“Who said I was talking about the painting?”
I gag. “Oh, God, I’m choking on cheesiness.”
He tickles me and I leap to my feet, running around the studio until we’re both flecked with paint. Then he grabs my shoulders and shoves me up against the wall. Our bodies press close together, fusing. Our kiss is like coming home.
I love him. I actually think I love him.
I haven’t said it yet, though. I’m the queen of not saying really important things. Who I am. Where I’m from. What is living inside of me in this very moment.
He presses his lips to my cheek, tracing up to my forehead. “Come to Sole Nero with me tonight,” he whispers. “We’ll f**k in the booth again, but this time in the raised one above the dance floor. We’ll be able to hear them all on the other side of the door. We’ll f**k un
