Jesse
The next couple of weeks blurred together. Lucy turned out to be a natural at the store, so quick to learn and so good with customers that within days I could trust her on her own. For the first time in forever, I painted in daylight and slept at night. Well, mostly slept. Sebastian had a habit of sneaking into my bed almost every evening, which didn’t exactly make for long, uninterrupted rest.
At first, I told myself it was just a fling. A summer fire destined to burn out. But the embers never cooled. If anything, the heat between us only built. I caught myself missing him when he was at work. By late afternoon, I was checking the clock, scolding myself, and then checking it again anyway, like some teenager waiting for her crush to call.
Some nights we cooked together, some we ordered takeout and stayed in. One evening he even took me to a fancy restaurant, but halfway through the night—trussed up in a little black dress and pinching heels—I realized I preferred our cozy apartment. Eating out was overrated. We’d rather stay home, trash-talking each other over Call of Duty or arguing about movies.
Like last night, when we watchedDracula ‘92.
“I’m just saying,” Sebastian said around a mouthful of popcorn, “it hasn’t been scientifically disproven. Vampires show up in almost every culture throughout history. There has to be a reason.”
I gave him a palms-up. “Of course there’s a reason—people trying to explain stuff they didn’t understand. Porphyria, catalepsy, take your pick. They didn’t have doctors, so they invented the living dead who burn in sunlight.”
He scoffed. “Okay, Myth Buster. What about drinking blood?”
“Easy. A few mysterious deaths, some animal attacks, and boom—you’ve got legends. Some warrior tribes drank blood to honor their dead, even ate hearts.” I wrinkled my nose. “Add in a little primitive superstition, and suddenly you’ve got vampires and chupacabras running around in the dark.”
Sebastian laughed and hauled me onto his lap, scattering popcorn. “You always have an answer, don’t you, smartass?” His voice dropped, warm and wicked. “I can think of a more pleasant kind of sucking.”
I squirmed, goosebumps rising as he pressed his mouth to my neck, his tongue teasing the skin.
He paused, looking at me with mock seriousness. “Speaking of which, what blood type are you?”
“O negative,” I said. “Pretty rare. You?”
His eyes widened. “You’re kidding. I’m O negative too.”
I blinked, stunned. “What are the odds?”
He lifted my hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving mine. “In math, two negatives make a positive. We must be soul mates, Princess.”
My God. It struck me. He was going to have that boyish smile even when he was eighty. He was that kind of person, that kind of optimist, advocate, fighter, and believer in change. He wasn’t only a dreamer, but a doer. He was the future. At that moment, it struck me that Sebastian should have kids to keep that spark alive and make the world a better place. For a second, I imagined myself carrying his children.
The thought shocked me so hard I nearly choked on my popcorn. I had never, ever wanted that. Marriage, children—no thank you. Watching my parents had been enough proof that love didn’t last. So what the hell was this man doing to my hormones and my brain?
I jumped up, using the need for a popcorn refill to put some distance between us.
“Soul mates are just another myth,” I said casually.
Sebastian’s gaze was intent on mine, his smile barely there anymore. “Based on what?”
I shrugged. “Hormones.”
I really thought I was right.
* * *
Sebastian usually woke up first, kissing my forehead before sneaking upstairs to get ready for work. Sometimes I woke with him, and mornings turned into slow, hungry, intimate sex. And the nights… God, the nights. If I hadn’t fixed my AC, we might’ve burned down the whole building.
The girls teased me that I’d forgotten all about them now that I had a boyfriend—which, annoyingly, wasn’t far from the truth. With every spare minute poured into Sebastian or my exhibit, there wasn’t much left for girl time. Sue came back from her honeymoon recharged and glowing; Lily was her usual composed self, dropping by for quick coffee breaks or half-hour visits in my studio, never overstaying because she knew I needed the focus. I hadn’t seen Ange or Nikki in weeks, though we texted. Sue told me Cam had started ribbing Sebastian, saying he was too whipped to grab a beer with the guys anymore. Apparently, the gym had gone from five visits a week to three. Honestly, I wasn’t complaining.
Most of my energy went into my art. Oils, acrylics, pastels, watercolors, charcoal, Conté—if I could use it, I did. Some projects stretched for hours, others days, but deadlines didn’t care. That’s why I leaned on acrylics: quick-drying, demanding speed.
One by one, my pieces made their way to the gallery. I changed the arrangements a dozen times, pacing the floor like some temperamental, half-mad artist. By then, my nerves were shredded. I snapped at people more than once—not because I was nervous anymore, but because I was exhausted. At some point, fatigue simply smothers anxiety.
Two days before the opening, I loaded my battered truck with the last three pieces I’d finished. Malcom practically beamed when he saw them. The man had been a saint through all my fits these past weeks.
I’d ended up with several collections, but my favorite wasWomen of New York. It had started innocently, as fashion-style sketches of my girlfriends. I’d decided to gift each of them with her portrait, but the idea stuck. Soon I had a dozen more—elegant, sensual sketches of stylish women, each one unique.
