Dirty Bad Savage(83)
I smiled at the ceiling, arching my back as his tongue found the spot.
“Something like that...”
***
Chapter Sixteen
Callum
I scanned the crowd, hands wringing, knuckles fucking white. I’d been here all afternoon, Raven too, helping with the display. Now it was open doors, and Sophie was the only thing on my mind.
“She’ll be here, baby.” Raven squeezed my arm, guiding me back towards my exhibit and away from the gathering media. “Trust me, she’ll be here.”
“That’s her old man over there, ain’t it?” I tipped my head in his direction. The guy was just like I’d imagined, all posh suits and comb-over hair. He was smiling for photos, standing right in front of the Hardings Property logo.
“That’s him, yeah.”
“He’s gonna fucking hate me.”
“It doesn’t matter if he does, kid. His loss.”
Sure wished I felt like that. I saw Adrian, the gallery guy, give me a nod as he showed off my artwork. People were looking, and they were smiling. Smiling at me. It felt so fucking weird.
Raven nudged me. “Incoming.”
I turned around to catch Green Eyes on the approach, fingers gripped around the arm of the huge beast at her side. Couldn’t fucking be, surely not. He looked so fucking different without the mask on, all suited and booted with a big fucking smile on his face.
“They’re here for me?”
“Not just them,” Raven smiled. Behind Masque and Cat were a load more from Explicit. Diva, and Trixie and Ash, and others I didn’t know.
And then there was Sophie. My Sophie. She was hidden amongst the crowd, nervous eyes looking for me. They found me and she smiled. A smile of pride and love and everything else I ever wanted. She looked so fucking pretty, in a real posh frock, she was, sparkly and dark green. Really suited her.
She reached my side at the same time as the Urban Life journalist, a trendy woman in her forties, with thick-rimmed glasses and a microphone ready to shove in my face.
“You’re new on the scene, Mr Jackson, please tell me what inspires your art.”
“Life,” I said. “Its love and its pain. Its heart, ya know?”
I thought of Casey’s waggy tail, and all the love she brought me, turning to look at the picture of her high up on the wall. I’d painted it weeks ago, one of my favourites. The picture was choppy and careless, catching her in her best light, jumping up at my legs as I tried to paint, wanting to run and play and wrestle about on the floor.
“And your loves, Mr Jackson? Do you have a special someone in particular?”
I saw Sophie’s dad in the crowd and bit my tongue. Sophie didn’t bite hers, though. She stepped forward, bold and steadfast, snaking her hand through my arm and resting her head against my shoulder.
The journalist turned her attention to Sophie, shoving the microphone in her face instead.
“Are you the artist’s muse?” she asked.
“One of them,” Sophie smiled. “The human one. We have a dog, too, Casey. She’s the model on the wall up there.”
Sophie’s parents came rushing forwards on sight of her, honing in on the conversation with horror on their faces. She didn’t flinch, not for a second, meeting her dad’s glare with her head held high.
“Can we have a picture of you together? For the magazine?”
Sophie smiled and pressed herself right against me for the whole world to see.
“I’m Sophie Harding, of Harding’s Property,” she said. “Callum Jackson’s very proud girlfriend.”
The look on Mr Harding’s face told me he wasn’t sharing the fucking sentiment, but Sophie didn’t seem to care. Not one fucking bit.
***
Epilogue
Sophie
“Honey, I’m home.” I grinned as I closed the door behind me, then waited for it. I was ready for Casey’s assault, crouching down so she could cover me in doggy kisses while I threw aside my ID badge and all the other work shit.
Callum smiled at me from across the living room, and in his eyes there was still a hint of savage, not that most people would see it these days. His new jeans fitted him like a glove, hugging his toned arse like they’d been painted on him. Judging by the splotches of paint on his t-shirt there was probably some truth in that.
He stepped back to give me a better view of his canvas. The Sophie he’d painted was glowing, beaming with happiness at the tiny baby in her arms.
“It’s beautiful...” I whispered. “You’re so bloody good, Callum. I hope you realise just how talented you are.”
“Love painting in this place,” he said. “I’m so happy here, Soph.”