Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,22

to him. He’s saying something, and as is usual, he’s using his hands to emphasise his point. They’re long-fingered and thin, and he waves them about more than someone with a lighter at a Bon Jovi concert. In the past, I would be smiling at his liveliness, wondering when he was going to hit something accidentally, but now I’m imagining those long, graceful hands holding my cock. My dick twitches, and I hastily shove my coat in front of me.

“You alright?” Bee asks me.

“Yes, why?” I’m hoping like fuck that it isn’t written all over my face that I want to fuck Arlo Wright.

“You’re a bit flushed.”

Arlo looks at me quizzically, and I blush even harder. “Oh, it’s so hot in here,” I say feebly.

Bee looks as if he’s about to say something, but luckily the line starts to move and diverts his attention. I vow to pay attention when we enter the gallery, as this exhibit is only temporary and probably my one chance to see so many works by the great Dutch master.

We pass through a curtain and find the exhibit is divided into rooms. The walls are painted red, and, with the dark wood floors, the effect is stunning and dramatic. But the entire space is packed with people, and making our way through to the paintings will be slow going.

Bee grabs my arm. “If we get separated, let’s meet outside the exhibit,” he shouts over the crowd’s din.

Arlo, who is on my other side, doesn’t hear, and, as I lean down to relay the message, I can’t help noticing the delicate whorls of his ear and his fresh scent, a mixture of Calvin Klein cologne and his shampoo.

I pull back quickly and start to move through the crowd, Arlo at my heels. When I turn to ask him where he wants to start, I find that we’ve already lost Bee. I search the crowd for him and see him talking earnestly to a museum official and pointing at a painting.

Arlo follows my gaze. “After being in this museum for the last millennium, I’m knowledgeable enough to say that we’ve lost Bee for a bit.”

I give a startled laugh. “Have we been here that long?”

He smiles at me and threads his arm through mine. As we walk toward one of the paintings, I note how right his slender body feels tucked into my side. I resist the impulse to draw him closer, only because I remember my promise to concentrate on the exhibit.

As we slowly move from one painting to the next, I ask, “What do you think of the exhibit?”

He looks around. “It’s very red and dark in here,” he says. “Reminds me of a club I went to last week.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“I did until I lost my shoes and had to go home.”

I laugh. I can well believe it. Arlo is quite possibly the most disorganised person I know.

We arrive in front of the painting of Saskia as Flora. The model was the woman who Rembrandt married the same year he painted the portrait. I stare hard, getting lost in the rich colours and Saskia’s lovely, serene expression.

Arlo shifts next to me, and I offer him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I know I take too long.”

“You take as long as you like, Jack,” he says.

I don’t know if I’m more surprised by his sincere statement or the tenderness I detect in the soft curve of his mouth. I take a deep breath and say, “I shouldn’t waste so much time, though. My parents always used to roll their eyes when I was a kid as they preferred to tour museums and galleries at a gallop.”

He squeezes my arm. “It’s your time to waste. You’re happy, and that’s the most important thing.”

No one has ever said something like that to me. I stand in silence for a second. Am I happy?

“What do you see?” I ask Arlo.

He gives me a startled glance before turning his gaze back to the painting. The lady looks back, dressed as a goddess, the flowers in her hair offsetting the serene expression on her face.

Arlo hums. “I think she looks drunk,” he says casually.

I inhale and choke on my spit. “What?”

He turns to me, his face alight with merriness. “Look at her. She’s wankered,” he whispers. “She looks like she’s been on the Lambrini for the afternoon and is just about to totter home to eat a kebab and pass out still wearing her makeup.”

I look at the