hell when that’s my prize?

36

Cora

Work has been hell.From the moment I walked in until now, it hasn’t let up. And I’m leaving an hour early, even if I have to murder someone to do it. But there’s been a lot of great successes today too. The new samples came in and they look amazing. Even better than I expected, to be honest. Claire is delivering them to the client tomorrow morning, which I don’t need to worry about. I’ve been fielding calls and emails all day from potential new clients. Apparently, news travels fast and Mr. Briggs is a talker, telling all his corporate friends how impressed he was with our presentation. We have three meet and greets next week alone to discuss various projects with new companies.

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