Painted Red

I wanted him and I was tired of denying it.

9

Rosie

I spent the entire ride to Dex’s house with his large, warm hand resting on my knee. From time to time his hand would clench, his strong fingers curling around the front of my leg in a semi-tight grip, then, almost before I could feel the pressure of it, his hand would go back to softly cupping me.

I couldn’t tell if he did this because he was afraid I was going to change my mind and jump out of the moving car, or if he just felt the need to touch me. Maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I loved the feel of his fingers against my skin. His touch was reassuring and arousing all at once. Making me feel comforted and causing my skin to burn underneath the weight of him.

Most of the drive was spent in a comfortable silence. Neither of us really knew how to address the slight change of tension that hung around us in a cloying fog. So we said nothing choosing instead to turn our gazes to the glittering sun of the mid-afternoon Miami sky.

It wasn’t long before we pulled up to Dex’s place, a beautiful single story Mediterranean style home fronted by towering trees and bright, colorful plants. In the background I could hear the soft swells of the ocean and smell the fresh, fleeting scent of saltwater in the air. There were no fast cars, no loud music, nothing but the sound of swaying trees and nature at work. It was a far cry from my new apartment, but it somehow reminded me of home. My original home. Only stripped of the pretense, biting words, and fake smiles. I already loved it.

“It’s so beautiful, Dex!” I couldn’t help but gush out of appreciation for his home.

“You like it?” Dex reached into the trunk of his Porsche, pulling out my overnight bag before coming around the car and swinging a heavy arm around my shoulders, keeping me rooted in my place, standing before the gorgeous house. “Humphrey Bogart bought it for Lauren Bacall in the ‘40s.”

I looked up at him wide-eyed. “Oh my God, seriously?”

“Yeah, he was filming a movie here, came across it and bought it on the spot.”

“That’s so romantic!” The thought of sleeping in the same place that used to house silver-screen royalty almost had me bouncing where I stood, even more excited to get inside.

Dex tilted his head, a small smile on his face. “I don’t know about that, sweetheart.” He fished his keys out of his pocket, walking along the short path towards the door. “Rumor has it, they used to have some pretty wild orgies out by the pool.”

He let out a loud laugh as he made his way inside, leaving the door open for me to follow.

I paused.

“Dex, you asshole!”

Much like the exterior, the inside of Dex’s place was beautiful. All dark wooden floors and newly-renovated interiors. Much like his studio, it was full of large windows and beautiful artwork. The place was by no means a mansion, but it was definitely no hovel either. I could tell Dex took great pride in his home. It felt like an extension of him, the same way the warehouse and his car did. He seemed to have a way of making everything he touched his own. An observation that I couldn’t help but extend to myself as well.

“Have you eaten today?” Dex inquired after we shoved my things into the white-walled guest room.

“No.”

“We could cook something?” He turned the statement into a question.

I suddenly felt embarrassed. “Uh… I’m not a great cook.”

I could make basic things, of course, if you counted toast, salads, and frozen meals as basic. I had recently been branching out, trying my hand at things like spaghetti and baked chicken to no avail. Growing up in a wealthy family, we had a housekeeper to prepare all of our meals. I wasn’t even sure if my father or stepmother had ever touched a stove. I sure hadn’t, not before I moved to Miami.

“Yeah, my specialties begin and end with burgers.” He laughed a bit. “I don’t guess you feel like firing up the grill?” He pointed out of the back window at the large, chrome monstrosity sitting out by the

pool. I didn’t even want to think of going near that thing.

I shook my head.

“Alright then, we’ll order a pizza.”

An hour later, Dex and I were lounging in his living room completely stuffed. Me sitting comfortably on the couch and him parked on the floor, leaning back against the seat, flipping through channels on the television.

I stayed mostly silent, letting Dex make odd comments about the shows he saw and chuckling a bit when he said something funny, which he did often. Since I came to the realization that I was tired of staying away from him, I became unsure about how to broach the topic.

I knew he wanted me, that much was clear. I could see it in his beautiful green eyes when he looked at me and I could feel it in the way his soft hands touched my skin as much as he could get away with. But I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

The only boyfriend I ever had, Daniel, was also the only man I had ever slept with. His generically handsome face never inspired the sort of burning, all-consuming desire that Dex elicited out of me. I, and more importantly, my father, had found him harmless enough. I spent a year letting him drill into me senselessly in my dorm room two nights a week when my roommate had her salsa lessons. There had never been any foreplay, any creativity, any passion. Only visions of his puffy red face panting above me and the feel of his too-soft hands clutching my breasts.