MILF: Wrong Kind of Love Page 7

  Her voice softens and she reaches over to place her hand on top of mine. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Mia, especially not tonight. I was just teasing you about the shriveled up pussy thing.”

  Shaking my head, I will the tears back, swallow down the lump in the back of my throat, and force a smile. “No, you’re right,” I insist. “Maybe not about Gray, but about the rest of it. I’m ready to start living again, and I’m tired of being a recluse. It’s why I came out with you last week, and it’s why we’re going here tonight. I’m finally okay with all of it, and I want to move on.”

  “Good,” she squeezes my hand, “that’s what I want to hear.”

  The rest of the drive we spend listening to music, and she updates me on her love life, which includes so many names I feel like I need to take notes to keep up. We laugh as she tells me about some of her dates gone bad, and I blush as she delves into more details than I need to know about others.

  By the time we pull up to the valet in front of the MEG, I feel confident and poised, and I’ve never been more ready to do anything in my life. Stella turns and looks at me just before climbing out of the car and beams her brightest smile.

  “You’ve got this, sis,” she winks, “and I’m totally right about Gray.”

  I’ve been back in the states a week today, and though the first couple of days were pretty rocky and completely unexpected, I’m finally settling in at my new home. Adam and I get along great, like we always have, though there are times he acts a little distant and withdrawn, which I’ve never noticed before.

  I can’t even imagine what the last year has been like for him, with his parents splitting up, and being there for his mom as she dealt with his dad’s cheating. He always thought he was one of the lucky ones—one of the families that would stay together forever—and to be honest, I thought the same thing. However, now that we’re older, I can remember how his dad would often talk down to his mom when we were kids, and how Adam told me his dad wouldn’t let her work outside the home. I never thought much about it then, but now I realize the guy is just a fucking asshole.

  Mia deserves better than what he gave her, and truth be told, I’m glad he did what he did and is gone. I just wish it would’ve been with someone other than my mom.

  Ever since our run-in after my shower the other day, I’ve only seen her a couple of times in passing, but I haven’t been around the house much either. My days have been filled with gym sessions, planning out my senior course schedule, and filling out internship applications at local banks and investment firms, while during the evenings, I’ve been making a concerted effort to spend time with Jess, trying to figure out if we’ve got anything between us worth saving.

  However, numerous times a day, I find myself thinking about Mia, either playing back the memory of the morning she spilled coffee and I helped clean her leg, or the way she ate up the sight of me in my towel , and especially how fucking sexy she looked when I discovered her painting those erotic portraits. And now that she’s just left for some fancy art show in a dress that looked like it was made specifically for her body, hugging her soft curves in all the right places and enhancing those endless blue eyes, I’ve got another image to add to my Mia the MILF repertoire.

  All of it leaves me with a massive hard-on and a sexual appetite I can’t seem to satisfy no matter how often or how hard I fuck Jess, and even though I get off, I’m still left unsated and frustrated. With each passing day, it becomes more and more evident I need to break things off with Jess, even if nothing ever happens between me and Mia, which it probably won’t. I know she’s attracted to me; her eyes reveal the truth. But I also know she won’t ever act on it, because of Adam. Which is the same reason I keep telling myself I shouldn’t want to either…

  “Is Jess coming over tonight, or is it just the two of us?” Adam asks, almost as if he can hear the thoughts that were just rattling around in my mind. He stands up and picks up the empty beer bottles as I silently scold myself for allowing her to invade my thoughts yet again.

  “Nah, I’ve been over at her place the last few nights and I need a break,” I reply, joining him in cleaning up the mess and then following him downstairs into the kitchen. “Anything you want to do? Bowling? Shoot pool? Or we can hang out here and watch a movie or something?”

  Throwing the trash away, he turns around and I immediately spot the wicked gleam in his eye. “Seeing Aunt Stella reminded me I’ve wanted to get a tattoo for a while now. Wanna go with me to Lynx?”

  “Really?” I ask, truly surprised. Getting a tattoo would’ve been the last thing I expected Adam to say. Of the two of us, he’s definitely always been the more reserved, conservative one. “Shouldn’t you go when she’s working or something? To make sure you’re getting a good artist?”

  “I know she wouldn’t hire anyone that sucks, so I’m cool with whoever.”

  “All right, man.” I chuckle, thinking this night may not be nearly as boring as I thought it would be. “Let me grab my wallet and keys and we can go.”

  An hour and a half later, Adam is shirtless and straddling a chair, presenting his bare back to Jimbo, a huge, tatted-and-pierced bald man I wouldn’t ever want to stumble across in a dark alley…or a well-lit one, for that matter. Apparently, Adam had done more than ‘think about’ getting some ink for a while, as he brought along an intricate drawing of an asymmetric geometric tattoo that I have to admit is pretty bad ass, and seeing how he’s studying to be an architect, it fits him perfectly.

  As Jimbo traces the design onto some paper and then applies the stencil of it onto the skin between Adam’s shoulder blades, I scan the room, simply taking in the overall atmosphere of the place. I’m surprised to see how many people are here, people of all different ages, ethnicities, and walks of life getting either tattoos or piercings, everyone seemingly happy about the physical pain they’re about to endure.

  Even though body art has become such a part of pop culture, I’ve never really considered getting any work done. Not because I’m afraid of the pain, though having a needle inserted into my body over and over again isn’t a big selling point, but because the thought of forever kind of scares me. Nothing is meant to last forever.

  “All right, man, I need you to stay relaxed,” the Mr. Clean lookalike instructs. “There are a lot of straight lines in this, so if you move, the line won’t be straight. You got me?”

  “I got you,” Adam replies with a curt nod before looking forward again. “Let’s do this.”

  The tattoo machine fires up, and the dull buzzing that’s almost been like white noise around the shop is now much louder…meaner-sounding, like a giant, pissed-off bee about to sting you continuously. Then, as he brings the gun to his back and begins to trace the pattern, Adam’s skin immediately begins to turn bright red, partly due to agitation, and the other part from the blood droplets bubbling along the wake of the needle. Yeah, I’m never getting a tattoo.

  Much to his credit, Adam takes it like a champ. All three damn hours of it. I had to get up a few times and walk around, because my back was starting to hurt and it wasn’t even me in the chair. Once he’s finished, Jimbo goes over the aftercare instructions with him as he puts his shirt back on over the saran-wrapped area, but when Adam tries to pay, he’s laughed at.

  “Stella would hang me by my balls if I charged you for work in her studio, boy,” he remarks with a hearty laugh. “I’m just happy you like it.”

  Adam tries to argue, but when Jimbo stands to his full height, which is probably around six-foot-eight, my friend wisely closes his mouth. He does, however, drop the four one-hundred-dollar bills he pulled out of his wallet in the artist’s tip jar.

  “I took up a lot of time in your chair on a busy Friday night. If you won’t charge me, please let me tip you.”

  Jimbo grumbles something I can’t make out, but he doesn’t retrieve the money and throw it at Adam, so I assume that means he accepts it. Instead, he turns to me and points his colorful finger in my direction. “Next
time its your turn, pretty boy.”

  “I appreciate the art, man, but I don’t think it’s for me,” I say respectfully. “There’s nothing I want permanently marked on my body.”

  He crosses his arms across his chest and nods his shiny head like he’s got me all figured out. “When you find your nothing, you’ll know, and you’ll be back.”

  We say one last goodbye to some of the other employees Adam has met through Aunt Stella, and then escape into the muggy summer night. Thankfully, there’s a dive bar located right next door, so we stroll across the parking lot for a cold beer before heading home. I momentarily forget about Adam not having turned twenty-one yet, but like most underage UGA students, he shows the bartender a fake ID when we’re asked.

  As expected, Adam can’t stop talking about how it felt getting the tat and how he already wants to start designing another one. I can tell the adrenaline is still pumping vivaciously through his veins as he chatters ninety miles an hour and his face is glowing with enthusiasm. I sit and listen, like any good friend should, nursing my beer and discretely watching a group of girls from across the bar who’ve been eyeing us up since the moment we walked in.

  When he finally stops for a breath and a drink, I nudge his shoulder. “There’s a group of hotties at your four o’clock that’ve been checking you out. Since you’re feeling so courageous tonight, I definitely think you should get at least one of their numbers.”

  Truthfully, even though a couple of them look like prime one-night-stand material, I’ve got too much shit going on in my head to deal with a chick right now, and for some reason, I feel wrong taking a girl back to Mia’s place, especially just to fuck her and dismiss her. But, I definitely think Adam needs to get laid, and if it’s not tonight, he can at least start working toward that. Somehow throughout this whole divorce, he thinks he has to take on the role of a grownup, I guess to fill the void his dad left, and as someone who cares about him, it’s my job to remind him what being a college student should be about. It’s just not what I want to be about anymore.

  Later in the night, when we return home, I deem the night quite a success. My best friend is now the proud owner of a pimp ass back-piece and the phone number of a long-legged hot blonde. It’s the first time I’ve seen real joy on his face since I’ve been home, and it makes me happy.

  But as I lie down under the cool, crisp sheets to go to sleep, I toss and turn with Jimbo’s words playing on repeat in my head. When you find your nothing, you’ll know, and you’ll be back.

  What is my nothing? How will I know? And why do I even care what the stranger said?

  I don’t have answers to any of those questions, but for some unknown reason, I know he’s right.

  THE INSIDE OF THE GALLERY has been completely transformed into a chic, old-timey circus-themed atmosphere, hence the name of the show, Big Top. With every step we take farther inside, I become more and more mesmerized by the incredible attention to detail that has been put into the planning of this extravagantly-designed and immaculately-prepared event.

  The ceiling is draped with strips of fabric in ruby red and sunny yellow, servers in pale blue ringmaster suits and top hats flit through the crowd offering cocktails and hor d’oeuvres, and the faint music being played through the sound system sounds exactly like what you’d hear at a circus or town fair. It’s almost dream-like, and the best part is it’s pulled off in the precise way to emphasize and highlight the bright and vibrant art on display, not to outshine it.

  “This is extraordinary,” Stella murmurs from behind me as we reach the middle of the room. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Me either,” I agree while scanning the crowd for Jonathan Evans, even though I have no idea what he looks like.

  A giggle falls from my lips as the realization crosses my mind, leaving me unsure of how I go about locating him.

  Then, on cue, my sister smiles and says, “I think I found who you’re looking for.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, twisting at the waist to follow her gaze.

  As soon as I see a crowd of people around a man holding court on the far side of the space, who is pointing at different pieces and explaining something about each of them, I assume she’s correct. Other than the artist—and I’m positive that Sheena Van Wyk is most definitely female—the only other person who would attract a pack of people like that would be the gallery director.

  We begin to make our way toward the small congregation, but before we reach them, the man glances in our direction, and when his eyes meet mine, he stops talking. Excusing himself from the others, he strides confidently toward us with a wide, welcoming smile on his face.

  The first thing I notice about Jonathan Evans is he’s much more handsome than I’d imagined him to be. Dressed in a sleek black tuxedo, he has dark hair, sprinkled with some distinguished gray, which is cut short and stylish. He’s tall and thin, but not skinny, and his black-framed glasses give off a sexy professor vibe. Immediately, I detect a confident and charismatic aura about him I’m sure most people find appealing, myself included. Definitely not what I was expecting.

  “Good evening, ladies. I’m Jonathan Evans, director and co-owner of the Maxwell Evans Gallery.” He bends slightly at the waist in a modified bow, flashing a charming grin. “Ms. Sullivan and Ms. Laughlin, I’m delighted you’re both here tonight. I hope you’ve had a chance to look around a little.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Evans, for extending the invitation.” I reach my hand toward him. “I’m Mia…please just call me Mia, and this is my sister Stella.”

  Taking my hand in his, instead of shaking it, he raises it up to his mouth and kisses the top of my knuckles, all while keeping his striking gray eyes on me, sending a tingling sensation up my spine. “Quite the pleasure, Mia.”

  He then repeats the gesture with Stella before hooking his arms in one of each of ours and leading us to the opposite side of the room. As we make our way across the marble floor, he explains how the showcase process works, answering most of the questions I have.

  “Because we like to go all out with our shows, as you can see for yourself tonight, we typically only host one every four to six weeks. However, occasionally, we’ll slip a small event in between those for new artists.” Pausing, he tips his head and exchanges pleasantries with a few people who walk by, regarding each of them by their first name, and then continues.

  “After the show, all of the pieces on display are left up for seven to ten days during our daytime working hours, and are available for purchase to dealers and the general public. At the end of that timeframe, we usually select one or two of the paintings to remain here for our normal, day-to-day exhibit, which includes work from mainly local artists, but there are a few from out-of-state we keep up as well.”

  We stop walking in front of a giant canvas covered in bright greens and yellows and he releases our arms. “I’m not sure if you’ve thought much about pricing yet, Mia,” he twists to face me, “but that’s something I’d work with you on beforehand. Most galleries keep a fifty percent commission, so that’s something you’ll want to remember when setting the prices. I’ve only seen what you’ve sent via emails, but in my honest professional opinion, you won’t have any problems whatsoever in selling your paintings.”

  “Mr. Evans, I hate to bother you,” a young blonde woman calls out as she hurries toward us, “but Mr. Littleton needs you for a brief moment, and you know how he can become while waiting.”

  “Ah, yes. Ladies, please excuse me,” he says apologetically. “I promise I will be right back.”

  As the two of them walk away, whispering to each other about something, I turn back to Stella. “So, what do you think? I need your complete honesty.”

  “I think you need to fuck that man,” she replies deadpan.

  “Stella!” I chide, a bit tired of her concern for my sex life…or lack thereof. “Shh, someone may hear you, and that’s not what I’m asking!”

  She laughs an evil laugh and res
ts her hand on my shoulder. “Mia, this place is amazing. If he offers to host a show for you, I’d kick your ass if you didn’t accept. In addition, if he tries to sleep with you, I’ll also kick your ass if you don’t oblige.”

  “I’m not sleeping with someone to get ahea—”

  “He’s coming back this way,” she cuts me off in a stern whisper. “I’m going to the little girl’s room and then to mingle. Do this, Mia.”

  Before I can protest, she takes off in the opposite direction, leaving me alone staring at the painting. I swear I’m going to kill her when we get back in the car.

  “I’m very sorry about that,” Mr. Evans says as he sidles up next to me. “Unfortunately in this business, I’m forced to deal with some people who require a special form of coddling.”

  I wave my hand in front of my face as if it’s no big deal. “No worries, Mr. Evans. I was just admiring this exquisite piece here.”

  “Jonathan, please. If we’re going to be working closely together,” I feel him close the gap between us a bit, “then there’s no need for the formality of surnames.”

  With a demure smile, I lift my eyes to meet his and nod in agreement. “Yes, Jonathan. So tell me what the next step is. Your gallery speaks for itself. Although I’m afraid I’m not quite on this level yet, I’d love to hear more about setting something up.”

  “That makes me very happy, and please don’t sell yourself short. From what I’ve seen, your work is magnificent, and I can’t wait to see more.” Reaching out, he grabs both of my hands in his and squeezes them lightly. “How about we meet sometime this week so I can see your full inventory and we can further discuss pricing? We don’t have to do something on this scale, but I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised at the response to your paintings.”

  He leans in even closer, bringing his mouth close to my ear to speak in a low voice. “People will love the erotic and sensual nature of your subjects—they’re stimulating to the senses and captivating to the mind. Be ready to be wanted, Mia. No one will be able to get enough of you.”