Page 8 of Colors and Curves
Chance looks up at me and whines. Okay. Time to get this over with. It’s probably not her anyway, and I can put all this stupid shit behind me and go hide in my studio… like the miserable bastard I am.
Maybe I don’t want to be miserable anymore.
“Come on, buddy. We need to make this quick.” Chance walks ahead of me, his nose held high, smelling everything in sight. I tug on the leash as we get closer to the gallery. If it is her, I don’t want her or Daisy to see me. I bend down to pick up Chance, and he licks my cheek several times. To quote the maybe Skylar,this is fucking ridiculous. A couple more steps, and I’m at the edge of the gallery window.
There’s Daisy, sitting alone at a desk facing away from the window. Good. And then another woman comes into view, approaching Daisy with a cup in hand. Probably an espresso—Daisy drinks that stuff like water. As long as it’s not alcohol, I don’t care what she drinks.
Suddenly, Chance starts barking and struggling to get out of my arms. Shit! Itisthe woman from yesterday. My stomach clenches and my pulse pounds in my ears. He recognizes her too. I retreat quickly, feeling excited, not disappointed. Now what do I do?
I start walking. Aimlessly. I should be in my fucking studio, working on my next project. Focusing only on work. Not sweating my ass off out here, trying to come to terms with what’s bugging me. Skylar is my problem. I don’t have time for her.
Daisy, Chance, and my career are my only priorities. There’s no room for anyone else. Not even this beautiful stranger who put me in my place yesterday. Why is she so special?
Honestly, it’s killing me that I can’t see her the way she truly is.
The way most people see her.
In color.
“Chill out. I’m coming.”
It’s about time. After knocking on this door three times already, I was about to give up. The door swings open, and Cameron stands there in pink boxer shorts. It’s one in the afternoon.
“Julius?” He looks over his shoulder, then down at his half-naked body. “Th–This is a surprise.” He moves to the side and motions for me to come in.
“Do you always answer your door in boxers? Your doorbell doesn’t work, by the way.”
“I know. If I knew you were coming, I would’ve at least put on a shirt.”
Cameron is going for his master’s in photography and assists me sometimes when I need an extra person for one of my shoots. He also runs special errands for me once in a while when I’m in a bind.
I step inside, and it’s all I can do to keep from cringing. Not so much because of what I’m seeing, but because of what it reminds me of. Memories of my past flash before my eyes, almost knocking me over. With a deep breath, I move forward and push the past back in its black box where it belongs.
His small studio apartment looks like it hasn’t been cleaned or renovated in years. The condition of the building when I walked in should’ve alerted me to that, but for some reason I’m surprised. The kitchen is about the size of my walk-in closet. A battered table and two chairs stand in the middle. The appliances look like they’re older than I am. The chipped sink is filled with dishes. The linoleum is faded and cracked.
The back of my neck feels itchy because my thoughts want to travel somewhere else. Somewhere I don’t want to go.Find something to focus on.
Cameron clears his throat. “Is everything okay? Can I get you something to drink?”
My muscles jerk a little bit. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
He props his hand on his hip. “Julius, you’veneverbeen to my apartment. I didn’t even think you knew where I lived. I would’ve cleaned if I knew you were coming.”
“Well, now you know.” My eyes scan the cramped living space again. “How long have you been living here?”
“Since I started graduate school. Look, I know this place is a dump, but it’s all I can afford. I want to live in the city, so it’s just something I have to deal with.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “I guess.”
Cameron has been working for me for over a year, and I never knew that he was living in a place that looks like it could fall apart at any moment.Because you only think about yourself.When he shows up for work, he always looks like he came straight from the dry cleaner—crisp button-down shirt with pressed slacks. His black shoes look like he polishes them every day. Looks can be deceiving.
This place reminds me of my childhood, and it doesn’t feel good. The biggest difference is that he doesn’t seem to care. I cared, but it wasn’t my choice. I was a kid. It’s hard to believe someone with ambitions like Cameron has, has to live like this. Actually, no one should have to.
There’s a pile of clothes on a chair in the corner. He walks over, grabs a pair of jeans off the top, and proceeds to put them on. “So what’s up? I have class in an hour.”
“Do you have plans tomorrow night?”
“Nothing major. Just hangin’ with my boyfriend. Why?”