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Jack is quiet for once.
The silence is loud, but it isn’t awkward. It’s full. Thrumming. Like the breath before a kiss. Like standing before three canvases and realising the world has shifted around them.
“Right,” Jack says. “Now that we’re all in agreement, I’m going to make you rich, Soul Girl. Richer. Whatever. Daddy Parker can be super proud of his little protege, because these are going to make a fucking fortune.”
Alice sighs. “You’re such an idiot sometimes. So over the top with the bravado. It’s annoying.”
“No, I’m not, and no, I’m definitely not. Tell me that again like you actually mean it. I dare you.”
“Fine,” she says. “I give in. I can’t.”
He smiles at her, then at me.
And there it is again.
That dangerous thing between us.
Not just desire. Not just fun. Not just flesh seeking flesh and pushing boundaries.
Something else.
Something with weight.
Something none of us is ready to name.
Jack turns back to the paintings, hands on hips, already scheming.
“These need titles,” he says.
Alice groans. “Oh God.”
He starts pacing in front of the canvases, throwing out terrible suggestions with absolute confidence, and for a few stolen minutes there is no Bill. No Christopher. No career terror lurking under my exterior. No consequences waiting for us outside the studio door.
There is only colour.
And creation.
And laughter.
And the three of us, staring at the proof that something wild and reckless can still become art.
CHAPTER THIRTY
JACK
Some time alone, and I’m doing what I do best, which definitely doesn’t involve watching a woman in dungarees upcycling some trash worthy kitchen chair.
I’m making money.
Not the casino kind, admittedly. Not the clean, satisfying sound of chips being stacked up while some idiot with a weak ego convinces himself he’s going to proper coin it. This is online. Cards on a screen. Reading faceless players by their dumbass moves.
Still.
Money is money.
The asshole on the other end of this virtual table thinks he has a read on me. As if. I sit back on my sofa, laptop balanced on my knees, and watch him overplay a hand, chasing his losses. I’ve got two spades in the hole, King and 9. And there are two spades on the flop. One is a Queen and the other a Jack, which means the odds of me winning with a flush or a straight are considerably high. Here’s comes the turn, 8 of spades. I’ve flushed. I watch over-playing guy’s timer ticking down. Only the Ace of spades can beat me. He’s got three grand left in his stack. With one second to go, he puts it all-in. He’s bluffing. And I call his bluff. Our cards are turned and the river brings the 2 of diamonds. He only had two pair. Ha. Poor guy. Another nine grand in the pot for me and he logs out in a flash.
I keep playing, trying to find the thrill, but these guys are just boring.
