The car stopped, engine got cut off. I could hear Bella rummage around the car, probably getting her purse. Her door opened and I had to refrain myself from taking off the fuzzy blindfold.
She opened the passenger's side door and the rush of cold evening air hit me.
"We're here," she said and I could imagine her smiling down at me. Her fingers reached for the band on the back of my head and I felt it mess up my hair even more. I closed my eyes for impact, and she seemed to like it, judging by the playful tone of her voice.
"It's okay now, Edward. Open them," she urged me on. My eyes met her brown ones and I smiled instantly, leaning forward and pecking her on the lips bravely. She made a little surprised noise, but this was payback from when we were in my room.
"Stop making me lose my cool here, Good Guy. Those kisses should be illegal."
"Oh, Butterfly. I've only gotten started," I threw at her. The air around us grew heavy, thick with lust and desire. I couldn't wait any longer to make her mine officially, and I only hoped these kisses and the teasing would turn into a magical night together. If she didn't want any of this, would she kiss me like this? Would she act like this? After all, this was a date, right?
"Well, then I look forward to the rest of the night, to be honest." She said with a sly grin.
Bingo.
She held out her hand and I took it in mine, her warm touch spreading all through my body. Her dress had ridden up a little from driving, but there was no way in hell I was going to tell her that. The length wasn't even inappropriate, it was just the right amount of thigh and the fabric did magical things to her ass. Unfortunately for me, she noticed the fact that I'd been staring at her legs and ass the whole time because she caught a glimpse of herself in the big, reflective windows of some kind of art gallery and stopped in her tracks to pull the fabric down. She took in a deep breath as she unzipped her leather jacket and let it hang open.
"Okay, this is it. Turn around, Good Guy." The second I did, my eyes met the big canvas in the left window. It was a picture, black and white with hints of green and metallic blue of an abandoned car under a bridge.
"Wow, that's amazing! Is it a painting or a photo?" I asked because truly, I couldn't tell.
"Picture rendered and edited in Photoshop," she said to me, paying more attention to her shoes than she did to my face.
"Oh wow, that's cool. Do you know the artist?" I wondered. She simply nodded and bit her lip before she took my hand again and led me inside.
Welcome to the debut showing of I.M.S. Design.
Inside, there were already a few people browsing around the airy gallery. Countless pieces of art hung on the walls, small and bigger ones scattered around like a carefully assembled collage. I was in awe of the colors and the artistic skills of this photographer, but then I saw something extremely familiar on my right-hand side.
The background was dark, a cracked brick wall and the only source of light was a single lightbulb, bare and hanging from a strand of electrical wire. The details were immaculate, with painted on neon lettering in a bright green and they seemed to illuminate the face and silhouette of the woman I could proudly call my friend nowadays. It was Rosalie, the letters of 'Siren', casting her in green as she sat on a barstool, bare-legged and wearing an oversized white T-shirt and nothing else. Her hair was draped over one shoulder and she stared off in the distance. It was an intimate portrait, so full of emotion and vulnerability. It was absolutely gorgeous, I felt like an intruder just by looking at the piece of art.
"It's Rosalie," I uttered and watched Bella break out in a wide grin.
"It is, and look there," Butterfly twirled around the gallery, deeper and deeper into the building until I saw it. My mouth dropped open and I felt myself blush furiously, the hot sensation creeping up from under my collar up to the tips of my ears. There was no denying in who it was. The silhouette was photographed from the back. Hair in complete disarray, the tips painted neon orange fading into the dark sepia of the background. One hand in the front pocket of a pair of jeans and the other one hanging straight down, one fuming orange-tipped cigarette between pointer and middle finger. I knew the parking lot surrounding the figure. It was me, there was no question about it.
"Are you mad?" Bella's soft voice broke my silence and as I looked at her, the pieces of the puzzle all came together.
The file in her room.
The initials.
The intimate picture of Rosalie.
Me.
