Page 84 of Prince Charmless
She makes a pouty face, then bends to kiss me. Maybe she just went in for a consolation peck, but I lean in before she can pull away. The make-out session becomes our most graphic yet. We go at it like sticky teenagers who’ve just discovered open-mouthed kissing. She makes that little humming sound again that I want to bottle up and drink. I move my mouth down her jaw, then to her neck. My hand slides into her jeans, then under the waistband of her lace panties so I can feel what I can of her ass. Melina sitting on my lap gives me good vantage of her chest. When she arches back, I move my lips to her cleavage until I’m stopped by the V-neck of her sweater. I’m about to claw it off until she pushes on my shoulders, prying herself from me.
“We’re not going to get anything done.”
“Too hot and heavy?”
“Exactly,” she says, getting back to work. “You have very nice skin by the way.”
She sounds so normal for having just given me a semi.
Melina fishes an orange lipstick from her bag. When she starts going towards me with it, I put my hand up.
“What are you doing?”
“Your bruise is very blue today and I didn’t bring any orange color corrector, so this is the best I got.”
“Orange is the opposite of blue,” I mumble to myself.
She seems to know a lot about this stuff. Earlier she mixed part of her concealer with the one Cassie gave me to match my skin color.
“Have you always been good at art?”
“This isn’t art,” she says, holding up the pink sponge. “You’re just discovering something every girl discovered in grade eight.”
“But the paintings in your apartment. They’re yours, right?” I ask like I don’t know the answer.
I’ve inspected them close enough to see their tinyMelinasignature. She’s like me, too extraordinary for last names.
She nods.
“Tell me about them.”
Melina scrunches her face like that’s a weird command. “Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why?’ I like them. I thought you were an open book.”
“I used to paint,” she says, leaning back on my knees. “I don’t anymore.”
“Why?”
“You sound like a toddler.” She flaps her hand. “Why, why, why.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms. “Keep being cagey and standoffish.”
“People lose hobbies, okay? I did them when I was in my early twenties, then I got a big girl job, and now I don’t have time anymore. My brother’s the artist anyways.”
Something about the way she trails off intrigues me.
“Can there only be one artist in the family?”
“No, but being a twin is a constant comparison. Mateo paints and draws and fucking sculpts. His tattoos have been on the covers of magazines. People travel to the country for appointments they’ve booked a year in advance. Being creative ishisthing. If he’s the ‘good at art’ twin, then I don’t want to feel like the ‘mediocre at art’ twin. I’m proud of those paintings, but you know what I thought right after I did them? Mateo could do this ten times better. I just got sick of it after a while.”
“But you liked painting?”
“Yeah. I loved it. I painted when I needed to de-stress. I think that’s my problem. To be a good artist I should be, like, fighting my inner demons with every stroke or something.”
“I think your brother would be disappointed if you quit doing something you loved because of him.” Not that I know anything about Mateo, frankly, he scares me, but I do know some things about being a brother. “What did you say to me? Anyone can be good at anything. Even if you’re really shit at first? And your art is nowhere near shit.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She starts with the makeup again. “All right, no more questions about me. You’re the cagey and standoffish one.”
