Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“I love it when you call me Manny.”
“Even in this tone?” I saunter back to the easel.
“No matter. I love it. So, at 15, I found out we were expecting. She and I couldn’t be together.”
“Why?”
“She was older.”
“17?” I ask, dipping the fine brush into a sepia tone.
“Older.”
It sinks in. “She took advantage of you?”
“No, Essence. You paint. I talk. Or vibrator?”
I catch the glint of humor in his eyes and roll my own. As he speaks, I find myself comforted and picking up the paintbrush.
Toward the end, I chime in with, “So, at church, you prayed to God that you would find a compatible mate? A girl who—”
“A woman who loves art. I never liked girls.”
I see. Alexis’ momma was a cougar, I realize while swiping the brush into gold and sepia, blending a magnificent hue.
“So, I’ve had a canvas ready in my bedroom since then.”
“So, in all these years . . . I’m the first woman in your room?” When Antonio nods, my fingers clamp tight around the paintbrush, though I’m relaxed a second later. After all the years, I’ve slipped past romantic relationships without substance. This is borderline amazing. Please, God, don’t let this be too good to be true.
Chapter 11
Antonio
Aye, this is too fucking good to be true... I glance at Essence, whose body’s coated in paint. She rests on a beach lounger, yards away from a particularly pushy wave. The water crowds the base of the beach chair while she peacefully sleeps. The tide was further out when we finally passed out together from our stroll along the beach last night. So, I contemplate awakening mi preciosa and saving her from drifting out to sea like the dozens of canvases I tossed. Si, I littered in the ocean, but I’ll pick them up later. A particularly aggressive wave ebbs at the last second.
Wearing jeans only, I’m seated on the sand a few yards behind where she sleeps. I grip a tequila bottle in one hand. In the other hand, my paintbrush dashes a red ex over another botched attempt at drawing Essence.
An arsenal of cuss words flies from my mouth. “I’ve been drawing since first light, and I’ve made no progress!”
“Dad? Are you okay...” Alexis calls out.
I climb to my feet, turn around, kick up the sand, and snarl, “Jajaja, perfecto!”
In exercise attire, my daughter emerges on the balcony and wipes the sweat from her brow. Alexis then cocks a brow at Essence’s naked body. Or perhaps, mi hija is confused by the illustrations drifting along the shore.
Wearing a teasing smirk, Alexis says, “I’ve always said your anger is bad for the environment.”
“Get outta here.” I smack the back of one hand into the palm of the other.
“I’ll make us something to eat.”
I call after her. “I can make it myself...”
“Mhmm,” is all I hear, as she’s no longer visible, having slipped into the house.
I return my attention to the shore where a hundred sketches of Essence were discarded.
“C’mon, pendejo,” I argue with myself. Most critics believe I’ve created perfection. I say, not yet.
Sometime later, the sand beneath the lounger we both slept in has dried when Essence sighs. Her glorious body arches into a seated position, and my cock follows suit—rising in my pants.
While slowly turning her paint-splattered arm over, Essence gasps. “Antonio!”
“Manny, remember? Now don’t move... I said stay!” Another round of cursing beneath my breath commences as she looks around herself.
The flawless depiction is gone again!
“Manny, I’m all over the place... Literally...” Essence wraps herself in one of the blankets we had brought during our walk last night, then reaches down to grab a half-complete painting.
Aye, my excuse will be that I drew the atrocity from memory.
And I was horny when she’d squirted on a platform back at her place, hypnotizing all my senses.
“This is...” Her entire body softens, and she smiles at the picture. “I look good.” Essence’s palm sweeps the saltwater off the canvas, and she meanders slowly through the damp sand. With each step, she collects another image that can’t compare. She mutters, “I’ve got a slight headache, but I’m going to ask anyway, what is your process?”
I ask, “You think I paint, then throw the canvases in the water, as some sort of...”
“Ritual, maybe?” A soft gust of wind sends tresses to slap Essence’s smiling face. “How should I know, Manny? I can’t fathom another reason you’re throwing paintings around. Or you need therapy for your level of self-criticism.”
I pitch the image with a red X into the turquoise water and retort, “Who’s talking? That cock eyed painting you drew of me—”
“Oh, no, you didn’t!” She places a hand on her hip. “Maybe you’re a tad cock eyed.”
We share a laugh, and I tug her into my arms. I place my lips over Essence’s inviting mouth and kiss her until her breasts crush against me.