Hung (Under Revision)

5: Exhibit

Skye

I can barely concentrate on driving. My mind keeps flipping between that guy kissing me, and Kevin sending me home straight after. My first real kiss, and holy shit was it amazing. But it's cost me big money in tips since the restaurant was so busy.

Kevin said that was my last chance. I can't afford to be out on my ass. But if that man comes in again and tries to kiss me, there's no way I'll stop him. No matter how much I need the money from the restaurant. His kiss just felt too damn good.

When I'm getting ready for bed, I realize the money the hot guy gave me to cover his check is still in my pocket. I pull it out to put with my apron: I'll bring it in with me on Thursday.

I unfold the bills. Three hundreds. The bills lay across my hand and I stare at them.

Did he mean to give me three twenties? I don't think so. He doesn't strike me as the sort of man who ever makes mistakes.

Is this supposed to be some sort of ploy to get my attention? Can he even afford to do something like this? I stand, debating what to do. There's one person who really deserves this money.

Instead of putting the money with my apron to take into work, I open my top drawer and place it in my stash of emergency money. Money that, until tonight, consisted of thirty bucks.

After I see the guy again, I'll try to give him the money back. If he refuses, I'll think up a reason to convince Ava to accept the money from me.

In bed, I can't help myself. I slide my hand between my legs, remembering the minutiae of the kiss. His smell, his taste, the strength of his arms. And, of course, I can't ignore what was digging into my hip — what an incredible feeling.

Why didn't I write my phone number on my drawing? How stupid am I? All I did was sign it with my standard art signature: Skye. No last name; nothing. I wonder if he'll come in again after the way Kevin acted.

Almost instantly, an orgasm washes over me. The memory of the kiss is so fresh, I can't bring myself to take my hand away. I fall asleep with it between my legs.

At some point in the middle of the night, I half wake up, realize I've been dreaming about that kiss, and the man doing the kissing, and that my hand has been moving as if possessed. Dripping wet and excited all over by the dream, I crash into another huge orgasm.

Please let him come back next Saturday.

In the morning, I hide from Ava in my studio. I have too many thoughts to sort out. After being sent home and given a final warning, Kevin's not going to give me any extra shifts; there's no point in asking.

Ava needs to remortgage her house, and my freeloading is the reason. I need to think up a reason for her to take that money, but I haven't come up with anything yet. And then there's all those possible commissions from the artist website...

I sit on the floor beside my laptop and call up the website. A smile springs across my face when a message icon appears in the corner. Someone probably wants me to paint their dog, but my heart leaps in excitement anyway.

My eyes pop when I see it's not from any of the jobs I replied to. It's a new user that only joined last week. I try to calm myself as I read the message.

I am looking for someone to commission for several works to be hung in the new house I'm building. Am impressed by your work. Reply for more details. Kelso Wilson.

Holy shit. This might be my solution. I type a reply as fast as my fingers will move and include my phone number.

Deep inside, I fantasize that Kelso Wilson is the man from the restaurant. I know it's silly and immature, but maybe he's hunted me down somehow.