Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
“I’m sure it is,” I reply, already knowing full well that it is. My friend Stella runs the gallery, and nothing inside is priced less than a million dollars. It might not be worth that much, but people buy it because Stella tells them it’s worth it.
I wanted September from the moment she breezed into my class. She was six minutes late, so of course, I noticed her. She came into my studio on a cloud of perfume that made me instantly hard. She was tripping and not paying attention to anything but her bag, so I doubt she noticed anything going on around her. The university frowns upon TAs dating students because we grade papers, but we are both students at the end of the day. It never once crossed my mind before the day I met her. I could only stare at it when I walked up behind her while she was lost in her painting. I was mesmerized by it—the lines, the colors. I could even feel her energy while she was painting. As much as I love art and the fundamentals of it, I’ve never felt anything like that when looking at someone else’s work, not even the masters. With my own, I feel connected in a way that can’t accurately be described in words. It’s a feeling.
With September, it was only a matter of time before I broke down and asked her to join me for a walking tour followed by dinner. I didn’t even make it through the first fucking week. We are walking around Chelsea, New York’s Art District. It’s still about seventy degrees, so it’s not too hot.
“Can I take you out on a date?”
“Isn’t this a date?” she asks sweetly. She’s currently eating a hot dog from a vendor we just passed. I’m trying not to be turned on or jealous of a freaking hot dog, but it’s hard.
“It can be.”
“That’s really up to you.”
“It’s a date.” My response is firm. I want her to be mine.
“Good,” she says, smiling at me.
Before stopping at my friend Adora's jewelry store, I take her to a few galleries and stores. She lights up when she looks around, and I watch as her eyes linger on certain pieces. It’s easy to know which ones she likes best.
“She’s young, Trev,” Adora says, standing beside me. She’s in her late forties. We met at a trade show a few years ago. She’s more of a friend of my mother’s at this point, but she’s nice and has many contacts in the art world.
“Not that young,” I say, not telling her how exactly I know her.
“She’s probably after your money. Be careful.”
Somehow, I doubt that. Everything about her screams elegance and class. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard my sister and mother say that the brand of handbag she’s carrying costs upwards of three thousand dollars and even I know about the red bottom shoes she has on.
When we leave the store, it’s raining, so instead of walking her back, I grab a cab back to the dorm. I know I’m not ready to leave her yet, but I also know a quick fuck would never be enough. She’s going to be my wife. I knew it the moment I saw her.
Chapter Three
September
Tonight was wonderful. I have never had so much fun or felt so seen. Trevor was attentive, open, talkative, and genuinely interested in what I had to say. We spent that day in the art district, going from booth to booth and store to store, taking in the different ways people express themselves. I found so much inspiration, and being there made me feel better about my own work.
At one point, we went into this artisan jewelry store where the designer was a nice woman who found her inspiration from nature. She used sustainable materials, wood, and repurposed plastic, and she even has some made out of paper, but hardened and colored and then cut out in shapes and such. It was all so beautiful, and you could see the passion in her work.
Walking through her gallery, I found myself in awe. She and I chatted, and Trevor simply gave me the space to talk without trying to take over or be the center of attention—so different from what I am used to. She pulled a few pieces from the case and let me try them on. I felt beautiful in her pieces, but I didn’t bring money with me. I fully intended to come back and purchase a ton of stuff.
I excused myself to go to the ladies' room, and when I came back out, Trevor asked if I was ready to go. I told him yes, said goodnight to Adora, the shop owner, and walked out with him. That was our last stop before he dropped me off at the dorm.