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“Go on, do it,” I tell him. “I’ve got plenty of supplies.”
He shakes his head. “No, no. There’s no need. It would be a pile of crap anyway. Nothing but a waste of paint.”
Jack’s energy switches in a beat, honing right in on Bryce’s resistance.
“Come off it. Have you seen the amount of paint in this place? I’m sure Alice can spare some.”
“That isn’t the point,” Bryce counters.
“Exactly,” Jack says. “It isn’t the point. There isn’t one, only you being uptight about splashing some paint around. So live wild. Live free. Hit the canvas up, baby.” His mischievous blue eyes land on mine. “I’ll have a crack at it, if that’s ok? Got a spare canvas lying around?”
It comes so left field, I stumble over myself for a few seconds.
“You want to paint? Now? In here?”
“Yeah, why not? I’ll give anything a whizz, at least once.”
“Um, sure. Yeah. What kind of colour palette? And what size canvas?”
“A big boy,” he says, with a grin. “Go big or go home, right? And I don’t care about paint colours. You pick the vibe. You’re the professional, not me.”
I glow at the word professional.
I’m still buzzing high at the fact he bought all three of my pieces at the fundraiser.
I hold up one of the blank canvases from my stash. It’s a decent size.
“Nice,” Jack says. “How many of those do you have?”
“About six in here. More downstairs… Plenty.”
Jack looks down at the floor, testing out the layer of plastic tarp I use to protect the flooring with his shoe.
“How about we do a three-way, literally,” he says. “One canvas each? We can line them up, share paints. Live crazy.”
I struggle to digest the idea, laughing at the thought.
“You want to paint together? Wow. I didn’t see this coming.”
He holds up his hands. “I’m thinking a mad crazy splurge. Not a finely tuned art marathon for weeks on end. I want plenty of time left over for more traditional pursuits. Like taking your cunt again until you gush for us. Double or nothing.” He winks. “You can take it, Soul Girl.”
Christ, how my pussy sizzles at his words. “Nice. Thanks for the insight.”
The blond anomaly picks up my current WIP and moves her to the side, carefully placing the easel into the corner, and I heed his request, taking three blank canvases from the pile.
“I don’t need an easel,” Jack says. “I’ll take the floor.”
“This is utter insanity,” Bryce scoffs, like we’re going bonkers, with his eyes on me. He expects me to shoot it down and laugh it off along with him, I can tell, but something bristles. Something burns.
I hate being told anything to do with expressing art is insanity.
I keep my gaze on him as I drop Jack’s blank canvas onto the tarp, and then drop one down for myself at the side.
“We’re a bit deeper into the bonkers realm than painting, wouldn’t you say? A bit more insanity on top of insanity can’t hurt, can it?”
Bryce freezes, so bloody serious.
“I can’t paint,” he says. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
