“She is giving! She organized the Halloween candy collection for the packages too,” added Fran.
“Fran, enough. You’ll embarrass me,” said Claire.
“I’m just making sure he knows what he has, dear. You’re much too modest.”
“I agree,” I said, tapping Claire on the shoulder. “I’m always telling her she needs to stop giving away her artwork and start selling it.” I wasn’t positive she gave things away, but it seemed like a good bet.
“Exactly!” Fran nodded excitedly. “I tell her that all the time. She gave me this beautiful little painting of a magnolia tree after I had to cut mine down, and I cherish it. You have to work on her, Theo. Get her to see how talented she is.”
“I’ll try,” I said, smiling over at Claire, who looked like she wanted to disappear, but not before gouging my leg with her butter knife.
But once it was apparent no one suspected anything strange about our relationship, Claire relaxed a bit, sitting back in her chair, smiling more readily, laughing more naturally.
I loved her laugh. It was bubbly and girlish, and it made me want to pick her up, put her in my pocket, and carry her around with me just so I could hear it all the time.
She didn’t have an unkind or gossipy thing to say about anyone, and it was clear she was as good a teacher as she was an artist. Her friends at the table praised her creativity, her caring nature with students, her dedication to her job. She blushed prettily and brushed off the compliments, saying she just loved what she did, that’s all.
So fucking sweet.
Yeah, she is. Which is why she’d never be interested in someone like you—a drifter with a criminal record, a questionable moral compass, and a history of bolting. So don’t even think about it.
The voice in my head was right—beyond sex, I had nothing to offer a girl like Claire, and I didn’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend.
But why the hell hadn’t some nice guy with a good job, a good heart, and good genetics swept Claire off her feet already? Built her up? Made her fall in love? She was beautiful and talented and kind. It baffled me that she was still single and didn’t want to be. Something wasn’t right.
I thought about it all through dinner and dessert. I had plenty of time, since when I was with a client, I liked to let her take the lead. If someone asked me a question directly, I responded, but all inquiries pertaining to the relationship, I artfully deflected to Claire, who seemed to be enjoying the act, now that she’d relaxed. She even impressed me with her performance, answering questions without hesitation, providing cute little anecdotes about us, saying nice things about me at every opportunity.
Well, the fake me, anyway.
“We met at the art gallery where I work, but we really bonded over Italian food. Theo is a fantastic cook.”
A fantastic cook? I could boil water. Push buttons on the microwave. Order pizza. That was about it.
“He had blond hair when we met, isn’t that crazy? He’s like me, likes to change things up every now and then. And he looks great no matter what.”
I actually look fucking terrible with blond hair, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“When I found out he played the ukulele, I thought it was so cute! And he has a great voice.”
What the fuck? The ukulele?
“Oh, I love the ukulele,” gushed Fran. “And he sings to you too, Claire?”
“All the time.” Claire’s eyes sparkled as she patted me on the leg. “He’s amazing. I’m so lucky.”
She looked so happy I felt horrible that the me she described didn’t exist.
Without thinking, I leaned over and did something I’d never done to a client—I kissed her cheek. It was warm and soft beneath my lips, and I hated that it was the only time my lips would touch her skin. What I wouldn’t give for just a taste of her.
Claire was delighted. “Shall we dance, sweetheart?”
“As you wish,” I said, making her smile even wider.
Rising to my feet, I offered her my hand. She took it, and I led her to the dance floor, where the band was playing an old Sinatra ballad. Claire went into my arms so easily, and fit there so naturally, it made me feel off balance. Off rhythm. I made sure to keep her at a slight distance, holding her a little closer than I’d hold another client, perhaps, but not allowing the lengths of our bodies to touch. She was off limits for way too many reasons, and I didn’t want to give my dick any reason to think otherwise.
But God have mercy, she smelled good.
“Theo, this is so fun!” she said in a loud whisper, tipping her head back to look up at me. “I can’t believe I was so nervous about it. We totally have them thinking it’s real.”
There is something real here—the way I want you. I forced myself to smile. “You’re a much better actress than you led me to believe. You don’t give yourself enough credit for anything.”
“Hey.” Her brow furrowed. “No scolding me. I still have at least twenty minutes of Nice Theo left.”
“I’m not scolding. I’m encouraging. Because I don’t understand why someone as talented as you doesn’t sell her artwork somewhere. Or at least display it.”
She sighed and looked away from me. “I’m waiting until I create just the right piece to submit somewhere.”
“Are you working on it now?”
“No. I don’t have the right inspiration yet.”