Page 25 of This

Brilliant color everywhere in graffiti-style artwork of everything from buildings to religious figures. The largest, covering most of a wall, is of Aria, the details so perfected that it leaves no question what emotion inspired every stroke.

“Steve, this is…” I have no words.

The should-be jock is a fucking artist. Anywhere I look only backs up the claim. I spin around, and he’s staring at me so intensely that I swallow. Then, he drops the plate. It clatters to the ground as he starts toward me with a wild look in his eyes. I don’t even have time to decide how I should be responding before he grips my shoulders, ducking down far enough so we’re eye-to-eye.

“I need you,” he says, “to sit the fuck down.” He marches back across the room and sets a large canvas on the empty easel. “I don’t need a bridge, Bennett. I need you!” Since I have yet to move, he drags me over to the stool in the center of the room, talking fast. “It’s the colors. The blues and the grays and—it’s not you now, but what you have been. Or what you could be again, and I know that sounds crazy, but I think you’ll get it when I’m done.”

I nod like I have the slightest clue what he’s talking about as he pulls out brushes and paint.

“Look that way”—he points to the corner above the door—“and don’t move.”

“For how long?” I ask.

“However long it takes…” he says absentmindedly.

While I would love for a more specific time frame, his brow furrows, a deep focus overtaking him. I doubt he’ll answer if I ask, so I sigh and resign myself to posing until he finishes. The room falls quiet around us. Not even the tick of a clock or swish of a brush.

It reminds me of when Dr. Andersen insisted I practice silent meditation in front of a mirror to help withself-appreciation and acceptance. Staring at myself never bothered me; as a kid, I would do it, even when not instructed, searching my face for any part that might have come from paternal genes. The lack of sound irritated the hell out of me, though, being alone in my head without distraction. I only ever lasted a few minutes, and then I would remember he’d also recommended I walk into the woods andwhittle away my emotionsand turn on music to drown out the thoughts.

But there’s no music now.

Just me.

And the corner.

And the silence.

And a nagging feeling that however long it takes is going to last a hell of a lot longer than my record of five minutes.

Four hours. Two hundred andforty minutes of absolute silence with one exception of the door squeaking when Steve opens it for Little Stevie. He perches on a cat tree in the opposite corner of where I’ve been directed to stare, overseeing and judging.

“You can move,” Steve says, not looking away from the easel. “Just your head.”

“Finally.” I lower my chin and crack my neck, the muscles not sure they remember how to function. “What if I’d needed to pee?”

“We were going to get to know each other in a way very few people do.” He glances up to wink, and I laugh.

“Couldn’t you have just taken my picture? It seems a lot easier.”

“Then it wouldn’t have been you as you are but you as you were then. This way, I captured all the parts of you as they happened…” His eyes glaze over as he becomes lost in his work again.

Having experienced enough self-reflection for a lifetime, I check out the art on the walls. When I get a text, I reach for my phone without thinking. “Shit, sorry.”

But Steve doesn’t seem to notice I moved, so I check it anyway.

Dane:Did I say three months? I meant one. Which means I’m overdue to see you.

Com’ere.

With the artist still focused on his work, I tap out a quick response.

I’ll be there for dress shopping in six weeks.

Too long. I’m starting to forget what you feel like.

Words that should send me running, but I smile at them. No matter how many times he drives my heart into a frenzy or doles out breath-stopping looks, we both know Dane has settled in the one place I never will. The promise of permanent distance offers us the perfect safety net to fuck around on the tightrope between hook-up and anything serious. He can dive off whenever he wants, and I don’t worry about what will happen if we reach the other side.

Win-win.

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