A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(41)

As if he didn’t know.

“Funny coincidence.” He returns his attention to the painting, quietly studying it before he takes a step forward to read the information card posted next to it. “Hmm. Interesting. This one’s called Two Pussies.”

“No.” I move toward the painting, shoving past him to read that the name of the painting is…

Two Pussies.

He’s chuckling when I turn to face him, my shock obvious, I’m sure. “I can’t believe it’s called that.”

“Oh, I can. Isn’t art supposed to be stimulating?”

I stare at him in disbelief. I also still can’t believe he’s here. Standing in front of me. He looks so good, dressed in jeans and a charcoal gray sweater, with a black jacket over it. Nike Blazers on his feet and a beanie on his head, which he tugs off and shoves in his coat pocket, leaving his hair in complete disarray.

I’m tempted to straighten it for him. Run my fingers through it. See if it’s as soft as it looks.

“Why do you think I like this piece?” I ask him.

“Because you keep coming back to it.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to see you return to this particular painting three times already.” He takes a step closer, his voice lowering. “Just buy it, Birdy. You know you want it.”

His words sizzle through my blood and I turn away so my back is to him, my gaze on the painting once more. “It’s the green that I like the most. It’s so deep.”

“Is green your favorite color?”

I feel him take a step closer, his body heat seeping into me. I keep myself rigid so I don’t touch him, even though I want to. “No. I like pink. Or red.” I hesitate before I ask, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.” He leans in, his mouth so close to my ear, just like I imagined last night. “Like your eyes.”

My legs shake and I lock my knees, tilting my head down as I try to catch my breath. What is he trying to say?

What is he trying to do?

“Are you going to buy it?” He’s so close, his breath wafts across my ear. My neck. I lift my head to meet his intense gaze, my mouth going dry the longer we study each other. “You should. Your gut is telling you it’s the one.”

I press my lips together, afraid I might blurt out something stupid like how my gut is suddenly telling me he’s the one.

But I keep quiet, swallowing the words that want to burst from my mouth.

“Let’s walk around the gallery one more time,” I suggest. “I want to really make sure this is the piece that I want.”

“Don’t you ever do anything impulsive, Birdy?” His tone is soft. Almost suggestive.

“No. Not really.”

“You should try it sometime.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes, doing something without thinking can be liberating.”

I don’t know what it’s like, to be liberated. To feel free. It’s a foreign concept. I’m told what to do, where to do it, and when I should. My entire life, I’ve been completely controlled.

“Art makes me feel free,” I tell him.

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to explain.” My gaze returns yet again to the painting. “Looking at this makes me feel like I could be a different person. Like maybe I’m the girl lying on the floor, wishing her cat would come closer so she could pet her.”

Crew chuckles. “You think that’s the message the artist is trying to convey?”

“I don’t know what she’s trying to say, but that’s what I see. Frustration. She just wants to be loved. Isn’t that what we all want?” I glance over at him.

He says nothing, but the look on his face speaks volumes.

“We all have different reactions to art,” I continue. “That’s what makes it so wonderful. It’s not just one thing. It’s so many things. A million ideas and thoughts and visions.”

Crew stares, his gaze appreciative, his voice low and rough when he speaks. “I love how passionate you are about art. And beauty.”

I blink at him, surprised by his compliment. “I like pretty things.”

“So do I.” His gaze sweeps over me, as if he’s really taking me in for the first time. “Speaking of pretty things, I like your outfit.”

When his eyes linger on my chest, I don’t even mind. “Thank you.”

“Not what you usually wear.”

I lift my chin. “You only ever see me in a uniform.”

“True.”

“I am trying something different though.”

“I like it.” His smile is small. “Buy the painting.”

I don’t even think when I answer him. “Okay.”

His smile grows. “And after you buy the painting, we can go to lunch.”

“You want to go to lunch with me?” I’m frowning. If we do this, if I go with him, it could change the dynamic between us.

It could change my entire life.

“Yes. Do you want to go to lunch with me?”

My nod is slow, my heart beating heavily. “Yes,” I whisper.

“What do you think of the exhibit, Miss Beaumont?”