Page 27 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

Chapter16

Tristan

Sunday night

Showered,dried and dressed, I made my way to meet Rochelle at Rhia, a trendy Japanese-Mexican fusion restaurant. I was there before her, and was shown to the vacant two-person table by a young waitress who looked me up-and-down, taking in my beat-up Vans with a confused, lingering stare.

I owned two decent pairs of slacks and three button-up shirts, one of which Nikki ruined earlier today. Something I didn’t have was a good pair of dress shoes. I left my last pair at Carlos’s apartment, changing out of them and into a pair of flip-flops. That was months ago, and I just never thought of getting new shoes as something that was important, but for this dinner, and for the upcoming fall gallery season, I probably should’ve gone shopping.

The waitress brought a carafe of still water to the table, and I settled into the lightly padded chair, taking in the view of the glamorous restaurant. It had small lights suspended from the ceiling that hung in ropes, an effect that should’ve been gaudy but actually turned out whimsical. The beige walls featured rectangular panels in a precise pattern until every third panel gave way to an alcove that housed either a vase or statue of some kind. Absolutely none of the decor looked as if it could’ve belonged in a Japanese or Mexican restaurant, which confused me at first, then I decided it was likely trying to be its own separate thing, away from the cultural expectations of the diners.

While trying not to stare at the doorway as I waited for Rochelle to appear, I took a sip from my water glass and noticed the yellow paint I hadn’t quite gotten out of my fingernails. Was that from Nikki’s canvas? Before she jumped up and smeared paint on my chest?

The thought of her panic-stricken face should’ve made me feel bad. I embarrassed her, of course I felt bad. But I had to push down an intense thrumming in my stomach as I cataloged the different ways her brows quirked, her lips dropped open, her eyes widened each time I caught her feeling uncomfortable. She’d always been so… Nikki, that seeing her so unsure flared my protective side like nothing else, and I wanted to do more than just take her into my arms and reassure her.

After our class was done and I went back to the shop, it was increasingly difficult to turn my thoughts away from her as I soaped up in the shower.

I caught sight of the smallest sliver of her bra when she stepped back from me after ruining my shirt, but that flat expanse of her smooth skin sent a jolt that raced through me. After years of fantasizing over how Nikki’s naked body might’ve looked, seeing that little bit more of her was like unwrapping a long-awaited gift. The thought of touching her, of finally getting to lay my fingers on that beautiful smooth skin, made me so hard I could barely resist giving myself some relief.

She was nice, too. The whole class had gone by, and she was apologetically nervous, but she also laughed, she concentrated on her work, and she was kind. That was the Nikki I knew. If we could just erase the last few months and go back to how things were–

“Oh, here you are, Mister Kashif.” I startled to find Rochelle clad in a tight, strapless black dress, standing beside her chair as the waitress pulled it back to seat her.

I stood, a burn creeping through my cheeks as if I was a teenager caught with a dirty magazine.

I held out a hand and said, “Rochelle, it’s great to see you again. Thank you for arranging for us to meet here.” I gestured with my free hand. “It’s beautiful.”

She tilted her head and smiled. Her unnaturally full lips were painted a deep shade of red, making her teeth seem starkly white against her tan.

“It is, isn’t it? Well, we’ll enjoy it while it’s still the trendy place to eat. After all, who knows if the doors to this place will stay open a few months from now.”

She let go of my hand and sat, so I did the same, fighting my own feelings on her assessment of a restaurant I’d only just set foot in.

“You’ve never eaten here before, have you?” she asked, taking hold of her water glass.

I shook my head. “No, uh, the coffee shop takes a lot of my time. That, and painting and teaching.” And calling my father overseas, and baking, and visiting galleries with Carlos, and–

“Teaching? What are you teaching, Mister Kashif?” she asked with a coy tilt to her lips, pushing her breasts between her elbows as if lifting them for me.

“Painting at the ArtBox. A six-week class on oil painting, actually.”

She gave a delighted giggle and leaned across the table, her breasts straining against the white cloth and her black dress.

“The ArtBox, did you say? Oh do you know Kenny Mcloughlin then, do you? He’s an old friend of mine.”

I shook my head. Maybe this Kenny was one of the other teachers? “My friend Carlos might know him, but I haven’t had a chance to meet anyone other than my students just yet.”

“How do you like teaching there, darling?”

I looked down at the tablecloth and smiled. “My first class went better than expected, so I’d say I enjoyed it a fair bit.”

She nodded. “But your true ambition is not to teach though, is it? The painting hanging in your shop tells me you would much rather do more with your art than use it as an example for people to copy. You don’t want your work to sit in a coffee shop all day, do you? You want your work in a gallery, am I right?”

I held her gaze and answered, “Yes, you’re right.”

She lowered her voice, forcing me to lean closer. “How badly do you want a show of your own, Mister Kashif?”

My eyes darted once to her cleavage and when I met her gaze again, she smiled with something almost like triumph, as if, cat-like as she was, I were a mouse she’d caught.