Only a foot stood between us. This close, his scent drew me to him. I felt like one of those hypnotized cobras swaying side to side out of a street performer’s basket as he played an instrument to charm the wicked creature.
He’s charming me. No matter how high I am. I’m certain of that.
“We should do this another time.” I turned, walked over to the table, grabbed a bottle of water, and opened it.
“You’ve got to get to grandmother’s house?”
“Yes, Coco will probably come looking for me.”
She was professional, but she also packed a mean punch. Her grandfather was a Golden Gloves Champion in amateur boxing. Sundays at Coco’s house resembled a sweaty gym of old guys with foul mouths and big hearts. They’d teach us a few self-defense moves when we visited, but Coco’s grandfather had given her a love for fracturing jaws, that we’d never gained. Once she’d checked out her fiancé’s cellphone and realized he’d been sexting with four other women, and had been having unprotected sex with two of them. He’d come home to a boxing event that he had no idea was being scheduled right in his living room.
Although I didn’t condone violence, I had to admit that as I helped her move out, seeing the douche bag jump out of the way when she came near, sort of put a flutter in my heart. Since then, Coco had gone to anger management, yet there were a few times when I worried that her sobriety would be tested.
If she came up here and spotted Dr. Sheep hovering near me, she would step in.
“Are you okay?” He sounded like he was right behind me.
Chugging some of the water, I glanced over my shoulder, saw that he was barely an inch away, and accidentally spit the cool liquid out on him. It sprayed on that lovely linen shirt and dotted his face.
“Shit. I’m so sorry. Let me help.” I smacked the water away from his face, not meaning to hit him, but just sort of brush it away.
He flinched and edged away. “I’ve got it. No worries.”
I watched him grab a napkin from the table and wipe his face and shirt. “We should really do this another time. I’m so much better sober.”
“I’m high too. It’s fine. Just relax. In fact, do you want something to relax?” He dug into his pockets and showed me a glass pipe done in royal blue and white lines. At the top of the pipe sat one big white star surrounded by red.
I put the bottle of water down. “Is that the Cuban flag?”
“You have a good eye.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
I squinted my eyes and really studied him.
He could be Cuban, but what kind of Cuban name is Sheep? There is none. Maybe he’s mixed. What the hell? Why does it matter? Just figure out the project and go back downstairs, before Coco comes up here and goes loco.
I laughed out loud. Dr. Sheep edged back with a worried look on his face. Granted, I’d just spit water all over his face and then slapped him repeatedly in an effort to get the stuff off of him.
I’d be weary too.
“Sorry.” I coughed into my hand. “Allergies.”
“When you have allergies, you laugh?”
“Oh. No. You know? Let’s just go on with the commission.” I tapped my chest. “Like I said, just ignore my silliness.”
He grinned. “You’re nervous.”
“A little.” I scanned the rooftop for the empty wall, which was what I should’ve been doing when I first got up there, instead of munching on snacks or drooling over him. “I don’t really see anything to paint on, besides the wall surrounding the door. Is that where you want the mural? Or. . .” I looked down on the ground. “Would you want the roof’s floor painted?”
“You would do that?”
“Of course. I would paint on anything that has empty space to get my voice across.”
“I bet you got in trouble a lot as a kid for drawing on the walls.”
“That’s an understatement. I have so many juvenile vandalism charges, the law should be named after me. I kept the cops busy one summer. There was a point when this particular officer just took me to the side, begged me to stop, and offered me a commission.”
“Did you take it?”
“That was my first mural job.”
He chuckled. “What did you create?”
“I painted a big castle in his little girl’s bedroom. After that, some of his friends asked me to do some. It helped me get extra cash during high school.”
“No, not the cop’s commission.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you create when you were racking up all of the vandalism charges?”
“Nothing big.” I went back to the table and picked up a chocolate ball from.
“Come on. What did you draw?” he asked. “Every street artist has that one thing they kept painting over and over when they were a kid stumbling around on the blocks. What was yours?”