Painting Sky (34 page)

“If you don’t stop doing that, there’ll be a lot more of my pose to mess with your work.”

I was still confused, and it was only when he nodded downward that I understood. The realization made me snap my pencil, which went flying through the air. I turned to pick it up, only to let the sketch pad fall to the floor, too. Keith chuckled from the bed.

I knew I was blushing deeply by the heat radiating from my cheeks. He was having a laugh at my expense.

The concentration was long gone, so I had to grasp something quickly to distract myself. I was almost curious enough to keep biting my lip, but it didn’t work if I forced it, and I was afraid to look like a lunatic.

“Talk to me,” I said.

He waited a few seconds before replying and already sounded cautious. “About what?”

I shrugged. “Anything. Tell me what the best memory you have is.”

Keith took a long time answering and my heart constricted in my chest. He could be deciding whether to tell me, but I was already afraid that wasn’t the case. He was really looking for a good memory. What kind of person was I? I’d lived next door to him since we were kids and I’d never noticed he had been that miserable.

After what seemed like an eternity, he opened his mouth. “Remember Ryan’s birthday, when we went to a baseball game?”

I nodded, vaguely remembering being upset that my father didn’t let me tag along. He said it was something he wanted to do with my brother, like father-son bonding.

“We were around eleven or twelve. Ryan never liked baseball and was always a fan of football, like my brother, but I’d been through a rough few weeks, and out of the blue, he asked your father to take us to a baseball game for his birthday. I remember the look on your father’s face when his eyes landed on me. He knew Ryan was doing it for me, so he kept insisting that he choose something different. Your brother put his foot down and said, ‘That’s the present I want. If you can’t take us to the game, then I don’t want anything else.’”

My hand had long gone still, and his eyes were fixated on the window as he recalled the memory. I gripped the pencil harder. I just wanted to go back in time and hug that boy tightly.

“In the end, your father ended up taking us both, and I remember having the time of my life. I don’t even know if Ryan knew the rules to the game by then, or any player’s name, but he cheered all through the game, alongside me. Your father had a friend somewhere who had gotten him passes to the locker room, where all the players congratulated Ryan and signed T-shirts and even a ball for us. I remember being so happy that I wasn’t even jealous Ryan was getting most of the attention. When we got home, you had baked a chocolate cake with your mother.”

“Oh my God, I remember that!” I said, outraged. “You laughed at me for having chocolate all over my face, and then you licked my cheek. So gross.” I faked a disgusted shudder.

We had ended all pretense of working. My sketch pad was lying on the bed, and I was leaning forward, trying to look menacing, which only made him chuckle harder.

“Not as I remember it—not gross at all. You were very sweet, then.” He was sitting straight now, with a pillow over his lap. “Best cake ever.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and, after a good laugh, he became serious again, got up, dressed in his jeans, and reached for his bookshelf.

“A week later, your brother went to your father and confessed that he had lost the ball playing with it. Your father was so mad that he grounded Ryan for a while. Only after his punishment was over did he come to me to give me the ball, asking me not to tell your father.” He took his arm from behind his back so I could see the baseball in an acrylic box. It looked worn from a game, but the signatures were impeccable. He had cherished it all these years.

Ryan had always seen something in Keith that I was only just starting to understand. He was worth it—worth the punishment and the risk. I got up and went to him. I ended up fixing my eyes on his.

“Your best memory is with my brother?”

“I remember talking about a chocolate cake somewhere during the story.” I gave him a weak smile. I’d almost forgotten about that day. What I remembered, was feeling that he’d been teasing me back then. What if he wasn’t? What if that had been his way of playing with me and of telling me he’d needed me to be his friend, too? I had been too wrapped up in my happy childhood to see that he needed someone other than Ryan.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out.

He set the ball back on the shelf and turned to me. “For what?”

I was too emotional these days, and tears were already threatening to pour from my eyes. “For not being there for you.”

His frown deepened and he shot his arm forward, as if he was contemplating caressing my cheek. He changed his mind, though, and dropped his fist along his tense body. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You were a kid—a girl—and much younger than me.”

I shook my head vigorously. “It doesn’t matter. I should’ve never stopped trying to reach you.” This time, it was my hand that reached him. I traced his forehead, while he closed his eyes tightly. I moved down his right eye and to his chin, trying hard not to touch his lips. If I did so, I would lose it. Before I could back away from him, he grabbed my wrist forcefully and pulled me against him. My heart was beating furiously and I kept my eyes on his chest, which was heaving slightly. With my free hand, I traced the dragon’s face, with its bared teeth sinking into his flesh. It looked so real.

“I owe my sanity to Ryan, Sky, which means I owe him everything. If he says to jump, I’ll ask, ‘How high?’ If he says to stay away, I’ll stay away.”

My eyes landed on his, finally, but I took too long answering him. He turned and grabbed a change of clothes. “I’m going to grab a shower, and I’ll meet you downstairs to cook dinner, okay?”

I just stood there, dumbfounded, without knowing what to do or say. Had his words meant he cared about me, but that Ryan was standing between us?

After he turned the water on, I decided to leave for the kitchen. I needed to do something for his birthday, even if he didn’t want it. The day he’d been born was worth celebrating.

The first thing that popped into my head was chocolate cake, but I didn’t have enough time to make it before he ended his shower. Something told me he wouldn’t appreciate it today, anyway. For dinner, I still had no idea what to make. I decided I would ask him out. He couldn’t decline if the main purpose wasn’t to celebrate. I skipped up the stairs and opened his door without knocking.

Keith was standing in the middle of the room, still pulling his boxers up. I stopped and blushed. “No knocking now? Rude much?” he asked.

Okay, his mood had gotten a bit darker. “I spent the afternoon watching you naked, so… modesty is long gone by now.” I rubbed one foot with the other, feeling embarrassed. “I—I came here to ask you out to dinner.” The question started out weak, but I tilted my head up and ended with more confidence.

Keith started shaking his head. “No birthday, I told you.”

I interrupted him before he could complain more. “No birthday, I promise. I just don’t feel like cooking, and I really want Indian. Pretty please.”

He groaned while putting his shirt on, and grabbed a belt from the other jeans on the chair. There was something kind of erotic about seeing a man getting dressed—maybe even more than drawing him naked.

“It’s the second time today you’re pouting on me. Don’t, please.” He turned to give me an intimidating look. A while ago, it would’ve worked, but not today. I just rolled my eyes.

“I won’t pout if you come.” My voice was joyful, but that didn’t seem to deter him.

“Don’t pout, don’t mention our previous conversation, no presents, cake, or happy birthday, and I’ll go with you, okay?”

I jumped up and down in front of him, clapping my hands, which seemed to improve his mood. “I’m going to get dressed, then.” I ran to my room and spent the next fifteen minutes searching for something to wear that would be nice, but not date-nice, nor birthday-nice. It wasn’t easy. I ended up choosing tight dark jeans and a dark blue shirt. When I made my way downstairs, Keith was already waiting by the door, wearing his black coat and a frown.

“Don’t be a baby. It’ll be fun,” I stated, satisfied that he hadn’t backed out. 

W
e arrived at the restaurant at eight. Keith parked, still silent, and we walked through the restaurant door together. We ordered quickly and I placed my head in my hands.

“You’ll have to do a better job at amusing me, or I’ll start doing all those things you asked me not to.” A small pout started forming on my face, and I started humming the birthday song. He finally smiled.

“Fine. What do you want to talk about?” He had ordered red wine and I served myself a small portion. I didn’t really appreciate the taste, but it looked sophisticated to drink it.

“What about your art? We’re always talking about me.” I chewed the first bite and almost moaned. It was really good. Last time I’d been in the restaurant was with Cody, on my birthday, and I’d been so nervous that I didn’t appreciate the food.

From what I could see on Keith’s face, he, too, enjoyed the food. Maybe he’d have a good time, even if this was not a real celebration. “There’s nothing special about my paintings. Maybe one day I’ll take you to one of the galleries.” My head shot up and I dropped the fork.

“Galleries? As in exhibitions? More than one?” I had no idea that he was already having shows—that was huge.

“I’ve had two, so far. At the first one, I sold half of the paintings, and, at the second, I sold them all. I’ll have another one at the beginning of the year, so I have too much work right now to be going on dates with you.”

I just shook my head. “Don’t be tedious; you’re the one always telling me I need to go out, have fun, and experience the world to be able to make art.” I finished my dinner with a satisfied pat to my stomach.

Keith didn’t reply right away, but he was eating his own words. “You’re right. What do you want to do, now?” He crossed his arms and tilted his head sideways.

I pondered his question. I wasn’t much for going out, but it was his birthday, and, even if he didn’t want to celebrate, I could ask him to go to a bar or a club to have a couple of non-celebratory drinks. “Take me somewhere—a place you like to go alone to have a drink.”

Keith took a couple of minutes thinking, and, after paying for dinner and not letting me pay for mine, he finally got up and motioned for me to follow him outside. “There’s a place I like to go. It sometimes has live music. Tonight probably isn’t so calm, because it’s Saturday. You stay close and don’t walk around alone—I’m sick of chasing drunk guys off of you.”

Keith was exaggerating big time, but I didn’t want him backing off on his decision, so I just shrugged, tightened my jacket, and followed him to his car. This night was so not about me, but he wasn’t supposed to know that.

The club was packed. Quiet time wasn’t in the cards tonight, but we could still have a good time. Keith knew the bouncer, who didn’t card me. We took a seat at the only two empty stools at the bar, and were immediately crowded by two of the waitresses. They beamed, giggled, and hung onto Keith much closer than I had been all night.

“Keith, baby, it’s been ages since you came here.” The first platinum blonde rolled her eyes, while the second one nodded so enthusiastically that I was waiting for her neck to break.

He just shrugged and looked around, as if they were bothering him. Maybe he would have the decency to look ashamed around me for his previous womanizing behavior. I bet that, if he had been alone, he wouldn’t give them the cold shoulder.

“I’ve been busy,” he answered, shrugging again. He then ordered for the both of us: a beer for him and a girly drink for me.

I should have been mad at the assumption that I wouldn’t know how to order for myself, but I just wanted him to have a good time. If being controlling was the way, then, for tonight, I would endure.

The girls left, but not before giving me a sour look, as if it was my fault Keith had such a hot and cold demeanor. I was sure they were about to spit in my drink.

“I know how to order for myself, and, for someone who gets so pissed at me for drinking alcohol, you sure know how to get me drunk.” I had no intention of sounding bitter, but I guess that was the way he interpreted it, because he turned with a frown in place.

“I don’t like you drinking when you’re alone and with those friends of yours.” He sounded spiteful. “I keep you safe, and, besides, I won’t let you get drunk.” He turned to the crowd and crossed his arms, while I stood still. I had to open my big mouth.

“Are you that sure?”

Keith heard me, but didn’t bother turning. He kept admiring the dancers stumbling around us. “About what?”

“Keeping me safe.” My voice was getting weaker, because I knew I was moving into dangerous waters. If he sensed I was keeping something from him, he would pester me, until I gave him what he wanted. He knew how to be persistent.

He turned and leaned forward. “What are you talking about? When didn’t I keep you safe?”

The bartender placed our drinks in front of us, saving me. “Hi, Keith. Long time, no see.” The guy was older—maybe in his thirties—but that didn’t stop him from looking at me from head to breasts. He couldn’t see anything else, with the counter between us. If he could have, he would have done the whole creepy thing from head to toe.