My Kind of Perfect (Finding Love 3)

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, pulling me in closer to him. My heart accelerates at his compliment. I should be focusing on finding a guy to get to know, but suddenly all I want to do is dance with Chase.

And that’s exactly what we spend the next several songs doing. We’re both sweaty—from the packed crowd, the hot lights, and the dancing—but I don’t even consider leaving the dance floor—or Chase’s arms—until he suggests we take a break and get a drink.

I follow him off the floor and over to the packed bar. “Do you want a lemon drop or water?” he asks.

“Water.” I’m thirsty from all that dancing and alcohol isn’t going to quench my thirst.

“Okay, be right back,” he says, before cutting into the crowd.

I’m standing by myself for a few minutes, people watching, when a male voice speaks close to my ear. “Are you single?”

I twirl around and come face to face with a blond-haired, blue-eyed man. He’s dressed in a white button-down collar shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark wash jeans. He’s cute, and when his lip tugs up into a half smirk, he’s even cuter.

I open my mouth to tell him I’m here with someone when I remember why I’m here… and that even though I was just dancing with Chase, I’m not here with him. “I am.”

“Patrick,” he says, extending his hand like a gentleman.

“Georgia,” I say back, shaking his hand.

“Can I buy you a drink, Georgia?” he asks, his hand still holding mine.

“She already has a drink,” a deep voice says before I can answer.

Patrick glances between Chase and me, and I can’t see Chase because he’s slightly behind me, but whatever he sees causes him to jump to conclusions, because the next thing I know, he’s nodding and bowing out before I can explain.

“Hey!” I swivel around and slap Chase on the chest.

“What?” He hands me a bottled water.

“You totally just…cockblocked me!” Mind you, I don’t have a cock, and I had no intention of having sex with that guy, but I don’t know how else to describe what he just did.

“That guy looks like a douche,” Chase says, shrugging and cracking open his water. He brings the bottle up to his lips and tips his head back, swallowing the entire bottle in one long guzzle.

“How would you know?” I ask, trying to sound annoyed but kind of distracted by the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down while he drinks.

“I could just tell.”

“Well, my theory is correct. As soon as you were gone, he came over. Going out just the two of us obviously isn’t the best idea.”

Chase doesn’t agree or disagree. “Want to dance some more?”

Well, tonight’s apparently a bust anyway, and Chase is a good dancer… “Sure.”

I walk through the art gallery, amazed and in awe of the transformation. What was once a vacant, run-down building in the Arts district, is now filled with beautiful art from various artists, including Lexi. Lexi’s plan is for the gallery to cater to all types of art, but every month a different theme and artist will be featured. A large portion of the proceeds will go toward raising money to help autistic children and adults, especially those who are low income or homeless.

I stop at a piece I haven’t seen before and smile. On what looks like an eight by ten canvas, is a graffitied drawing of a woman standing with her back to the world, staring out at the ocean. She’s holding her surfboard in one hand and her daughter’s hand in the other. Seeing Lexi’s art on display fills my heart with warmth. One day, someone will buy this painting and hang it up in their home or office. My sister’s talent will finally be shared with the world—and not just in the form of graffiti on building walls.

“Lexi’s sister,” Aiden says, calling me over. “I painted this.”

“Wow. It’s beautiful.”

Aiden is the reason this gallery came about. He’s twenty-four years old and autistic. His stepdad used to hurt his mom and him and when he turned eighteen they kicked him out. He was homeless, living on the streets. Every day my sister would make sure he was taken care of the best she could, but she felt helpless. They became close and she wanted to save him. Now, he’s living in an assisted living facility and works at the gallery.

“Thank you, Lexi’s sister,” he says, turning back to his painting. Lexi has various artists coming in to paint the gallery. Instead of it feeling stuffy like many do, she wants it to feel like you’re immersed in the art.

“I called you last night,” Lexi says, walking out with Abigail on her hip. The second she sees me, a bright smile lights her face, making my heart skip a beat.