“I’m just saying you should move in with me.”
“I’m not opposed to it. I even like the idea. But.”
“But. I know, not until you sell a sculpture.”
“Right. And you need to accept that might take a while.”
“Or...you can move in with me right now and just pay your part of the rent in sex. Barter system, right?”
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re the one who tried to trade welding services for my body two weeks ago!”
“Oh, yeah, I did do that, didn’t I? But no, I’m not moving in with you until I sell a sculpture. Case closed.”
“Case open. I know how to convince you. Bob Ross told me how.”
She looked at Bob Ross and then back at him.
“And what, pray tell, is that?”
Ian grabbed her around the waist and threw her onto the bed. He wriggled her out of her jeans and underwear again and buried her head between her legs.
“Well,” she said with a happy sigh. “Bob Ross does have a point there.”
Ian opened her folds and licked her still-swollen clitoris. Bob Ross was curled up on Flash’s pillow and contentedly purring. Mrs. Scheinberg knew no one was getting murdered. Nothing was going to stop them now.
Flash’s phone beeped.
“Ignore it,” Ian said between licks.
“I’m ignoring it.”
The phone rang this time. Flash sat up. Ian groaned and rolled onto his back.
“Hold your tongue,” Flash said, picking up her phone off the side table. “It’ll just be a minute. It’s the gallery. Hey, Vaughn,” she said when she answered the phone. “What’s up?”
While Flash was on the phone Ian got into a staring contest with Bob Ross. He won but only because Bob Ross fell asleep halfway through the game. Whatever Flash was talking about with the gallery owner, it must be important. She pulled on her underwear and walked out of the bedroom, the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder. The call went on long enough Ian started to worry. Finally Flash came back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed by her nightstand.
“What’s going on?” Ian asked as Flash carefully placed her phone back on the charger. She moved slowly, deliberately, as if she’d been stunned. “Bad news?”
“No.” She shook her head. Her eyes looked glazed.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up and taking her in his arms. She leaned against him, her forehead on his shoulder.
“My sculptures.”
“What? What happened? Was there a fire? A flood? What?”
“Vaughn, the owner, he says someone came in and really liked my stuff.”
“That’s good. Who?”
“He couldn’t tell me. Some rich art collector. But he loved everything I did. Especially my new piece. And then...”
Ian grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her in the face.
“And what?”