"What does that mean?" Duncan asks with a little furrow of his brow barely visible under the frame of his glasses.
"I'll be leading some classes, mentoring, and collaborating. It's a way to give back to the next generation of artists."
"Aren't they your competition?"
I laugh but he doesn't crack. He's serious. "Not at all. Every artist has their own unique voice and people listen to music constantly these days so the more good music in the world the better."
"Huh. I'm not sure I'll ever see a young, hot-shot rookie as anything but a threat."
The way Duncan says this is casual like it has just occurred to him. I watch his face as it processes his new discovery. And then, I can almost seethe moment his mind moves on to something else, his face shifts, his eyes relax at the corners but the faint laugh lines are still there. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of just looking at him.
I lift my drink to my lips and take a sip but being lounged on the chaise and turned towards Duncan spells disaster.
Or, spills disaster.
"Oh shit." Immediately my hands start to brush the beer off the white linen shirt but the slightly golden spot remains.
"You alright?" Duncan asks, turning his head to me.
"Yeah, I'm just going to go wash this out." I say as I stand.
Duncan chuckles under his breath.
"What?" I ask incredulously. Why is he laughing at me?
"Nothing."
"No, not nothing. What?" I insist. I never expected Duncan to care about a little spill. I’m having a hard time keeping my tone neutral and not defensive. I’m not even sure the derisive laugh I’m hearing is Duncan’s.
He swings his legs to the side of the chair and clasps his hands together while his elbows rest on his knees. I swallow thickly at the look of his large hands clasped together like that, the ridges of his knuckles like mountain peaks I could climb.
Of course he’s so fucking sexy I almost immediately abandon my fight.
Duncan takes a breath and smiles up at me, it is charming and more than a little disarming. "I was thinking to myself that I like you a little messy."
Oh.
"Oh." I shift a little in my stance. "Well, be that as it may, I still need to get this cleaned because it's not actually mine."
I turn to the patio door and hear Duncan following me. "You have another friend you're borrowing clothes from?"
"No." I laugh.
"Then what do you mean it isn't your shirt?"
"It's on loan. My stylist sends me a new wardrobe every few weeks and we swap out items so I'm always looking fresh and on-trend."
Duncan follows me to the sink where I splash a little water on the stain.
"And you can't get them dirty?"
"No, I can, I just," I pause because I don't really want to admit this out loud.
"Just what?" Duncan prods.
I sigh in resignation, "I don't like knowing people think I'm messy."
Duncan just blinks at me. The second is a little slower than the first. "Sorry, but that's insane."
