Page 81 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
“The breasts,” the guy says, moving his hands as if he’s squeezing my tits.
The woman puts her face closer to the painting. “I don’t see breasts.”
“That’s because you don’t want to see them. It’s not a competition, babe.”
I’m confused as Lake takes my hand and guides me away from the crowd. “The bytes are your parts, and the bending lines are mine,” she whispers. “And those are your tits.”
“I’m so beyond confused,” I say.
“We’ve already gotten seven bids. It’s going to go for a high price. I’ll give you half the proceeds.”
I shake my head adamantly. “That’s not necessary… Betty.”
She winks. “You catch on so fast.”
“But why, Betty?”
She cups a hand around my ear and whispers, “So no one knows who I am exactly.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Really?”
“Each show has a different Lake Clark. Tonight, that guy is LC.”
I follow her pointing finger to a tall guy dressed all in black. A crowd surrounds him. His arms are folded, and he’s smirking as if he’s the most important person in the room.
I let out a laugh. “That’s insane.”
“People can’t help themselves. They’re drawn to gimmicks and games. And that’s how LC got famous.” A couple walks by, and she clamps her lips together. Once they’re way past us, she whispers, “And no one at work knows. Only you, Mason, and…”
“Wow, this is nice…” Mason says. Lake and I turn to look at him, and he reads the nametag on her jacket. Mason grins. “Betty.”
And I suspend breathing while looking into Hercules’s hypnotic eyes.
Chapter Thirty
I Byte
Hercules Valentine
Lark Davenport looks exceptional in red. Her skin is supple next to the silky material.I want her. I want her badly.
On the ride over, Mason kept reminding me that Lake isn’t using her real name. It’s her gallery, her night, but nobody knows who the artist is.
“Only in this damn city,” I mumbled.
Mason snorted nervously. “I can’t believe she’s an artist.”
When we arrived and saw the crowd, he nearly shat himself. I thought he was going to chicken out and ask me to take him home, which wasn’t going to happen. I was there to see Lark.
When we got out of the SUV, I heard my name being whispered, proving how small New York City is. I’m thankful that no one was allowed to take photos. Lori, who gave us our badges and slipped me her number, warned that if anyone was caught taking photos, they’d be escorted out.
“Except you, Hercules Valentine,” she said, batting her eyelashes.
After we cleared her, Mason remarked that he hated being dwarfed by me, “Mr. Panty Melter.”
I already knew that. I also knew he wouldn’t have asked me to come if Lake hadn’t invited me. After everyone else had left for the day, she was waiting around for Mason just to remind him to come tonight.
“And you, too, Mr. Valentine,” she said.
