Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 7
The man sitting across from me was, inarguably, my best friend in the world but my patience with his bullshit had been gradually wearing thin over the course of the evening.
âLook man, all Iâm saying is that I think you should do it.â
âI already know what you think, Cam.â I calmly took a sip of my beer, annoyed at how shitty it was. âYou havenât shut the fuck up about it all night.â
âDude, fuck you!â He leaned closer to me across the table, his face getting serious. âYou have a major opportunity here and I donât understand why you wonât take it.â
âI donât expect you to understand, man.â
He ran a swift hand through his dark hair. âJust because Iâm not some artsy pretty boy like you doesnât mean I canât understand artistic integrity and shit.â
Cam tried to play it off as sarcasm but I knew this was a touchy subject for him. 25 long years of friendship had made us extremely close, but my more recent success and big bump in socioeconomic status had rocked the foundation of our camaraderie a bit.
âYou know itâs not about that, Cam.â
âSo what the fuck is it about, then?â He raised his hand, signaling our waitress to bring us another round of drinks. âYouâre turning down a quarter of a million dollars because of your pride.â
I sighed, staring down at my foamy beer. âItâs not about pride, man. Itâs about dignity. What the fuck would I look like making some commissioned piece of shit for some rich asshole who
couldnât give a real fuck about my art?â My voice raised a little, making some of the hipsters at the table next to us to sneak a few glances our way.
âI get it man, I do. Itâs just that the Dex I knew five years ago would have sold his left nut for twenty- five Gâs.â He laughed, shaking his head at me.
âThe Dex you knew five years ago was a couch- surfing dickhead who lived off cigarettes and instant noodles.â I thought back to those days somewhat fondly. âI would have sold my left nut for a turkey sandwich.â
Cameron lit up a cigarette, offering it to me after a couple puffs. I declined with a shake of my head. âI canât become a sellout this early in my career, Cam.â I chuckled. âYouâve got to wait a couple more decades for that.â
Seemingly, he got the hint, saying nothing else on the subject. Instead he leaned back in his chair looking behind me, presumably checking out some woman seated at the bar. I didnât even bother to turn around. There was no use. It didnât matter who the hell she was, if her name wasnât Rosaline Reed I couldnât force myself to give a shit about what she looked like.
âStop being a fucking creep, dude.â
âWhat? A man canât look?â Camâs eyes lazily wandered back to me, not even bothering to look ashamed.
I didnât reply. âLetâs get the fuck out of here,â I said, standing up and pulling two twenties out of my pocket. Just enough to cover our shitty beers and a healthy tip for the waitress. âThis place blows. Why the hell did you want us to come here?â
âSome guy at work told me this place was running rampant with hot yuppie girls.â His eyes wandered back toward the bar one more time before we headed towards the door. âAnd he was not wrong.â
Saturdays and Sundays were Rosieâs days off. I never forced her to dry clean my clothes, go pick
up my groceries, or do any of the other ridiculous shit people forced their assistants to do. I also couldnât seem to find it in me to force her into the studio on the weekends either, even though those were still workdays for me. While I couldnât help but crave her calming presence, I hoped she was out exploring Miami, taking full advantage of the amazing culture and history present in the city.
A part of me knew she wasnât, though. I had the feeling she was cooped up in her little
apartment âreading and watching Netflix,â just as she said were her plans before she went home on Friday.
I couldnât quite figure out if I loved or hated that. On one hand, I loved the thought of Rosie, sweet and comfortable, enjoying her innocent entertainment. It made me think about being with her, curled around her sweet, warm body, watching her bright eyes light up as she scanned the pages of her favorite novel.
The other part of me, though, a much larger part, wanted to see her flourish under the
fluorescent lights of the Miami city streets. I longed to see her dancing and laughing and loving, simply reveling in the pleasure of being alive. I wanted to see her brash and infinitely open to the world, and to me.
In the few weeks since our first meeting, Rosie had yet to offer me more than mere glimpses into the inside of her mind. We had conversations, sure, many of them discussing art and life while imparting little nuggets of unexpected wisdom unto each other. And while I could easily
distinguish her true nature, good and pure and beautifully inquisitive, I still knew next to nothing about her, a fact that I was doing my damnedest to change.
I couldnât help but be shocked about my recent revelations. Iâd never felt so strongly about anyone so quickly before. Iâd definitely had my fair share of womenâ some in short bursts of lust, lasting only long enough for a quick fuck, and a few longer, slightly more passionate affairsâ and I appreciated and respected all of them for what they were. Many even proved to be great muses, sources of inspiration that got me through ruts of inactive imagination, but the majority of them were simply a means to an end and the desire to know them as anything other than
temporary flings was almost completely nonexistent.
My interest in Rosie was completely different. While I still desired nothing more than to have her naked and wanting, spread out under me, the desire to know her and have her know me in return, was just as strong as the unflinching lust.
Thoughts of Rosie with all of her carefully placed walls and hidden desires I desperately wanted to bring to fruition filled me with something that had been severely lacking from my life for some time.
Inspiration.
Dex
One sleepless night after my sudden burst of inspiration and I was left with a mostly finished painting and a deep, abiding urge to see Rosie. It had been two days since I saw her last and my need to set eyes on her, to take in those bright, expressive eyes and her supple body was beginning to overwhelm me.
I couldnât show up to her place uninvited like a fucking creep, that would set our admittedly fragile relationship up in flames and I couldnât risk losing her. Not yet. Not before I really got the chance to have her as my own.
If I couldnât go to her and I didnât have the strength to stay away completely, I would have to come up with some kind of compromise. Since sending her a goddamn letter was out of the question and I wasnât about to send her some overly impersonal email or text message, my next best option was to call her. At least that way even if I couldnât see her beautiful face, I would be able to hear her voice.
After thinking up some half- cocked excuse about missing files, I calmly dialed her number. After the phone rang a few times, my chest tightened at the thought of her not picking up. It was mid-
morning Sunday, certainly not prime time. Rosie didnât seem like the type to sleep in long hours, but maybe she was recovering from a night out. Maybe she was catching breakfast with friends.
Maybe she was laid up in bed with some asshole. I grit my teeth at the thought, my fingers
tightening their grip around my phone, there was no fucking way I was going to follow that train of thought. My possessive feelings for her were too strong to even entertain the thought of her with someone else. So I wouldnât do it, not unless I wanted to drive myself to certain insanity.
âHello.â Rosieâs voice sounded tired.
âHey, Rosie. Sorry for calling you on a Sunday.â I stammered out my lie, âI was just wondering if you knew where the contact files for Grayson Contemporary were? I wanted to personally get in touch with Carrie in the morning.â
All of a sudden she sounded exasperated. âReally, Dex?â she growled out my name, a light, angry sound that I couldnât help but smile at. âYou called me during the weekend. On my day off. Just
to ask me about some damn file?â
I should have felt guilty, I should have stammered out an apology and hung up but I couldnât. Not when I was in the midst of getting her so fired up.
âIsnât that exactly what I hired you for?â
âYouâre kidding me right?â
I prodded her more. âYouâre my assistant, Rosie. Youâre supposed to be at my goddamn beck and call.â I was obviously fucking around, but she didnât need to know that, not yet.
âDexâŠâ she trailed off with a sigh, suddenly sounding even more tired than she had at the beginning of our short conversation.
That concerned me. Iâd wanted to rile her up a bit, get her fiery enough to tell me off a little. I didnât want to genuinely frustrate her and I definitely didnât want her exhaustion to be caused by my bullshit.
âHey, you alright, kid?â
She sighed again. âIâm fine, Dex, Iâm justâŠâ She paused. âIâm just really not in the mood to do this with you today.â
Of course sheâd said things like this to me before during our little bouts of banter but her tone and the dismal cadence of her voice gave me pause.
Then I heard her sniffle.
âFuck, Sweetheart.â I was instantly angry at myself. âI didnât mean to make you cry.â
I was cursing myself, fearing Iâd gone too far this time. I knew nothing I said was too offensive or enough to make the conversation this emotionally charged. I still couldnât help but feel guilty
that it was my prodding and smartass remarks that pushed her over the edge.
âNo.â She sniffled again, her sweet voice thick with exhaustion. âItâs not you, Dex. Iâm just having a really crappy couple of days.â Rosie barely got the words out before I heard her softly sobbing on the other end.
Hearing her cries and imagining her beautiful face contorted in pain and running with tears had me feeling about eight different levels of anger. I was angry at whoever or whatever caused my sweet girl such sadness, pissed off at myself for exacerbating it, and fucking furious at the thought that I wasnât there to comfort her.
I didnât have the time, nor the patience to deconstruct those feelings or feel sorry for myself. I needed to be with her. I needed to hold her, help her, and show her I was there.
I was grabbing my keys and making my way to my car before I could utter another word.
âIâm on my way, Rosie. Just hold tight.â
âDex, you really donât need to- â
âGive me ten minutes,â I cut her off before she had a chance to protest again. There was nothing that could keep me from her now. Not even her denial.
With the exception of some slightly overgrown grass, Rosieâs apartment building looked exactly as it had the last time I was there. Trying not to think about the events that took place that night, I hurriedly made my way up to the building, quickly realizing I couldnât get in through the locked front door. Neither did I know which apartment she lived in, which meant I would have to call
her again but I didnât want to give Rosie the chance to turn me away so I needed to think of some other way to get inside.
âWho the hell are you?â A womanâs voice startled me out of my thoughts.
I turned around towards her, taking in the pretty woman with a curled lip looking at me with suspicion. âUhâŠâ
âŠâŠâŠ.
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