A Different Blue(137)

stop until our toes were almost touching.

“If we're talking about the sculpture, fine. I see desire and belonging and love without space.

” I said the words like I was a guide at an art museum, putting emphasis on the word space.

“What do I feel? Well, that's easy. I've been at work all day. I'm tired, Wilson. And I'm

hungry. And I don't like Pamela. There. That's what I feel. How about you?”

Wilson looked at me like he wanted to shake me until my teeth rattled. Then he just shook his

head and walked to the door. “I'm sorry I asked, Blue,” he sighed. He sounded weary and

resigned, like one of those TV dads just trying to tolerate his teen-aged daughter. “Goodnight,

Blue.”

I was too confused and befuddled to even respond. He walked out of my apartment without another

word.





Chapter Twenty-Five





I spent a ridiculously long time curling my hair. When I finished, it hung in shiny dark waves

down my back. I took great care applying dramatic makeup, more than I'd worn in months. I

thought it suitable for an artist at her first exhibit. I had splurged on a cocktail dress that

would highlight my eyes, and the electric blue was exactly the same shade. It hadn't been very

expensive, but I was crossing my fingers that it didn't look cheap. It had small cap sleeves and

a high neckline, but it draped lower in the back, almost to my waist. It skimmed my curves

without being too tight or suggestive, and it ended just above the knee. I found a pair of

high-heeled sandals to match. I thought I looked pretty good and squealed a little when I was

ready. I looked grown up and alluring but sophisticated too, like Tiffa. I waited just inside my

door, listening for Wilson to leave his apartment. If he and Pamela were meeting her parents for

dinner, he would be leaving soon. I didn't have to wait long. Wilson strolled out of his flat

and started down the stairs at exactly 6:30.

I calmly locked my door and walked toward the front door, just like I planned, reaching the base

of the staircase before Wilson did. He was scrolling through his phone, but when he heard the

click of my heels, he glanced up and his eyes widened. I tried not to smile. I had desperately

wanted that reaction. He could think about me the whole time he was out with Pamela. I hoped he

had a rotten time. His eyes traveled up and down the length of me and seemed to get stuck on my

legs. It was all I could do to not giggle. I cleared my throat instead. His eyes snapped up to

mine and he glowered at me. Wait. That wasn't what I wanted. Blushing, stammering, compliments

– all of that was good. Glowering looks were not part of the plan.

“Where are you off to?” His voice sounded funny. Almost angry.

“Out,” I said lightly.

“I see.” Wilson's expression was indecipherable. “That frock's a bit short.”

“Really?” I laughed, incredulous. I looked down at the hem that really wasn't very short.

“And why exactly do you care how short my skirt is?”

“I don't,” Wilson replied brusquely. He definitely did. Maybe he was jealous. That was a good

thing. A very good thing. I shrugged and walked past him toward the door. My hair brushed

against the bare skin of my back. Wilson cursed.

“Bugger! So it all starts again, does it?” Wilson bit out behind me. I froze. Pain lanced