“That would be—great. Wonderful. Perfect.”
“But don’t hold your breath,” she cut in, before he tangled himself in a thicket of synonyms.
“Of course not.”
“I’m an unpredictable person.”
“A wild card,” he suggested.
Jean wondered if he could hear the smile in her voice. “Exactly.”
Charlie opened the door before she could knock, not even pretending he hadn’t been waiting.
She handed him the beers she’d wheedled out of one of the bartenders.
“Would you like to watch a movie?” he asked, as if this was a real date. “Or I could order food?”
“I had something different in mind.” It was important to establish up front that she was calling the shots.
Jean considered the couch, quickly deciding that her supervisor would lose it if they stained the upholstery. She headed straight for the bedroom instead.
“How do you feel about art?” she asked, yanking the duvet off the mattress and throwing it onto a nearby chair.
“Uh, positively? I mean, I’m in favor. Though not all art is good… or so I’m told. I’m not sure I always know the difference.” He trailed off with a worried frown, on the verge of working himself into a state.
Dropping her supplies on the bed, Jean walked the few steps back to where he was standing, grabbed hold of his shoulders, and pulled herself onto her tiptoes. When his mouth was in range, she silenced him with a kiss.
“How do you feel about me paintingyou?” she clarified, when he was still and settled, holding her at the waist.
“You want to paint me?”
Jean nodded.
“Uh, sure.” He bit his lip. “I wouldn’t know how to say no to you anyway.”
The power! The responsibility! Jean took a second to let the thrill wash over her. “Good. After you take off your clothes, you can lie down on the bed while I get set up.”
When she returned from the bathroom with a glass of water, he was stretched out on his side with his head propped on one hand, like a naked woman in an eighteenth-century oil painting.
“Is this okay?” he asked, bending one leg at the knee. “If you want me to hold a piece of fruit or something, I have bananas in the kitchen.”
“Just out of curiosity, where are you imagining I’d put the banana?”
He started to give a serious response before noticing her barely suppressed laughter. “I don’t know much about art,” Charlie confessed.
“And I don’t know much about snakes, so we’re even. Glasses off.” She held out her hand for them, placing them on the bedside table.
“Don’t you need something to paint on?”
“Nope. Roll over.”
Charlie blinked in confusion. “Over where?”
“Onto your stomach.”
“You’re painting my back?”
“Exactly.”
