August Skye

Part 9

"How is it that I'm just noticing you're left-handed?" August queried from the comfort of the couch. She had taken the initiative to repurpose one of her numerous spare bedrooms into an art studio solely for my use. Her reasoning was to prevent me from transforming the entire apartment into a canvas of my creativity. I shared her thoughts and, as such, we'd dedicated the last few weeks to converting the room adjacent to her music room into my creative sanctuary. "You wield it with such.... finesse," she complimented.

A smile graced my lips. "Well, naturally, I would be adept with it. After all, it's my dominant hand. Not to mention, I am a pianist and a guitarist, and let's not forget, an artist."

She scoffed playfully as she rose from her seat, sauntering towards me. "You're a wannabe," she teased.

My brush halted on the canvas as I swivelled to meet her gaze, a playful glare in my eyes. I hopped off my stool and met her halfway, my brush dipped in paint which I playfully swiped across her face. Her gasp was music to my ears. "How's that for a wannabe?"

"You didn't just do that!" She growled.

My smile widened. "Are you mad?" I dipped the brush in the red paint and traced a circle around her face, adding dots to her eyes for effect. "Because you look super hot when you're mad."

She bit her lip, her face a mask of impassivity, then, in a steady voice, she stated, "I am allergic to the acrylic in that paint."

"Bullshit! You're in this room every single day!" My response was a mix of disbelief and terror. She was indeed in here every day. Why would she? "August, are you serious?"

"Follow me," she commanded, spinning on her heels and dashing out of the room. I struggled to keep pace with her as we sprinted up the stairs. She took them two at a time, then raced down the hallway to our bedroom. By the time I caught up with her, I was panting heavily. In her bathroom, she quickly dampened a washcloth and scrubbed her face clean of the paint.

"Check the third drawer," she instructed, pointing towards her vanity. "You'll find my EpiPen there."

I moved swiftly, rummaging through the drawer in search of the EpiPen, which I never found. What did that thing even look like? "I can't find it!" I informed her, my hands moving frantically through the drawer's contents.

"That's okay," she reassured me, her voice eerily calm. I paused my search and turned to her, only to find her phone camera trained on me. She flashed me a charming smile. "Say cheese, love."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, closing the drawer again. "I was genuinely worried."

"Awe. You care about me," she cooed, stepping closer and stroking my cheek.

"You care about me," I mimicked, playfully swatting her hand away.

Her laughter echoed through the room, a melodious sound that always managed to bring a smile to my face. She ended the video she was recording on her phone and put it away, her attention now fully on me. Her hands, warm and comforting, snaked around my waist and pulled me closer to her. She leaned in, her lips brushing against mine in a soft peck. "You should've seen your face," she teased.

I rolled my eyes at her playful jibe. "That is so not fair, MS SKYE," I retorted, using her maiden name to express my mock annoyance.

She feigned a cringe, her hand sliding over my rear and giving it a playful squeeze. "Ouch! The maiden name. I must be in big trouble." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she suggested, "Why don't you take me to the bedroom and put me in my place then?"

"I'm trying to be mad at you and you're making it so hard," I admitted, unable to keep the smile off my face.

She laughed again, the sound filling the room and making my heart flutter. "Come on, wifey. We both know you can't resist me."