10. Chapter 10

Mads is blowing up my phone. She wants to take me to dinner to apologize. I don't have it in me to sit with her and Jayce and pretend it's fine.

I decide to swing by The Artistic Edge for a quick conversation since I avoided her at the charity auction. She's given me exactly a week and has decided it's time to forgive her.

"Mads," I call, entering the closed gallery.

"You're killing me," she says but looks relieved I'm here.

"Sweet Mads, I have a life that doesn't revolve around you. I've been extremely busy at work because I hired a new guy, Em." I soften my words with a hug, like I haven't been avoiding her. "He's a great addition to the shop. Thanks for asking," I joke.

Mads clings to me. "I am so, so, so sorry. I would never hurt you on purpose."

"I know." I sigh. "But Mads, when I tell you I don't want to discuss something, you have to respect that."

She's teary and ready to say something when we hear, "Sorry to interrupt." Von is struggling with a heavy sculpture.

"Let me help." I rush over to take half of the dragon's weight. Somehow, this new sculpture looks ancient, it's a mythical replication of a living creature. It's magnificent.

Von's matted hair sticks to his head with sweat and smells smokey. I lied to him—I would pay money to smell the stench of a sweaty Viking as long as it was him.

"Von, why didn't you use one of the carts?" Mads asks as we set the sculpture on an empty pedestal. His expression is confused. "There are two in the workroom to wheel your art down."

A light bulb goes off in his head, but he doesn't say anything. He sweeps his hair back, twists it around itself, and ties his bun in place. I've missed his sexy accent.

"I saw Page Seven posted a picture of one of your sculptures. The exposure must be exciting. Congrats." I'm an idiot and stick my hand out for him to shake.

"Thanks." He gives me half a smile, taking my hand. I have a brief moment as if I've been transported into a romantic comedy, and his touch sends sparks zinging through my body. I shake it off because that's ludicrous.

"Ready for dinner, Alec?" Mads asks.

"Actually, I ate." Turning to Von, I beg with a pleading expression. "I'm glad I ran into you. I left some stuff in your apartment. Do you mind if we go get it now?" It's a lie. He knows it's a lie but Mads will claim to be sorry and lay a guilt trip.

"Yes," he says and strolls toward the back hall. I realize that's the only invitation I'll get, so I give another quick hug to Mads and chase after Von.

He stops at the elevator to the workshop, not exiting to his apartment, and I stand beside him. "Thanks. I'll forgive her, but I'm not ready to spend quality time with her yet."

"Understandable," Von says, holding the elevator door for me.

I haven't been up to the workshop in a while, and I wander around checking out all the partially finished pieces. Only half the space is renovated—the other half is wide open with exposed ducts, concrete floors, and workstations. Mads transformed the half on the far side into an eclectic hangout space with couches, a kitchenette, and a full bathroom.

I run my fingers over a vase Mads must be working on.

"She comes in early in the morning. Sometimes, we work together if I haven't been up late," Von volunteers.

I don't bring attention to the fact that he spoke two entire sentences without being forced, but I can't keep the smile off my face. He rolls his eyes at me.

The riot of color is smooth under my fingertips. "I wish I'd finished art school." The words slip out of my mouth and surprise me.

"You had to drop out because of money." He says it as a statement, not a question, and closes his eyes when I confirm. He's so still, but the emotions course through him. "I intended to go to university, but my career opportunities wouldn't allow for it, and my parents didn't want me to go, either. I felt I had to choose what they wanted."

There's so much information hidden in his confession, an ache thrums through my chest to know it all. But Von will only tell me what he wants to give, so I keep my question on the safe side.

"What would you have studied?" I move closer at an angle, not approaching him head-on.

"Back then, I did not know, so that was a big reason not to go. Study miscellaneous information that the university deems important or start a lucrative career." He balances his hands as if he's weighing scales.

"Did you like what you did before?" I'm circling the art, pretending he doesn't have my full attention.

Von shrugs. "It was the type of thing I loved until it became a job. Then I hated it, but I was good enough to be paid well."

"I'm sorry," I say and mean it. "I found something I do love, and although it hasn't made me rich, I love going to work every day."

"You think I'm rich?" Von scowls.

My laugh echoes back from the industrial ceiling, and Von's vein is popping. I didn't even try for it this time. "Rich is relative. I don't feel rich, but the kid I was ten years ago would think I had bank and no worries."

I slide in front of a partially painted canvas. "You don't have an air of desperation surrounding you. If you've been desperate, you can sense it in other people. This artist is in her head and is second-guessing herself. She's hungry. Literally."

Von doesn't say anything, but his facial expression says he agrees with me.

I skip, keeping the conversation light, to another sculpture. "This artist has money but hasn't found his soul yet. He's had the best schooling money can buy but doesn't have any life experience to put his heart into anything, so his art doesn't speak to people—yet. He'll get there."

"What is your opinion on my art?" He crosses his arms over his chest.

"Do you really want to know what I think?" This could be the end of every future conversation with him.

"Yes."

Stepping next to him, I palm the twisted metal of his sculpture. "Saying you're self-taught is obviously cheating." I grin, but his face is blank.

"Your art evokes an extension of yourself. It's interesting and stark in a beautiful way." I suck in a deep breath. "But you're holding back. You aren't pouring your own emotions into it." I face him to gauge his reaction. "Take Cole's paintings. In the early ones, you can experience his pain and rage and in his most recent, you can feel the love tsunami.

"With yours, there isn't a heart-stopping emotional connection. Many artists don't want that. Some artists prefer people infuse their own emotions. I prefer personal art." I shrug, pretending I'm not afraid he'll throw me out.

Von grabs onto his sculpture so our hands are millimeters apart. "I can't imagine putting my soul into something that other people will judge." His emotions are locked tighter than a vault, and I can't read his expression as we stare at each other.

He looks away. "Why do you love tattooing?"

"It's art…it's freedom of expression with pain and love and remembrance. I get to share in the best and worst moments of people's lives and help them find art they can wear on their bodies to show the world who they are." There's so much more I could say, but I'm disappointed that Von didn't share more.

He can't express his emotions to other people, so it explains why they aren't in his art.

"I've never thought of it that way." Von cocks his head to the side and studies me. "It's admirable."

"I wouldn't go that far." I laugh.

"Do not do that," he says, and my eyebrows shoot up. "Deflect. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

I believe him. "Tell me how you taught yourself how to do this."

Von transforms again the same as when he discussed sustainable art with the gallery client. He tells me how he helped an uncle weld a fence and asked for the scrap metal. Loving it, he transformed a garage into a workshop, sweating with the driving need to create something lasting.

"So many things in life are temporary, and my goal is to design something sturdy that will withstand time and bring joy into the world." He huffs a laugh.

"Back then, I needed the joy. I could see the direction my life was taking, and it overwhelmed me. A teenager trying to stop a freight train. And part of me didn't want to stop it because it was an incredible opportunity, but I also needed something for myself."

My head bobs up and down, soaking in every word. Von and I move over to a couch by the windows. It's a cozy area with rugs and soft fabrics.

The effort to not flirt is killing me. The innocent things he's saying are dirty innuendos. If I can't keep my filter under control, he'll go back to icy Von, and chill Von is irresistible. I'm thinking and discarding so many dirty things that I'm not participating in the conversation anymore. I should be angry that he's trapped me in several deep conversations because I expect more of them.

My stomach rumbles so loud that Von's eyes drop to it as his lips turn up.

"Yup, I lied. I never had dinner." I rein in all my facial muscles and modulate my voice to neutral. "Do you want to grab a bite to eat with me?"

Alec's face must mirror my reaction as I invite him up to my place—pure shock. I told him things I've never told anyone. Especially not my family who I'm closest to. His orbit has a hold on me. I'd never guess he had a difficult past, but it puts his cheeky attitude in perspective. He talks and talks but rarely goes beyond surface level.

It's a privilege to be with unguarded Alec. But it's a dangerous privilege since I crave his warmth.

Alec's face has split into a shy grin with sunshine leaking out of his pores. "You like me," he sings smugly.

"Take your spikes down. I'm hungry and have takeout on speed dial." The laugh in my voice isn't subtle.

"What? Take my spikes down?" Alec gets off the couch and comically turns, imitating a dog chasing its tail trying to find spikes on his body.

"It's a Swedish saying." I find an American translation. "It means to cool down. Or as you Americans say, chill."

I point a finger at him as he does a body roll. "You're getting cocky."

"My cock is on its best behavior." Alec's mouth drops open. "Shit. Sorry. I'm trying so hard not to offend you."

His mouth is far too attractive. I never expected him to be so insightful. It's the fa?ade that annoys me. "I'm not easily offended." He raises an eyebrow, so I continue, "I enjoy you when you're real and not pretending."

Alec clenches his jaw. "I don't pretend."

He does, but I don't need to call him out on it. I can't take my eyes off his lips. There is so much more to him than he pretends, and that's what is going to get me in trouble. I'm not in a place to be in a relationship, and he doesn't do repeats. We are a terrible idea on so many levels.

Alec bites his lip as his brows draw together, waiting for me to say something, but I don't have the words to explain what's going on in my head.

All the brain cells exit my head as I stand, grab him, and smash my lips to his. It shocks a gasp out of him, and my tongue surges into his slightly open mouth.

He tastes like sin, and I'm ready to make the original one with him. He's invaded my senses and there's nothing but him and me in this moment.

Alec's lips are soft and melting into mine. His hand winds into my hair, wrapping it around his fist while I'm squeezing the back of his neck. There is not an ounce of tenderness in our kiss. Usually, my kisses are sweet and convey emotions. I've never experienced a kiss where lust fuels our desire to consume one another.

He's struck me with lightning and everything in my head is screaming more, More, MORE. I swear if someone came into the room, the energy we're giving off would electrocute them. He tugs my hair, so he's in control, done with letting me lead. I groan and his lips quirk up as we kiss. He sucks my tongue into his mouth, and I almost expire on the spot.

I wrestle his tongue so I can do the same and catch the sound that starts in his chest and reverberates up his throat into my mouth. My arm snakes around his back to bring us flush, and I grind against him.

When he slows the kiss and my brain kicks on, I know this is wrong. I didn't give him a choice. I attacked him, and that makes me the worst kind of guy. Shame washes over me and I stumble back.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." I flee down the stairs, outside, and back up the elevator to my loft, disgusted with how I treated Alec.