Page 25 of Paint Me Love
Am I inconveniencing him? But I’m here already and I really want to see that painting. I’ve hyped myself up about it entirely one-sidedly and now that I’m so close to seeing it, I want to find out if it will live up to this hype, fall short, or surpass it.
“Oh… I hope it’s not because a deal went bad?”
I chuckle, shaking my head to myself. “It didn’t, I assure you. It was something unrelated to my business ventures.” Non-existent too, but I omit that part. “Now, can I come up or shall I wait here until our agreed time?”
“Oh, sorry! Yes, of course. Come up.” I hear some scratching and then the door buzzes, letting me know it’s unlocked. “Fourth floor, apartment seventeen.”
“I’ll be up in a moment.”
I wave my driver, letting him know I’ll be a while. The heavy door closes with a groan behind me, but before it can settle into its frame, Daniel’s voice halts it. Or rather, it halts me, which has me using my elbow to prevent it from closing so I can hear what he has to say.
“Um, don’t use the elevator. It gets stuck sometimes, and it takes the service company at least an hour to get here.”
I tap my fingers against the door. “If it gets stuck, why don’t they fix it?”
“Well, it doesn’t get stuck that often, but it happens.”
“How not oftendoesit happen?” I venture, suddenly intrigued. I wouldn’t want to get stuck and miss Adam’s gala thing, so I guess I’m taking the stairs on the way out as well.
“Uh, like once or twice a year?”
I snort. Daniel is strange. And I’m smiling like an idiot at his completely unnecessary warning. Was he buying time? I did come early, so maybe that’s it. Or has he been one of those unlucky enough to get stuck? Does he have a phobia of elevators? I want to know the reason for his warning, however silly it might be.
“Okay. I won’t use the elevator,” I promise and let the door close with a thud.
It’s dreary inside, with flickering lights that need changing. I locate a staircase to the left of the elevator and take my time climbing it as I go over the conversation we just had. I thinkDaniel is not very good with people. The few times we’ve seen each other in person, he’s been shier, less confident than he’s online.
A smirk settles on my face. He was so desperate the other night, jacking himself off and moaning for me. It makes my blood sing and my fingers itch to touch him. Will he let me? I’m here for his art, that wasn’t a lie, but I would be a fool to deny myself a piece of the pie if it serves itself to me on a silver platter.
If I’m being honest, I’m still not entirely sure what Daniel’s deal is. I want to crack him open, to figure out what part of him is real and what is fake. I’m good at reading people, I’ve trained myself to decipher the cues they give away in their posture, expression or voice. But he’s challenged me, and that’s a novelty that has my heart beating like crazy. He views the world in a different way, he seems to find joy in the simple things. I’m the opposite. I’m a conqueror, a predator, and yet he’s glimpsed right into my very soul and taken it hostage.
It’s exhilarating.
I locate door number seventeen at the end of the hall, old wood just like the rest. I knock twice.
“Coming!” Daniel replies from the other side.
Three quickening heartbeats later and he’s standing across from me as the door flings open. He’s clad in a baggy paint-stained gray T-shirt that goes all the way to his knees and a pair of purple pants. His hair is a mess, with locks sticking to all parts of his beautiful face.
“Hi, Derek,” he beams at me, rocking back and forth on his heels. Is he nervous? “Come in?”
The use of my first name sets off a warmth in my chest. “That would be great, yes, unless you want to bring your works out here in the hallway?”
His eyebrows slant down in the cutest way. I notice a streak of red along his elbow when he closes the door, then another oneon the side of his neck when he walks past me, smelling of vanilla and paint. It hits me in the stomach in the best way possible, forcing me to regulate my breathing as I chase after that sweet scent and follow him inside.
Unsurprisingly, his place is just as old and crappy as the building, but he’s made a home out of it, little knick-knacks and color giving it a personality. Other than the lounge/kitchen we are currently in, there were two more doors down the corridor, which must be the bathroom and his bedroom. A single couch bisects the space into two, and ugly brown cupboards line the wall where his cooking appliances and fridge are. Most of the countertops are clear, save for a sushi takeaway box waiting to be thrown out.
“I have water. Or would you like some tea?” he interrupts my examination just as my gaze moves on from the kitchen and lands on his art corner.
It’s small and cluttered, but cute, with a single easel and a desk with art supplies. “No, thank you.”
I don’t ask for permission, I just walk over to it. The moment I see the painting he’s currently working on, I’m entranced. It’s a man in a red suit and another one in a deep blue suit, standing hand in hand next to each other. He’s not finished the background, but he needn’t for me to recognize it as a gallery, the cream walls and the gray carpets subtle in color to offset the two figures.
“It’s still not ready,” Daniel says from next to me as if I can’t see that.
I study the familiarity in shapes and colors, the angles, the shadows. Each new one I discover makes these two people look more and more like me and Adam. The painting’s based on us, it has to be, the subtle details betraying our masks, captured in the same way Daniel has captured the essence of our souls even if the models on the canvas are not our exact copies.
“It looks like me and Adam,” I comment, giving him a sideways glance.
