Beneath The Skin(21)

“Yeah, well, whatever art you do, make sure it’s more meaningful than what this Nell freak did with her naked censored BDSM lady. What’s it called? ‘Object’ … Okay, yeah. Do somethin’ better than this piece of crap,” he says with a smirk down at the work of art.

My work of art.

I stand between him and my sculpture defensively, facing him with red-hot fervor. “You wouldn’t know what art is if it grew hands and feet and slapped you right in that smug-ass face of yours.”

“Okay. First, that piece of crap does have hands and feet,” he states with a smirking, tilted nod at it, “and seeing as it’s cuffed and doesn’t appear to have a pulse, I don’t think it’ll be slapping me in the near future. Secondly,” he adds with a wink, “you are sexy as fuck when you get all angry.”

I take a breath. “If we’re going to stand here debating realness and art and objectification, then I figure the least you owe me is a bit of your unadulterated candor and a little less of your player bullshit.”

It seems my words still do nothing to affect his slick, smooth-talking cockiness. If anything, it strengthens him. He lowers his voice and works his silkiest tone when he says, “Babe, I’m not a player.”

“Babe? I’m not a ‘babe’ on your lady list you can just wrap around your little finger.”

He presses his lips together, tickled. “I wouldn’t call it so little …”

“Your list? Or your finger?”

He snorts. “Alright, alright, alright. You win. We’re gonna be totally straight with one another, then. Out in the open … upfront, direct, honest. That’s what you want?”

I cross my arms and wait in a cool, patient silence.

“Alright.” He claps his hands together, gives them a quick rub, then states, “I’ve been with exactly one girl this past week. One. It was a dancer named …” He squints suddenly. “C-Clara. And …” He clears his throat. “And she was a very sweet girl. A dancer, I might add. Not an artist. Well, an artist on the stage, maybe. Not that I’ve seen her dance. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, things between us were casual, and it’s over. I haven’t even heard from her since, like … you know. The behind-the-privacy-screen thing.”

I shrug. “So?”

A frustrated sort of snort flees from him. “So, I’m not a player. I’m respectable. I treated her like a lady. I mean, well, y’know. Aside from banging her against the wall like a jackhammer so hard, I was probably dislodging bricks. I treated her like a lady, alright?”

I don’t respond to him, my arms still folded and my eyes like needles as I debate whether or not to let this whole thing go. Is it really that big a deal to win this fight? Was it a mistake to bring him here?

The warmth growing between my thighs would suggest it isn’t.

And the heart palpitations his crystalline eyes alone are inspiring within me surely don’t scream “mistake”.

I can’t deny how fucking sexy he is or what he’s doing to me … even if he makes me mad as hell with his juvenile reasoning.

“Is that what this is?” he says suddenly, giving a glance back at the work, then returning his intense gaze to me. “You think I objectify women?”

I glare at him, wordless and fuming.

“So, wait,” he goes on, gripping his temple. “You think I … You think I just take advantage of their bodies and, like …” He sighs, squinting at me with a hundred thoughts. Then, something seems to occur to him, and a smile works onto his face. He drops his hands and begins to circle around the display once again. “Alright. Fine, okay. I ‘objectify women’, you’re implying. Alright, alright …”

I watch him as he slowly stalks around my work of art, as if giving it a new consideration.

“You know,” he blurts suddenly, “I would let you objectify me … if you wanted.”

I lift a questioning eyebrow.

“Yep,” he says, answering some question my eyes apparently asked. He arrives finally at my other side, gently looking up at me with his forehead wrinkled and his dimples pushed out with a cheeky smirk. “I’d let you have your way with me.”

“Would you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I sure would.”

His Texan accent plays as thick as barbeque sauce into those words, and maybe it’s his sudden change in mood—or mine—that inspires my next action. Without thinking, I grab his ass and pull him towards me. He stumbles for a second, his eyes flapping open with surprise, and then he’s inches from my face. Our breath falls upon one another in hot, jagged torrents.