The Artist's Wife (BWWM)

Chapter 24~ Me

"Go fish! Karina B is victorious againnn!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, pumping my fist into the air several times and earning a few glares from other customers, wondering why I was yelling. "I win, your sorry ass loses."

"I'm so very sorry," Lance began, facing the elderly couple beside us and talking quite slowly and deliberately as though he actually meant it. "The doctors have confirmed that she has mental issues, but they say her case is beyond them. Her parents pay me to bring her out on Tuesdays."

The white-haired couple gave me a concerned look and Lance a kind smile before turning back to their meals. Lance shook his head sadly like he was truly sorry before turning to me.

"Are you mad?" I couldn't help asking, laughing. The number of times we had done stuff like this was uncountable, we played several pranks on people like that everywhere.

"I just saved your face, you should be thanking me."

"You're just jealous because I beat you at go fish." I made that tsk sound at the back of my throat. "You're a sour loser."

"So you've been playing go fish the whole time?" He facepalmed, letting out a sigh. "I thought I told you we were playing crazy eights this time."

"Well, I didn't hear you over the sound of my sorry ass whining during the last round."

"Remind me why I decided to take you out again?"

"Because you love me," I told him airily, leaning back into my seat, the cool outdoor, evening breeze blowing my hair into my face. This restaurant was one of my and Lance's favourite hangouts and we had been sitting here for hours playing cards and drinking juice. My mind drifted to Gerard and I found myself wondering what he could be doing right now.

Probably painting.

I still had the drawing of me from the other night safely stashed inside my shoebox. I often brought it out just to stare at it and marvel at his talent. I stared at my phone lying on the table and resisted the urge to call him. It would probably send the wrong signals and could seem like I was pushing too hard, I didn't want that at all. Talking to him usually made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, a feeling that I particularly secretly enjoyed.

"Up for another game?" I heard Lance ask, already shuffling the cards like a pro. Years of practice of us sitting in our dorm rooms playing cards had made this activity seem like a reflex, natural.

"Sounds great but I'm gonna need another drink if I'm going beat your hairy ass again," I said, standing and picking up my purse. "Also, don't look now but there's a waiter behind you with a real nice ass."

Completely disregarding my instruction, Lance turned to glance at the waiter for a second before turning back to face me. "Why are you always talking about or looking at ass?"

"Ass is life, Chan. Ass is life."

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to say to you right now," Lance stated, whipping out his phone and shaking his head at me.

"You can start by offering to buy me a drink or telling me how much I rock your world."

He looked up from his phone and blinked once. "Just walk away. Walk away fast."

I gave a small laugh, reaching over to ruffle his black hair before walking away from the restaurant's outdoor patio and into the warm and brightly lit interior. Behind the counter was a tall, paper-thin man with stringy white hair and I was willing to bet an arm that a gust of wind could knock him over. He was that thin.