I go to speak but the words catch in my throat, “Um… yeah… uh… she looks great.”
How the fuck am I going to get through the night without touching her?
Elizabeth
“You look beautiful, mija,” Sofía says. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, Ángel?”
I glance at him and he’s just staring at me. It’s almost as though a switch has flipped; where before his eyes were often unreadable to me, now his thoughts are flowing freely, and he’s clearly enjoying the view.
“Um… yeah… uh… she looks great,” he mumbles.
Wow. I never thought I’d see Diablo… Angel… speechless.
“Thank you,” I say, “shall we go?”
Deciding it would be easier to take one car, I end up sitting in the middle of Miguel’s backseat, with Donovan on one side of me and Angel pressed against the other. I barely hear the conversation that’s happening as it’s taking everything I have to keep my hands from touching him; even the sensation of our legs in contact is driving me crazy.
Anytime Miguel takes a corner a bit too quickly, my upper body presses against him and the closer I get the more I can smell him; even though the leather and whiskey scent isn’t as strong as usual, it’s still there. All I can think about is burying my face where his shoulder meets his neck and inhaling deeply.
When he held me last night, I don’t remember the last time I felt so safe. I’ve shared a bed with other men before, and even with Donovan we snuggle, but it’s not the same, the closeness with Angel felt different. I’d do anything to be able to fall asleep with him every night, but I know that’s dangerous water to be in. Those types of thoughts take this into more than just casual sex; those thoughts lead us into relationship territory.
I breathe a sigh of relief when Miguel parks and we file out the car, hating being away from Angel but needing the space to be able to function. The gallery is stunning, a huge glass building with light features accentuating the angular walls. The glass and light create a haze over the interior, so from the outside, everyone looks as though they have a filter over them.
Miguel and Sofía go to meet their friends, telling us to mingle and enjoy our evening. Donovan says he’s heading to the bar to get drinks and that he’ll come and find us, leaving Angel and I alone. I turn to speak to him, except he’s not there either.
“Guess I’m going to check out the art by myself then,” I mutter, before heading into the main gallery space.
Guadalupe Mendoza’s art is amazing; both abstract and colorful, with emotions and experiences in every piece, be it love or heartbreak, happiness or darkness. I take my time enjoying each piece, reading the artist’s description alongside to see if I got it right or not; sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.
I pore over one painting which feels sensual and intimate, and a hand gently caresses my lower back, leaving tingles in its wake. When I turn around, Angel is walking away from me. It’s not the only time that he finds a way to connect with me during the evening. Several times I sense his gaze from across the room, staring intently at me, our eyes meet for a moment before he vanishes again.
I’m standing in front of my favorite piece, spending longer here than any other, and I feel his presence right behind me, though not actually touching me. To other guests we probably look like two strangers admiring the same piece of art; but all I can feel is the warmth from his body, his breath on my neck, and just before he walks away, the feel of him softlyrunning a finger from my neck, all the way down my spine, and then he’s gone again. I’m still lost in the feeling when a voice brings me out of my daydream.
“I’m assuming you like this piece?”
“Sorry,” I say, “I was lost in my own world.” I look at her and recognize her from the photos I saw earlier. “You’re Guadalupe Mendoza!”
She smiles. “My dear, never apologize to an artist for being lost in your own world when you’re looking at their art.”
I chuckle before gesturing to the piece. “This one is my favorite, I mean, all of your work is absolutely incredible, but this one…” I sigh.
“What is it that speaks to you?”
“Um… I don’t know. I guess it makes me feel a lot… Sadness, but also joy, and fear, but also passion. I love how complex it is, just like life I guess…” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what I’m talking about, I don’t really know about art.”
“Nonsense,” she says, “I love your take on it. You’re a writer, yes?”
“I’m studying literature and creative writing, how did you know?”
“I can just tell,” she says with a wink; and I have no idea what she means, but I gratefully accept the compliment. “Now, I must mingle with the other guests, but please, I hope you stay and continue to enjoy my work.”
I smile as we say our goodbyes, before looking back to the piece.
“Are you going to buy it?” Miguel asks, appearing beside me; over his shoulder I see Sofía and Donovan chatting about a different painting.
“I wish I could,” I say, gazing wistfully at the canvas, “I couldn’t afford it for starters, and even if I could, it would never be safe in my apartment.”
He laughs. “I’m glad I’m not the only one where everything in here is out of their price range. I know Sofía loves some of these pieces, and I’d love to buy her one, but I can’t spend a whole month’s wages on a painting.”
