The Rules of Dating(54)

I giggled. “What’s with us and painting each other? Do you have a fetish or something?”

“I never knew I did, but it’s definitely become an issue for me. The other day I walked past a kid’s store. There was a Snoopy backpack in the window, and I started to get hard thinking about your tits. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to take my kid shopping anymore because of you.”

I couldn’t stop smiling. “Why don’t you turn that sauce off for a little while? We could go into the living room. I want to sit on your lap and suck your neck some more.”

In two seconds flat, Colby had twisted the knobs on the stove, hoisted me into the air, and carried me to the couch. I laughed the entire way. “Anxious much?”

“Sweetheart, you have no damn idea.”

It didn’t take long before our laughing and fooling around turned into some serious heavy petting. I felt Colby’s hard-on straining through two layers of clothes. It hit against just the right spot between my open legs and felt so damn good. I was seconds away from grinding myself up and down when my cell rang. The ringtone was pretty much the only thing that could have stopped me.

Colby wrenched his mouth from mine. “What is that?”

“It’s from the Wizard of Oz, when the wicked witch is riding her bike in the tornado.”

“Why?”

I sighed. “It’s my mother. Can we pretend my pocket isn’t ringing?”

Colby grinned and squeezed my neck, pulling me back to him without another word. Fifteen seconds later, I was ready to start grinding again when my phone restarted its music. I tried to ignore it, but I really couldn’t.

I pulled away. “I’m sorry. She never calls back when I don’t answer. I should probably get it.”

He nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

I dug the phone from my pocket and swiped. “It’s not a good time, Mom.”

“I was just robbed…” She gasped. “At gunpoint.”

I sat up straight and blinked myself out of the haze of lust I’d been in. “What? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m at the gallery. And no, I’m not okay! He put a gun to my head!”

I jumped off Colby’s lap and looked around for my purse. “Did you call the police?”

“Yes, they’re already here.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief and nodded. “Okay, great.”

“Can you come to the gallery, please? I can use your help.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m leaving right now.”

I hadn’t even swiped my phone off, and Colby already had my purse in his hand and was opening the door to his apartment. “Where are we going?”

“To my mother’s gallery. She was just robbed.”

***

“So your mother said you recently had a showing here at the gallery?” the detective said. He had a small leather flip-up notebook in his hand.

I nodded. “Last weekend.”

Colby and I had arrived at the gallery fifteen minutes ago. My mother seemed to have already shifted from scared to bitchy, which actually brought me some comfort. The masked thief had made off with her wallet, which had less than a hundred bucks cash, but she was currently on the phone canceling all of her credit cards.

The police officer nodded. “And some of the people who came to that show were suspicious?”

My nose wrinkled. “What? No. Why would you say that?”

He pointed over his shoulder with his pencil. “Your mom said that particular night brought a different kind of clientele than she normally has. She seemed pretty certain that the man who came in tonight was also here that evening.”

My eyes widened. “Really? I thought she didn’t get a look at the guy?”

“She didn’t. But she mentioned there were some people with gang affiliations present.” He flipped a page back in his notepad. “One of them named Devin something?”

My jaw hung open. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, why?”

I felt the burn of anger traveling up my face. “Devin is not affiliated with a gang. He’s a well-known tattoo artist and was my mentor for years. I’m sure the people at Bowery Mission, over in Tribeca, will vouch for him since he volunteers there cooking for the homeless three days a week.”

The police officer’s forehead creased as he looked down at his pad again. “What about someone named Lenny Prince?”

I felt like there was fire in my veins. “Lenny is a street artist who was exhibiting the same night Devin was here. The same night I exhibited. His wife is a traffic court judge in Brooklyn. I’m sure she keeps him from breaking into galleries to steal wallets. I hate to tell you, but the only crime either of those men committed was thinking my mother supported their work. You see, my dear mother thinks anyone with tattoos and a lifestyle that doesn’t mimic hers is a hoodlum.” I took a deep breath. “If you really want to know who might want to harm my mother, I’m afraid you’re going to have to interview half of New York City. I’m pretty sure she insults most humans.”

The police officer and I looked over at my mother. She was talking on her cell as she fingered the strand of pearls around her neck. He turned back and folded his notepad. “Thanks for the info.”