“You could always have knocked on my door. You knew where I was.”
“Hey, you could have come down to me as well, but you didn’t.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Art, if a guy like you has sex with a girl like me, and then doesn’t attempt to contact her, she’s going to assume you’re not interested.”
His eyebrows lift. “A guy like me?”
“Yeah.” I gesture to the tattoos running across his muscled arms. “A guy like you.”
“A guy who looks like he’s going to be trouble, you mean?”
“Trouble, and kind of hot. It’s not a safe combination.”
“Onlykindof hot?” He chuckles. “Okay, well, let me make it up to you. What part of London do you want to see?”
My stomach roils, but excitement flutters inside me. Is he offering to take me out? “I don’t know. I haven’t seen any of it.”
“Wait here one minute, I’ll just tell the guys where I’m going.”
“Don’t you have work to do?” I call after him, but he dismisses me with a wave of his hand and vanishes through the door, back into the shop.
I wait awkwardly, until he reappears holding two bike helmets, a grin on his face.
“You’re not making me go back on that thing, are you?”
“You loved it. Don’t lie.”
I hide a smile. “Okay, it was kind of fun. But don’t get me killed.”
He grins, an expression I’ve rarely seen on him, and something in my chest tightens.
“Never.”
As I did a few days earlier, I climb onto the bike behind him. This time, I feel more comfortable slipping my arms around his waist. The tension that had been between us has vanished with a few simple words, and I wish one of us had made the effort sooner. The last few days of angst might never have happened if only I’d swallowed my pride and confronted him. I wasn’t the only one at fault—Art could have spoken to me, too.
He rides the motorbike, skilfully manoeuvring it between the traffic. Where others are at a standstill, Art’s able to weave through gaps. Have I ever felt so alive, sitting on the back of a bike, my arms wrapped around this sexy man? A twinge of guilt threatens to spoil the moment, but I push it away. I deserve this. I’m allowed to be happy, I have to remember that.
I note that we’re heading into central London, and wonder where we’re going. Finally, he stops the bike down a side street, and we climb off.
I look around, not recognising anything. “Where are we going?” I ask him.
He catches up my hand and leads me down the street, until we step out onto the main road and sparks of recognition fire inside me.
“This is Trafalgar Square!” I exclaim, recognising the tall statue and the fountains. Tourists are everywhere, some sitting, eating snacks in the spring sunshine, pigeons milling at their feet, while others take photographs. “Is this where you wanted to bring me?”
“Not exactly. I’m taking you to the National Gallery. There’s an exhibition I wanna show you.”
His enthusiasm gets me excited. An art gallery isn’t the first place I’d have chosen to visit, but I’m curious to know what Art finds so fascinating.
We approach the huge building, with its massive pillars, and trot up the steps. Everyone looks at Art, fleeting glances, before their eyes dart away.
I reach into my purse to pay, but he shakes his head. “This exhibition is free.”
“Even better.”
We walk into the building and enter the Sainsbury Wing, where the exhibition is taking place. The atmosphere in the gallery is hushed, and I sense the extra attention we’re garnering with all Art’s tattoos, when most others are either smartly dressed or tourists in flip-flops.
Framed artwork of all shapes and sizes, in numerous different mediums fill the walls. All of the art, no matter how old or new, all have one thing in common.
