8
TERA
Dante and I have been casually seeing one another the last four months. We have a no-strings arrangement—meaning, when he goes out of town to his other galleries, he's free to fuck whoever he wants.
The same goes for me… and I have. I've fucked a couple of guys who are regular patrons at the gallery. One was a mind-blowing quickie in the gallery restroom—he's been back a couple of times. Then, there's Clark—that experience was horrifying. From the way he fumbled, I was worried he was a virgin… so I left him alone in the bathroom. That's too much work for a quick orgasm.
Now, Carter Winters walks into my gallery showing and I can't believe my eyes.
"Tera!" he shouts across the room, heads turning in our direction as he strides quickly to me, pulling me up into his arms, spinning and hugging me tightly. I can feel those eyes on me and it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Then I sink into the warmth that is Carter and remember I'm safe.
"Carter!" I laugh. He sets me down. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard you were having a show and I felt like a dick for never coming before now," he admits.
"You're not a dick. You've been busy with football and school. Dude, you're being drafted into the NFL your junior year of college! I am so happy for you!" I hug him again.
"Yeah? I'm pretty stoked. It's all happening so fast. But I'm gonna do it right. I'm gonna finish my degree with tutors—just in case, ya know?" he says with that cute tilt of his head.
I smile. I can't stop smiling. "I always knew you were smarter than you looked."
"Hey!" he laughs.
I shake my head. "I amsohappy to see you. I've missed you. You used to come over more."
He hangs his head sheepishly. "I know. I'm sorry. I just can't keep up with all the demands on my awesomeness."
I laugh out loud, really loud, then snort. Heads swivel in our direction again and I don't even care. I keep grinning. A flash goes off, then another. I freeze and grit my teeth. I'm not a stranger to the occasional photos from the press at my showings, but this is a private moment. This is what I don't want, why I need to stay out of the Falling Down spotlight. I'm not strong enough for it. Not right now.
"Ah, they've spotted you," I inform him with a forced smile.
"Let's pose," he proposes with a wink.
In true Carter Winters fashion, he doesn't wait for my response. He merely wraps an arm around my waist, so I do the same to him. I lean into his side and he looks down at me. Shutters are clicking right and left as I turn to look up at him. He's safety. His smile is infectious and it isn't long before we're both laughing. This is the freest I've felt in such a long time.
He hugs me close and I hug him back, closing my eyes and inhaling his familiar spicy scent.
"You still fit, doll face," he says as we pull apart.
I nod. "You always were a good hugger."
"I'm good at more than just that," he teases, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Oh, I remember."
Angelina walks over. With Dante out of the country, Angelina flew in from the LA gallery to help me with my show. "I have someone interested in the bridge piece. Do you have a moment?"
I nod. "If you'll excuse me?"
"Heck no," Carter answers. "I'm coming along. I want to see the professional in action."
"Whatever works for you," I say with a grin.
I'm explaining what the piece symbolizes and answering the potential buyer's questions when Carter begins to wander, stopping at each piece of my work to examine them. I'm distracted now, as he nears a painting I don't want him to see. He'll recognize the trauma, the symbolism in the image even as the most astute art connoisseur only skims over it.
I hurry the buyer, hating that I am, but hating the stiff set to Carter's shoulders as he approaches the image I'd hoped he wouldn't see.
"I'll take it," Mr. Zonberg tells Angelina, and I smile brightly, thanking him profusely before excusing myself.
