Kiss King - Mickey Miller Page 0,82
hottest professor known to womankind. But alas, he was only meant to be here for one year. I think he transferred to teach at Harvard or something this year. He’d definitely be your target.”
“Target? Oh my, we’re just talking fantasy. Cloud talk?” Faith retorts. “If my future husband knew…”
DJ interjects. “Relax, it is just cloud talk. Right, everyone?”
April adds, “I mean, I would never, ever act on it. Plus, I don’t even have a boss!”
Alex smiles. “DJ and I aren’t cloud talk. I think we picked up some new ideas tonight.”
There’s an awkward pause, and we all glance around at each other. It feels amazing to have a group of friends you can share absolutely everything with.
Well, aside from the fact that I’m dating Maya.
Chris interrupts our drunken silence. “Hey, who wants a beer!?”
“Meee,” Charlotte sings, and Chris hands out another round.
The conversation dissolves into a few different mini conversations, and after another hour or so, people start heading out.
“Oh, Grant, I need to stop by my studio,” Maya says loudly, and in front of everyone. “Would you mind escorting me? I don’t want to walk alone on campus at night.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess. Sure.”
Our friends give us an odd look as we leave, but we’ve always been a little weird from the start.
So, they probably think we’re just being normal.
But this definitely feels like a couple’s activity on another level.
We dance across campus. And I mean that literally.
We skip, we sing, we smile.
Maya runs up to a random horse statue near the Galesburg courthouse we pass on the way and rides it.
It’s a memorable damn night, even though we’re both thoroughly toasted.
“So, what do you need from your studio?” I ask as we rush up the stairs to the fourth floor.
She grins and turns the key in the lock. “I need to show you something. And to thank you.”
We head inside, and she frowns when she sees another student sitting in one of the corners, painting away. It’s a kind of communal studio, and I can’t help but think that Maya thought we might have some alone time here.
I know I was thinking that.
“I painted Friday. And today. I want to show you,” she says.
She takes me by the hand to her corner and I see a stack of paintings on canvas to the side of her easel.
“You made all these…since Friday? Yesterday?”
She nods. “I felt stressed since I realized my mom and dad are now going to be arguing over where I’ll stay when I go home. My dad got this new apartment, so…now he wants me to stay with him. But I like staying with my mom in the house where I grew up. Now I just feel guilty no matter what I do.”
I run my hand through her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were anxious?”
“It’s just something I needed to work through on my own. And I did. By channeling my anxiety into painting.”
I pick up the first painting. It’s based on a picture we took of Lake Michigan, with the city skyline in view.
The second is of a man with his hands on his hips, looking out at the water while the city rises up to the side of him.
I point at the man, then look at Maya. “Is this me?”
She giggles. “What do you think?”
I look at a few more she did, many of them based on photos from our trip to Chicago.
“I think it’s a damn good start,” I say. And I meant it totally as a compliment, but then she scrunches up her face, indignant. “Just a start?”
I set them down, and turn to her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “These are good. And you can do better.”
She pushes me away and mumbles something.
I interject, “Did you just call me an asshole?”
When she brings her eyes back to me, she’s frowning. “Yeah. I just thought you’d be happy.”
“I’m so fucking happy that you’re painting again. I got you the damn set of paints and all of this. Remember?”
She crosses her arms and glares at me. I’m not getting her morphing into this childish persona, but I’m guessing a few martinis will do that to anyone.
I go on, “You just got back in the game after not painting for over a year because you were so stressed out. Are your paintings good enough to sell already? Maybe. The best you can do? Absolutely not.”
She cocks her head to the side and exhales, looking down at the painting she did based