The Six: Genesis | A Reverse Harem Novel

Seventy-Nine

"What do you say to us painting the town red?"

Dumping his bag at my feet, Lewis tilts his head back and downs a bottle of cold water. As his Adam's apple bobs, I sink my teeth into my lower lip. Oh, the things I want to do to him...

When the bottle is empty, he crunches it in his fist and tosses it into the nearest trash can. Afraid of being caught staring, I crouch next to his bag to see what else he's carrying.

"And orange... blue... green... purple... yellow... teal... My gosh, did you leave any spray paint at the store?"

I laugh and kneel, eagerly knocking the cans of spray paint against one another until they clang. He had over a dozen colors inside, with an unopened box of street chalk. A black sketchbook tumbles out, falling open as it strikes the ground.

On the open page, my face stares back at me in startling clarity. Each stroke is lovingly made, enhancing my cheekbones, shading my lips and curving around the tip of my chin. My eyes, even and symmetrical, blaze off the page.

Without squinting or using my tech, I can count my eyelashes. The detailing is incredible. Lewis is an artist. It appears he left out a handful of details. For example, he never said he was one of this caliber.

I know what I look like, and yes, I am attractive, but I've never seen anyone take such care with my appearance. Gasping, I open my mouth to say something—anything. Yet, only a mournful groan leaves my lips, and it's enough to grab Lewis' attention.

He stills and his face goes slack before panic cuts through like a knife.

"Not that!" Lewis reaches out, but he's not fast enough.

I yank the book out of his grasp and dance away, flipping the pages as he calls my name with increasing worry. Page after page flitters past, framing my face in different lighting, locations and poses. I'm smiling in three, frowning in others and then there are four drawings made from color pencil where I'm staring out over the city.

They're... wistful. Longing. Broken.

"Blue, look—" Lewis is stumbling over his words, wearing a nervous smile. He hasn't moved closer to me. Instead, he plants himself a meter away, nervously running a hand through his thick coal hair.

Even in the moonlight, he's one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen.

"Wow..."

Sheepish, he smiles. "I promise I'm not some creep or a serial killer, Blue."

I raise an eyebrow and deliberately drag my gaze from him to the sketchbook I still hold. "You sure? Because that's exactly what a serial killer would say."

"Yes... you're just..."

Patiently, I wait for him to finish his sentence, but as time passes, he doesn't keep going. I fist my sweaty hands, hoping he doesn't notice how they shake.

"Just... what?"

"Gorgeous."

Struck, I sputter and lose my grasp on the book. It falls to the ground with a dull thud, but I don't scramble for it. Lewis' dark eyes hold mine captive.

Leaves crunch under his steps as he moves toward me. A breeze ruffles his hair and clothing, wafting the heady scent of his cologne. I'm transfixed, unable to move or think, and all I want is his arms around me and his lips on mine.

When he proposed this idea an hour ago, I wasn't certain he was serious.

After all, if we get caught, there could be jail time associated with this. We're tagging murals on the west side of town, giving the broken-down brick walls something better than wear and tear. I knew he was talented, but not like this.