Page 22 of Cinderella Screwed Me Over
Jake nodded, amusement flickering across his features. “Yep, that’d definitely do it.”
“See, this is why I avoid dates with guys I’ll have to see again. He’ll probably be shooting me death glares all through the wedding.”
“It’s right here,” Jake said, putting his hand on the small of my back and guiding me toward the entrance to one of the many downtown art galleries. He pulled the door open, and I stepped inside. The floor was pale wood; the walls, ceiling, and pedestals were all lacquered white. The neutral colors made the colorful art in the room stand out.
“This reminds me of college,” I said. “I went to the Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design. There were always cool displays everywhere.”
As Jake and I rounded the corner into a large open room, my heels echoed, each step sounding loud in the quiet space. We stopped in front of a large painting done in red, thick paint in some places and barely a hint in others. There were two tiny blue squares, one just left of center and one in the right corner.
Jake crossed his arms and studied it. “Ah, yes, a lovely impressionist piece, reminiscent of…that one painter.” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Let’s see, what was his name?”
I looked at him, waiting for him to come up with it. Then his lips curved up and he asked, “How’d I do? Get any of it right?”
I shrugged. “No idea. I had one Art History class late at night, and the guy dimmed the lights and showed slides as he lectured in a monotone voice. It was almost impossible not to fall asleep. Plus, I always sucked at dates, so I studied enough to pass the class and immediately forgot everything.”
“I was waiting for you to tell me one of your rules about dating included finding a guy who knew art,” he said, his smile widening.
I nudged him with my elbow. “Very funny.”
He put his hand on my back again, leading me toward the next painting. I was so caught up in the warmth of his touch and my quickening pulse that the next painting took me off guard. “Whoa,” I said as I looked at the gruesome image. There was a face with sagging gray skin, one missing eyeball, and blood covering its teeth and chin. “It’s a zombie.”
He gave me this smile that made me feel like I’d been caught, even though I wasn’t sure what I’d done. “I notice you stated a fact instead of your opinion.”
Okay, so I had been caught. “Well, the detail is impressive, but if I had that in my house, it’d give me nightmares.” It hit me then that we were here to see his friend’s work. “Please don’t tell me this is your friend’s piece, because I’ll feel horrible.”
He leaned closer to read the card by it. “Nope, not hers. And it says ‘self-portrait.’” He glanced back at me. “I always knew zombies existed.”
I laughed. “Irrefutable proof, right there.”
Jake laughed, too, and of course I had to notice that on top of everything else, he had a sexy laugh. He tipped his head toward the other room and I followed him. Inside was a giant, metal sculpture of a skeleton riding a bicycle.
“That’s actually really cool,” I said. “Interesting and unique.”
“Should we have them wrap it up and take it to your place?”
“Um. Yeah, it’s more of a look-at-once kind of cool. See, when you decorate a place the size of mine, you have to exercise proportion control.”
The murmur of voices floated from a room in the back. I peeked past the divider and saw a couple people milling around the area. “I’m guessing your friend is in there.”
“I bet you’re right.”
The back room had a sea of colorful, twisted glass sculptures. Sculptures I could easily place in my clients’ homes. I turned to study one that looked like blue-and-silver flames.
“Jake, you came!”
I turned to see a petite girl with choppy black-and-red hair—like the brightest, most unnatural shade of red—hug Jake.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Not wanting to intrude, I moved to study the rest of the sculptures. There was a yellow-and-purple one with thin, squiggly pieces exploding from it. Then I saw the little pink sculpture up on a pedestal. It had a green stem and a giant pink bud flopped over the front. Mrs. Crabtree would love it.
Jake and Tina walked up to me. Anyway, I assumed it was Tina. For some reason, the girl was looking at me like I was some kind of adorable woodland creature.
“This is Darby,” Jake said. “Darby, this is my friend Tina.”
“Your stuff is amazing,” I said.
“Darby’s thing is honesty, so you can be sure she wouldn’t say that unless she meant it.”
