The Artist

New day, old ex.

Jack

I REMEMBER THIS guy mentioned over and over and my blood begins to boil. The inevitable day has come. "What do you want?"

He laughs, sounding so smooth before saying, "I want a lot of things. Spike is one of them. A dinner with you is another. Just to smooth over a few things."

To smooth things over? Is he— the doorbell rings and I'm getting frustrated. "Look," I say, marching to the door. "Im not having dinner with you and—" someone's knocking at the door. It's not a soft knock either. Firm but almost as if they're holding themselves back. I open the door, still distracted. "Just find yourself another obsession."

I turn to the door with frustration marring my attentive expression but all that is thrown out the window when Spike walks in like he lives here. What the fuck? He was wasted an hour ago! I close the door as Vik's whistle sounds through the phone's speaker. Spike turns around sharply and narrows his eyes at me. Or rather at my phone. Crap. I feel like dumping this phone already.

"Who wants to have dinner with you?" He asks, still eyeing the phone on my hand. I'd love to tell him it's his ex but I've seen Spike's reaction regarding his past. Do I really want to trigger that again? "Uh…" uh… now what?

"It's Jesse. He's out partying and we're making plans later." I'm pretty sure he's convinced because his eyes widen in surprise and he nods curtly. "Did I tell you Spike doesn't like liars?" Vik informs. Spike looks around, disinterested before he turns and walks to the kitchen. "You should know that, Jack."

My direct my sharp glare to the floor, imagining this Vik guy. He's really pissing me off. "I could track you down. Break you." And I'm tempted. Spike comes back around with a fully made tuna sandwich and a sticky note. Jessie's sticky note. Shit. "You won't. Spoilt brats like you aren't concerned with verbal threats. You've heard it more before, right?" He's right. That Bastard.

At the same time, Spike realises I'm not paying attention and says, "Jessie's out. All night. What dinner are you talking about and with whom?" He doesn't wait for my response as he moves to the door but I block him. Since Vik is on the phone and he can hear everything going on, this will be golden. Spike tries pushing me off and almost succeeds but I swiftly turn him around, his back flat against the door. He's really solid, isn't he? What was he even doing at a military school? I even forgot about the military school shit until he pushed me off so easy.

Seriously, what was he doing in military school?

"I thought we were having a fresh start here, Jack." Spike looks irritated. Very irritated. I lift the phone slightly out of Spike's view to see it's still connected. Good. Then without thinking of it, I blurt out, "What were you doing in Moscow?" My cheeks tint as that was the question bothering me since forever. Juliet kinda made it slip that Spike was on a bunch of hook ups there. I don't like asking about this and it makes me uncomfortable that I even blurted it out. But. If I know Spike correctly, he'll reassure me and Vik, the ex, will understand who Spike really wants. That just makes me feel at ease.

"What?" He looks confused and even skeptical. I consider changing the subject when Spike's face changes and then a mischievous glint twinkles at his eyes, there. "Oh!" He steps closer.

His hands sliding up my chest. He looks up at me and laughs. Very seductively, I might say. It's working too because my eyes darken. "What?" He says innocently as he slides his arms around me and moves his hips against mine. I hiss and grin down at him. Great. I'm officially hard for him. Fully. "What are you doing?"

He blinks then a smirk comes into place when he plucks the phone off my hand and I inwardly panic. I rush to take the phone back but he slips his hand down and rubs through the fabric in my jeans. "Fuck!" I groan. I smack his hand away. He answers on the phone, " Can you call back later?" His eyes trail back to me as he says the next part. "I'm about to fuck my boyfriend."

He hangs up and I choke on my spit, unable to control myself. Jeez, he just told his ex off. And he didn't even know it was his ex. Shit. "Did you know who that was?" I ask, laughing. He shrugs and turns to me. "I don't care." He pockets my phone before walking ahead. "I hope you have a theatre room around here. It's the only way I can keep my hands off you."

So we spent the night watching a movie. A super old one. As old as Indiana Jones. It's called the craft or something. I look at the title of the cover. Yep. The craft. Why did I ever let Spike pick such a boring movie? By the time it was over, spike was about to pull out this other one, 'the puppet master' and I plucked it off his hand. "No. You suck at choosing movies."

So I picked one. He glared at me the entire time. I didn't care. It's my house for fuck's sake. I sat down and we watched speed racer. At the middle of the movie, Spike was asleep and I carried him upstairs to my room. His body is heavy but I could still carry him so it's not much of a problem. Putting him to bed, take off his shoes and Jean jacket and his annoying hat before tucking him in. I sit beside him, kissing his forehead before drifting to sleep.

I wake up to my housekeeper poking me and I'd been ready to snap before I remembered that I was sitting in a chair. I groaned as I sat up straight and looked over. The bed was empty but Spike's stuff had still been around and that includes his shoes. Where is he? As I walk downstairs, I thought that's where my housekeeper was leading me to but he only gestures to the door. Great. Another visitor.

I open it and the strawberry blonde haired guy walks in with a dark brown haired guy. The blonde is lean, almost skinny but I can tell he could fight as he looks around with his bright crystal like grey eyes. On his hands are a few silver rings with diamonds and he's dressed in a Louis Vuitton sweatshirt and Gucci pants with the latest Nike sneakers. He turns to me and gives out his hand. "I'm Marco."

I look back up at him. "So?" He smiles and I can't tell if it's genuine. It probably isn't. "You're Jack." He still doesn't retract his hand. I look back at it and go to the kitchen to look for Spike or wait for him there because I don't have enough energy to search through the entire mansion for him. I mean, it's way too big. He'll come by himself.

I sit in a barstool and the two follow. The brown haired guy is probably taller than a lot of people my age, lean but muscular. I'm sure he does a couple of exercises too to keep in shape and he actually looks healthier. His sapphire blue eyes look careful and sharp as he searches around the kitchen without moving. His clothes are all Nike. Nike sweatshirt. Nike pants. Nike shoes. Rolex watch. Gold chain too.

His eyes stop to mine and he doesn't bother to hold his hand out. "I'm Evan." I nod. Somehow I don't mind his presence. He doesn't make me as uncomfortable. Marco purses his lips and turns to me. "So… we came for Spike."

Well they didn't come for me. I bite my tongue and say instead, just to keep me from being too much of a dick, "He's coming back." An awkward silence fills the space for a few minutes before my housekeeper — and thank god — brings Spike to me with his hand on the back of his shirt and says, as if I were an irresponsible parent, "I found him painting on the hallway. Take care of him." And leaves him here.

And I'm. Pissed.