Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Wow. It’s incredible.” Colby glanced over to the little sign hanging under the artwork. “Unto Eve,” he read. “What does that mean?”
I laughed. “I have no idea. I’m guessing it’s some biblical reference to Eve from Adam and Eve.”
“What was it originally called?”
“I refer to it as The Peak Before Pleasure. In my head, the pose encapsulates the moment before an orgasm hits.”
Colby looked back at the painting. He studied the woman for a long time, and then he swallowed. “It’s really beautiful, Billie. It causes a stir inside when I look at it.”
I bumped my shoulder with his and lowered my voice. “A stir, huh? You want to know a secret?”
“Absolutely.”
“I took a naked photo of myself in that position to use as a reference for the arch of the woman’s back. I used the self-timer on my iPhone.”
Colby’s eyes dropped to my lips. “You still got that photo on your phone?”
I flashed an evil grin. “Maybe…”
He groaned. “You’re killing me, woman.”
It took us an hour to finish looking at all the art. When we were done, I needed to use the restroom, so I excused myself.
I found Colby studying Unto Eve again when I returned. He had two glasses of champagne in his hands and a piece of thick cardstock.
“A woman came by and asked if I wanted another glass of champagne,” he said. “So I got us each one.”
“Oh great. Thanks.”
He held up the card. “She gave me this, too. What is it? The ID numbers of all the paintings or something?”
I smiled. “That’s the price list.”
He’d just sipped his champagne and started to cough. “The price list?” He lifted the card closer to his face and scanned it. “Are they missing the decimal point that separates the dollars from the change?”
I chuckled. “No. My mother would never use change. She finds using a dollar sign tacky and appalling. That’s why there are only numbers printed.”
Colby pointed to the painting in front of us. “So that’s eleven-thousand-five-hundred dollars if I want to buy it?”
I shook my head. “Actually, you can’t buy it.” I pointed to the small colored sticker on the placard. “It looks like it sold already.”
“For eleven grand?”
He glanced around at my other pieces nearby. Most of them had stickers now as well. “Holy shit. You just made half my annual salary in an hour.”
I smiled, feeling a little embarrassed. “It’s not always this way. But now you probably think I’m an idiot for not following the path my mother would prefer.”
“That’s not what I was thinking at all.” He looked around. “I was just wondering if the guy who bought this piece is still here. I feel like kicking his ass because he’s going to have a painting on his wall that’s based on your nude body. And my other thought was…” He grinned. “I got me a sugar momma.”
I snort-laughed. “You’re demented, Lennon.”
After the show ended, Colby asked if I wanted to take a walk. My mother’s gallery was downtown, and it was a nice night, so he suggested we go over to the pedestrian entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge.
I looked up as we started across. “You know, I’ve lived here my entire life and never walked on this thing.”
“Really? How come?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I never paid any attention to bridges before. They were just kind of a means to get off the island of Manhattan.”
Colby gripped his chest. “Oh, that hurts. These things are works of art.”
I looked up at all the suspension wires and the twinkling lights at the top. “It is really pretty.”
Colby slipped his hand next to mine and casually weaved our fingers together. When I looked over, he held up his other hand. “I hold Saylor’s hand when we walk all the time. So don’t read into it too much. I’m well aware it’s not a date.”
I laughed. “It’s fine.”
“Good, because it felt wrong to be walking next to you right now and not be holding your hand.”
I smiled. Holding his hand actually did feel right. And I tried not to let that thought freak me out by changing the subject. “So, what random trivia do you have for me about this architectural splendor, Mr. Bridge Aficionado?”
He held up a finger. “Ah. I thought you’d never ask.”
For the next hour, as we walked from one borough to the next and back, Colby told me story after story about the Brooklyn Bridge—how PT Barnum once walked twenty-one elephants across to show the people of New York that it was safe, and every name the bridge had been called since it was built. If someone had asked if I found bridge facts interesting a month ago, I would have thought they were nuts. Yet I hung on Colby’s every word. However, I think that had less to do with the bridges and more to do with the man.