Chapter Text
“You questioning your life choices right now too?”
“Maybe a little bit.” I tucked my pen into the pages of my own textbook like a book mark and threw it onto the loaded coffee table. My yellow water jug rattled. The poor coffee table had seen better days. We had no clue what those days were like before we adopted it from the streets, but it must not have had a good life based on the wobbly legs; poor college kids didn’t have a right to judge though.
I had started to zone out when Andy suddenly sat bolt upright, eyes staring down at her phone. She was practically rigid, and if I weren’t so nosey, I would have laughed it off. It wasn’t new news that Andy was attractive. There was always someone vying for her attention, though she should probably come with a few warning labels. Andy Herrera would be an article of clothing that appeared as though it were safe to wash like a cotton shirt, only to realize it’s dry clean only.
“What’s got you all... prickly?” I waved my hand in indication of her posture.
“He’s going to the showing; I have to go! I have to go. This is my shot.”
“Huh?”
“Fire Zaddy! Keep up.”
Of course, her reaction was about the ingredient that made her dry clean only: Robert Sullivan. She had been not so subtly drooling over him for the last four months. It didn’t matter how many times our friend group had begged—and I mean, begged—for her to talk to him; she would always chicken out at the last minute. In her defense, he was built like a skyscraper. A very muscular skyscraper who had our shared gym time.
“I hope by 'showing’, you don’t mean funeral, because that’s a whole new level of depravity.”
She stopped combing through Twitter long enough to stare at me. “The actual fuck is wrong with you? Weirdo. No, there’s a gallery showing for this blind artist. He was talking about her to some friends a few days ago; he’s going.”
“Ah, that DeLinka chick. It is DeLinka, right? Or Dandelion…?” I shook my head. It didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t as if I gave a shit. Art was art. It was always a bunch of stuffy people anyway. “Why are we suddenly worried about this gallery showing?”
“Because this could be my chance to talk to him! Outside of classes and shit.”
“Why do I feel like I'm gonna be playin’ wingman?”
“Uh, because you are. Duh.”
“Nooo… Andy… Ugh… I don’t wanna wing. Call Vic. Vic loves a good wing.”
“You love to wing.”
“I love to wing at the bar, where there’s liquor.” I rolled my eyes to further emphasize that I would be the last person you would want to drag into a stuck-up art gallery.
“Please… Come with me and be my wingman.” Andy began to pout, snuggling up to me and baring her bottom lip to its maximum capacity. She was pulling out all of the stops, and I could already feel myself crumbling.
“Fuck… Fine! Fine, I’ll be your wingman, but there better be drinks.”
“I can’t promise drinks, but I can promise boobs! You like boobs.”
I laughed, shoving Andy off my shoulder. “Do I even want to know why there would be boobs without alcohol?”
“This chick does primarily female nudes, hence, free titty show.”
“Wait, what?”
“Oh, now I have your attention?” Andy teased, smirking at me over the top of her phone.
“I might be a useless bisexual, but who doesn’t get excited about boobs?”
“Sometimes I think you’re really a boy.”
“So? Sue me!” I rolled my eyes. “Let me get this straight, you want me to go to an art gallery to see nude paintings made by a blind woman so you can pick up a straight man?”
“Yep.”
“She’s blind and she paints women?”
“Yesss?” She let out an amused laugh. “Wanna ask again for those in the back?
“Just tryin’ to wrap my head around how that even works.”
“Based on what I’ve learned, she does it two ways. The primary is from sculptures she makes off of 3D printers. She just touches them and paints what she feels. The other way is maybe a little more iffy.”
“Huh?”
“From life. Like, she has a model come in and sit for her, and she sorta… touches them? That sounds horrible. It’s not as sexual as it sounds.” She waved her words away with a flick of the wrist. “It’s consensual, but it feels like something she’s more likely to get away with in Italy.”
“So, let me get this straight... This woman is basically painting by boobie Braille?” I regreted the comment the second it came out of my mouth, but I couldn't stop the laughter that followed. Andy buried her face in the backrest of the couch to stifle her own laughter.
“Please, for the love of God, never repeat that to another living soul... Fuckin’ ‘boobie Braille’...”
That was how I found myself walking briskly up the sidewalk in a tight pair of black slacks, a sheer lace black top, and a black blazer. It had been Andy’s decision despite numerous complaints that my black bra being so readily on display was probably not the mood I wanted to be setting in an art gallery, but what did I really know about art galleries? So, I had pulled on my clothes, done my makeup and hair, and put on my black heels.
Thankfully, Andy had gone all out as well, with her black strappy dress that had a high slit baring most of her leg. She really did have great legs. If I had those legs, I would want to show them off too.
“Are we in the right place?” I asked, my eyes darting from building to building. I knew the area, and it wasn’t really one I would associate with a gallery space. Most of the buildings were industrial. Not necessarily run down, but they had seen better days.
“Yes, for the last time. You’d think you’re the one trying to snatch up a date.”
“I mean, you made me put my tits on display... Something could happen.” I wasn’t going to pretend I was above a one-night stand. Wednesdays were 'self-care days’, and self-care days ended with a willing body in my bed 9 times out of 10. Those dates never went past the following morning. That would lead to a distraction, and I didn’t have time for that in my life.
I had a plan. I had steps I was following to get to my goals, and relationships did not fall into that plan. Not now. Maybe not for years, if ever. My parents had proven time and time again that relationships were not always what they should be. Most of my friends had too, hopping from one relationship to another, broken hearts littering the path behind them.
“This is it.” Andy pointed towards the glass door to our right. Overhead, there was a crisp, modern sign indicating that we had arrived at Seattle Underground. I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed the uptick in foot traffic. Most people were dressed nicely, though maybe not nightclub nice. We stuck out like sore thumbs.
“I told you we were overdressed,” I muttered, leaning so I wouldn’t be overheard. Andy shoulder checked me, leaving me to wince and soothe my own wounds. “Fuck, alright. Do you have the tickets?”
She waved her phone in confirmation, and I hung back slightly behind her as we stepped through the door.
Inside, soft rock played, which was not what I had been expecting at all. In truth, nothing was what I was expecting. The walls weren’t white. The floors weren’t pristine. The room wasn’t full of strict looking white men. No, the walls were exposed brick, and the floors were definitely original to the building. They had been restored, but the weight of years of abuse still settled on each plank in deep gouges and scratches. It smelled of incense. Where the building was rather generic, the various canvas hanging from the walls were anything but. Everything was a sea of color, smudged and vibrant, with no true coordination. I hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been that.
“I think I see him,” Andy hissed, leaning in close to whisper in my ear. She scratched at her ear as she tipped her head towards the towering, bald man towards the back of the gallery. He was clearly in a deep conversation with another male, his hand holding a glass of champagne that looked freakishly small in his fingers.
“Never thought I’d see the day you went after a bald man.”
“Don’t yuck someone’s yum.”
“I ain’t knockin’ it. Definitely not knockin’ anything.”
The comment earned me an eye roll from Andy, but she handed me a flute of champagne either way. I took it despite having zero desire to consume it. Champagne was gross. If I wasn’t already three sheets to the wind, it was almost always just for show.
“Let’s have a look around,” and she proceeded to loop her arm around my elbow and drag me towards the nearest painting that wasn’t currently being loitered. “Wow, yep, those are titties…”
I snorted. “So observant.”
The painting itself was indeed of a woman’s bare chest. The breasts were full, and the nipples stood out in stark contrast to the soft pinks and blues that colored most of the skin. The model had clearly been reclined, displaying well defined collarbones and a peak of their neck and stomach. Finger smudges could be seen throughout the presentation, and it brought a wave of heat up my back. What would have been a rather innocuous painting had taken on a haze of sexuality and intimacy I hadn’t expected.
“She’s actually really good,” I stated, taking a drink of the champagne to wet my throat. I grimaced. ‘Why did you do that?’
“Why are the nipples orange?” Andy whispered, face twisted in a way that screamed ‘what the fuck?’.
“The hell if I know. It’s… I can’t stop looking at them.”
“I think that might be the point.”
“Aannndd, I’m gonna walk away from the headlight nipples.” She pulled us away further into the gallery.
To say that unorthodox coloration didn’t draw the focal point to various body parts diminished the more paintings we browsed, would be a lie. If anything, it only seemed to get more and more evident. One in particular seemed to have stray fingerprints smearing the work underneath: a pair of well-defined hips. I could only imagine it as the artist had grabbed them. It stirred something inside of me that I hadn’t anticipated. Was I getting turned on right now? ‘God when was the last time I got laid?’
“Now’s my chance,” Andy whispered almost directly into my ear before taking off, leaving me to watch her weave across the room. I could clearly see that Sullivan was finally standing alone at a painting, one hand in his dress pants and the other holding a glass. He looked at ease. It wasn’t until Andy was standing next to him that I could truly appreciate just how tall he was. They did make a pretty couple. I had to give her that.
I shook my head and moved onto the next painting. On a small pedestal in front of it was a 3D print model of an elongated neck and jaw and ear. Whoever the model was, they were no doubt beautiful. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to run a finger across the jawline. The surface was surprisingly smooth. Someone had taken the time to sand it back and finish it off prior to placing it in the gallery. I could see the appeal, and the artist had managed to bring the curves to life on the painting above. There was something mildly hypnotic about feeling the model while staring up at the vibrant colors.
“Wait, is that…” I leaned in slightly, brow furrowed. Along the melting colors on the neck was the faint smudge of lips. ‘No, those aren’t lips. Nah, it can’t be.’ “Fuck, is that a lip print?”
“You sound surprised.”
I jumped at the sudden closeness, rattling the pedestal in the process. Whipping around, I found myself staring at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She towered over me, her chocolate brown hair windswept as if the beach itself followed her around instead of vise versa. Her equally deep brown eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘Fuck, step on me… Wait, what?’
I cleared my throat, glancing down to see that I was holding the 3D model by the throat, knuckles white. “Shit…” I spun around to place it back on the pedestal, praying that no one else saw me pick it up. Fondling the art was probably not something I should have done, let alone picked it up.
The goddess in front of me chuckled, white teeth flashing. ‘Even her laugh is sexy.’ She didn’t seem to notice that I had done anything at all. She just stared, and I was caught up in her eyes. I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t even find the ability to stop. She had the perfect beauty mark at the bottom corner of her lip, and god, were they kissable.
Don’t even get me started on the white Oxford shirt and black skinny tie she was wearing, shirt tucked into high-waisted black slacks. She was any lesbian’s living wet dream.
“Ah! Carina, eccoti qui bella. Qualcuno vuole parlare con voi [Here you are, beautiful. Somebody wants to talk to you].”
My attention snapped towards the voice. The woman was shorter and clearly in a hurry. The way her fingers trailed down the woman’s arm spoke of familiarity, as if they had done it a million times before, and I found myself growing jealous. Not even just a little jealous—the kind of jealous that is a raging inferno that erupted from a long dormant volcano.
“Si, certo [Yeah, sure].” The words rolled off her tongue, and I had to fight the urge to groan. I only understood the word ‘yes’, but now all I could think about was her moaning in my ear over and over, a sea of words that I didn’t even know as I worked my fingers deep inside of her. My center pulsed dangerously. Her eyes still hadn’t left mine.
Scratching at my feet drew my attention all the way to the floor for the first time and found yet another set of brown eyes staring up at me, except these ones belonged to a large, black lab with a guide harness. One of the woman’s hands was grasping around the leather handle. ‘Oh, fuck…’
“I haven’t introduced myself: Carina DeLuca.” She held out a hand. I couldn’t help but notice almost every slender finger had a thin, gold ring adorning it, making me gulp. Despite the clamminess of my own hands, I slipped mine into hers. My heart skipped at the warmth of her flesh against my own. She felt like silk, and it didn’t help when she ran her thumb across the back of my hand, exploring. “Strong grip; I love that.”
“T-thank you. Um, Maya Bishop. My name, I mean. I’m Maya Bishop.” I could have kicked myself. Who was this blundering idiot, reduced to mush with the simplest of touch? That wasn’t me.
“Maya…” She sounded my name out, letting the word roll around on her tongue. My name had never been spoken so sultry in my life. In truth, I would give anything to hear what it sounded like on her lips while in bed, but the possibility of that had diminished even further as the reality of who was standing in front of me took hold.
I cleared my throat, grasping at anything I could to sound less like a fool. Thank God she couldn’t see the way my face burned. “You are incredibly talented.”
The shorter woman beside Carina smirked, “È arrossita. Penso che tu le piaccia [She blushed. I think she likes you].”
Carina’s fingers tightened on my own. I hadn’t even realized we were still holding hands. I knew I should probably let her go, but no part of me wanted to. Thankfully, Carina didn’t seem to mind. If anything, her bright smile only grew.
“Che aspetto ha [What does she look like]? Thank you, Maya. That’s sweet of you.”
“Bionda e muscolosa e non riesce a smettere di fissarti [Blonde and muscular and can't stop staring at you].” She shrugged. “Sexy.”
Up until that point, I hadn’t been able to decipher a single word. Never in my life had I kicked myself harder for not picking up a second language. ‘Sexy? She… Oh, god, are they talking about me?’
Carina wet her lip, her pink tongue darting out just enough to make me bite back a groan. I couldn’t help but watch it track before disappearing into her mouth again. My mouth was incredibly dry. I had in fact turned into a desert.
“So, Maya–” She enunciated both syllables, drawing them out. “Are you going to be here for a while?”
“Uh, y-yeah. Yes, I’m going to be here for a little while. My friend is, um, she’s–” I glanced around the room, desperately trying to locate Andy. “I have no idea where she is anymore. I’m here with a friend.”
Carina hummed, letting go of my hand. I instantly felt cold without it. “I have to speak to someone, but I would like to speak to you again. Would that be good, no?”
“No, I mean, yes! Yes, I would love to speak to you again.”
“Aww, adorabile. Se non la porti a casa tu, lo farò io [Aww, adorable. If you don't take it home, I will].”
Whatever the woman had said must have irritated Carina if the way her head snapped towards the woman was any indication. Her brow crinkled, but the woman only laughed. They were definitely familiar with each other. ‘Old girlfriends, maybe? Fuckin’ lucky bitch…’ I dropped my gaze and took another drink, desperately trying to hide my wince. Why did they have to serve shit alcohol at these things?
“I’ll have Gabriella come find you when I’ve done a sufficient amount of ass kissing. Enjoy yourself, Maya Bishop.” Carina’s smirk was back, and she was already letting the woman, Gabriella, guide her away into the crowd.
I watched her go, unable to stop myself. She practically floated through the room, hips swaying. My head tipped subconsciously to the side as I stared at her ass. Her slacks hugged her every curve, and my mouth watered. I was fucked. Completely and totally fucked.
The paintings became filler over the next hour. Every time I would try, my eyes would wander away in search of Carina; I was drawn to her like a magnet. She worked the crowd in a way that oozed confidence and a low vibration of sex appeal without even trying. I was beginning to think that was simply a part of who she was. It was effortless. Maybe I was too American to notice there was another way to present yourself, but Carina wasn’t tied to that ingrained moral code. She was sexy and apparently wildly funny because she had most of her conversational counterparts laughing before she moved onto someone else. Gabriella was always by her side, and I found myself yearning to be that person.
“Bishop!”
For the second time that evening, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Thankfully, there was nothing in front of me to knock over or accidentally pick up. Seething, I rounded on Andy. “God damnit, Herrera! Can you not and say you did?”
She let out a laugh. Clearly, she hadn’t minded the champagne if her eyes were any indication. “I just wanted to let you know that I was headed out. Robert and I are going to go grab some food. So, if you wanna dip, you can totally dip.”
“I, um, I told someone I’d wait for them to come back.” I shifted ever so slightly, turning my attention to the painting in front of me, though staring at the shapely curves of a woman’s ass, even in hyper-coloration, when I now knew the hands that placed the paint, did very little to help diminish the heat coiling up my neck.
Andy chirped and bumped my shoulder with her own. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. So, you might get some bootie after all, and you thought this was gonna be a bust.”
“Shut up.” I straightened my blazer, though I wished I could take it off. The room was suddenly way too hot. “I doubt it’s that kind of thing.”
“Psh… Okeey.” She playfully rolled her eyes. “Well, let me know when you get home so I know no one mugged you or something.”
“Be careful.”
“Oh, Imma be careful alllll nigghht looonngg if you catch my drift.”
“Go away. Get, before he thinks you’re ditching him.” I shoved her towards the door. “And wear a condom.”
“I’m aware of the rules.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You say that now, but don’t think I’ve forgotten about the last pregnancy scare. Or the one before that.”
Andy narrowed her gaze as she walked backwards, motioning with her fingers that she was watching me. I had learned years ago that it was her tell when I cornered her. I waved with only my fingers, earning me a middle finger in response.
“Maya?”
I spun around to see the brunette who had accompanied Carina earlier. She was smirking. Normally, it took a fair bit to intimidate me. I grew up in a rather unhealthy household, but the woman in front of me oozed with an air of confidence I hadn’t garnered.
“Carina’s ready if you are, bella.”
I gulped but did my best to disguise it by clearing my throat. “Lead the way.”