Midnight Muse

“Yes, are you?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, finally looking at me, his jade eyes shining with pride. “I think I am.”

CHAPTER 22

KNOX

The exhibition is in full swing.

Silvio started the night with a speech, gushing over how long he’s been wanting to showcase my art. I’ve been working endlessly on these images, since I figured I should hone in my drawing skills as the dream of becoming a tattoo apprentice stretches further from me.

I wanted to duck my head at all of the attention when I took the floor, but when I met Quinn’s soft hazel eyes through the crowd, the rest of the room seemed to disappear. The overhead lighting shining down on my work was also shining down on her, her blonde hair a golden glow and her encouraging gaze giving me the confidence I needed to continue. The words rolled easily off of my tongue, even if I don’t remember exactly what I said because I was distracted by her beauty.

The conversation is loud and the guests seem to be enjoying themselves, a couple admiring the strokes of charcoal streaked across canvas, the harrowing drawings I’ve made come to life. I can see the way it resonates with people; they may not know my story personally, but each of us carry hurt in our hearts, and they’re witnessing mine, something I would have never thought I’d be able to share.

A few times I’ve found myself looking for Quinn and caught her staring at the centerpiece of my exhibition, her intense gaze watching it with a predatory glint as if she’s protective over it. I can tell it’s her favorite and I find myself wanting to ask her why she seems so drawn to it.

Instead, I watch her monitor the patrons ogling and commenting, the beauty of her sharp gaze.

It isn’t lost on me how she hasn’t left my side all night, as if she somehow knows that I need her near me. Her familiarity makes me less nervous around this many strangers who I’ve allowed to come and judge not only my art, but my life, my hands.

I don’t have to ask her. The brush of the skirt of her dress against the leg of my pant or the whisper of her bare arm against mine is more than enough. My fingers itch to reach out and cling tightly to hers. I keep a firm hold on the stem of my champagne glass, not a single drop of its contents gone.

It’s the same one I hand Quinn when she downs hers during her glaring contest with the guest currently standing a little too close to one of my pieces.

I hate feeling so exposed like this, their eyes on me as they flicker from the drawings to where I walk, slowly winding my own way through the exhibition. I’ve seen it so many times, lived it, but trying to allow the uncomfortable to become comfortable makes me uneasy.

But I’m trying.

The night is slowly winding down, which is perfect because I’m exhausted from playing host. Tired of fake-smiling and laughing at shitty jokes, tired of people staring at my hands, staring at Quinn, all pretty in her dress. I want to kick everyone out and then kick myself for missing her reaction to every picture hung in this gallery. I should’ve been there to see if her responses to my other work was as exquisite as the one she gave when she was admiring the centerpiece.

I feel like a circus animal here, so vulnerable with the spotlight on me. People see me as a strong, confident, brooding man most of the time, not to be fucked with. But it’s not who I used to be, not before the accident. There was a time where I smiled more, was extroverted, even, when Slate, Ace, and I would wreak havoc across the university grounds. We’d stay out until the sun came up and party until we couldn’t see straight.

Ever since that fucking night when my entire world changed, I haven’t been the same.

I haven’t been that naïve, carefree boy in a long time.

The man before me is talking numbers for one of my pieces. It doesn’t sound remotely close to what I want for it, so I peek over at Quinn again to distract myself while he rambles on and my heart stutters in my chest. She’s peering down into her champagne glass with a soft smile on her face. Her cheeks are a perfect rose color from the alcohol and a strand of her long, blonde hair hangs down, calling to me.

I want to reach out and brush it behind her ear, to feel the warmth of her cheeks against my skin, to have her prefect eyes on me again.

I can’t look away from her. We’ve come a long way since the night we met, and just like my exhibition, we’ve managed to find a way to let go of the old and accept this new start. Yes, most of our interactions since have felt forced, but somewhere along the lines I think I found myself trying to annoy her so that her attention would be on me.

I always want it on me.

What Rory said when I freaked out about finding Quinn in my bed rings in my head. You like Quinn, don’t you?

I do. I really fucking do.

The longer she’s looking away from me, the more nervous I become. I want to talk to her. I want to figure out the unknown draw to her I feel when she’s around. I want to be able to see the world through her eyes, hear her thoughts about each piece even if it takes all fucking night. I won’t be able to sleep, anyway.

“Sure,” I respond lamely to the man who is still babbling, complimenting my work as if that will get me to agree to his offer. Some sort of art connoisseur, he claimed. He told me that he could see the next big thing before it happened and that I’m going to shoot up the ladder fast, that he has to have one of my pieces. “Let Silvio know that I accept. He will draw up the paperwork for you.”

I don’t shake the man’s hand. I don’t shake anyone’s hand, but I do place it gently on Quinn’s lower back to gain her attention. There are those stunning eyes, finding mine so fast that I feel it in my bones, the electricity that comes with it. Those eyes make me weak. They can tear me down with a single glance—and have before. They break through my walls too easily, so quickly that my only defense against it is to pretend I don’t want anything to do with her at all. To piss her off and annoy her so that she can’t see what I truly desire.

I answer her questioning look with a nod of my head. I need to offer my thanks to those attending, even more so for the ones that have purchased my artwork, and after that, the gallery will close and the night will come to an end.

I don’t want it to.