Trust Fund Baby: An Mpreg Romance (Frat Boys Baby Book 1) Page 6

  "It was good to see you," he said, surprised to find that he meant it. He tried not to read anything into the fact that Liam was still watching as they disappeared around the corner .

  The restaurant was a warren of intimate booths and banquet rooms, all gilded in imitation candlelight. It was romantic and elegant, and every inch screamed expensive. Luke was reluctantly impressed as they were led to their table .

  "What are you even doing here?" he asked Jay once they were seated .

  He grimaced. "I work at the coffee shop across the street sometimes. I was just getting off shift when this crazy guy rushes in and promises me a free meal." He glared at Kurt over the top of his water glass .

  Shaking his head, Luke pointed a finger at the artist. "You're the one who went with him ."

  "I never turn down a free meal," Jay said seriously. He picked up the menu and then promptly put it back down again, looking a little green. "I don't think I can afford to even walk past this place ."

  Luke laughed, remembering the Danvilles’ big yacht and boating on the lake, but Kurt didn't smile, shaking his head subtly .

  "How is your show doing?" Kurt asked, changing the subject smoothly .

  Perking up, Jay grinned. "I think it's done really well, but I'm trying not to get my hopes up. I won't find out until Monday, of course ."

  "You'll be great," Kurt said. "You'll sell a half dozen paintings your first week, just you watch ."

  Jay shook his head. "Wouldn't that be a dream? I'll be happy with any sales ."

  "It's a good thing you don't need the money," Luke said. "It's tough to make a living with art. I remember that from when I was with Liam. He was barely managing to pay his rent when we moved in together." He shook his head at the memory of the single box of possessions that the artist had brought to the house .

  A pointy shoe connected with his shin, and he cursed. Kurt glowered at him, gesturing wildly behind his menu. Jay didn't notice, staring at his silverware with a flush rising up his neck .

  "What?" he hissed as Kurt continued to flail about. "He's just lucky that his family can support him ."

  Jay cleared his throat. "Actually," he said, his voice thin, "my step dad disowned me ."

  Frozen in shock, Luke felt the heat creep along the top of his ears. He felt like a total ass. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, fidgeting with his napkin. "Have you been on your own for long?" He glanced at Kurt, understanding now why his friend would fly across the country for an art show .

  Smiling mirthlessly, Jay met his eye. "About ten years ."

  * * *

  T he glow of the clock told him that it was well past midnight. Luke rolled over for the hundredth time, trying to get comfortable. He hadn't slept a wink so far, his eyes burning as his mind went over the dinner again and again. After Jay's revelation, he hadn't known what to say, fading into the background as the meal got increasingly awkward. Even Kurt's charisma hadn't been able to get the conversation flowing again .

  It didn't help that every time he closed his eyes, he saw the lake. He could remember bits and pieces of that summer, although time had blurred the edges. What he remembered most was the long walk into town in the rain, his split lip refusing to stop bleeding and his knuckles burning. Ten years ago ...

  He finally drifted off to sleep .

  Midafternoon, he dragged himself out of bed and headed into the bright August sunshine. The gallery was less intimidating during the daytime, crowds of weekend tourists tromping through the stores and museums of downtown. He stopped to help a family of six free their double stroller from where the wheel had gotten wedged in a storm drain. The father thanked him profusely while mopping his sunburned brow with a handkerchief pulled out of his fanny pack. Luke bit his lip till it hurt to keep from laughing .

  Inside, the brick building was just as dark and quiet as before. More so, even, without the opening night crowds. He wandered from spotlight to spotlight, the art taking on new meaning now. He could see the arch of the old college administration building in the blood-red painting of "Broken Promises and Forgotten Dreams," and the orange and purple streaks in "A Life Unlived" made him think of the Sigma Alpha Omega banners .

  There were other paintings that he didn't recognize, and he looked at them for a long time, trying to glean clues about what parts of Jay's life they contained .

  "Can I help you with anything, sir?" The attendant's smile was a little strained. Luke was startled to realize that he'd been wandering aimlessly for two hours .

  "Yes," he said, surprising them both. "Do you deliver ?"

  She gaped at him for a moment, then nodded. "Of course ."

  He smiled. "Perfect. I want to buy that." He pointed at the massive black and yellow width of "Lights of the City." Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. "And a few others," he added impulsively, thinking of the green on green hanging across the gallery .

  "Let me get the owner," she said faintly, staring at the huge canvas with commission calculations flashing in her eyes .

  "You do that," he said cheerfully, trying to decide which paintings to hang where .

  6

  I t took Jay almost twenty minutes to get up off the floor of his studio. He'd slept funny, and his whole left side was numb. Plus, his mouth felt like the inside of a turpentine can, and he was running out of clothes. He made a mental note to head to the laundromat by the end of the week .

  Shuffling down the hall in last night's clothes, he ducked into the public bathroom to try and clean up a little. Stripping down on the cold tile, he used an old paint rag and a sliver of cheap soap to wash as best he could. He didn't have any more shampoo, but his hair wasn't all that greasy, so he rinsed it and called it good .

  It was an act of will not to think about the night before. His brain kept circling the subject, remembering the restaurant itself, everything from the exquisite food to the pattern on the plates. After tossing and turning on the floor until two in the morning, he refused to spend any more time thinking about Luke Carter than he already had .

  Thinking about food made his stomach gurgle urgently, and he had to force himself to only eat half of his last granola bar. It didn't do much for his hunger, but unless he sold a painting or picked up more than a few hours at the coffee shop, it was going to have to last him. Despite how uncomfortable it had been, he was grateful to Kurt for the warm meal .

  He tried to remind himself not to get his hopes up all the way to the gallery. He even walked around the block twice to try and get his heartbeat under control, but every time he thought about the possibility of having sold a painting, his hands started to sweat. Despite himself, he already knew what he would do with his share of a sale .

  If there was a sale. Which there probably wasn't. He repeated it to himself like a mantra as he stepped into the cool air of the gallery .

  Emily was manning the welcome desk today, and she glanced up with a professional smile as he came in. As soon as his presence registered, she shot to her feet. "Wait here," she said. "Bonnie wants to see you right away." She disappeared into the back without a smile, and Jay's heart sank .

  Surely that was a bad sign. He ran through everything he'd done in the last week. Maybe she'd found a better artist and was cutting his show short. Maybe he hadn't sold anything at all, or his paintings had been poorly received. Maybe she was going to tell him that it was all a mistake .

  Jay fought the urge to run, wiping his damp palms on the wrinkled fabric of his paint-stained pants. He paced a few feet further into the gallery, his heart sinking as he scanned the paintings. The only one marked as sold was "Untitled Beach," which Bonnie had insisted on showing despite the fact that he couldn't bear to part with it .
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  "There you are," Bonnie said. She looked much more herself today, her hair flecked with pastel dust and held in a bun with a paintbrush. Despite the fact that she'd been halfway across the country until the morning of his opening, she didn't look even slightly jetlagged. Remembering summer trips across the Atlantic, Jay was unspeakably jealous. "I've been expecting you all morning." She fluttered past him, her comfortable house slippers swishing against the floor .

  For a moment, he wondered if he'd missed some appointment. "Sorry, Bonnie ."

  She blinked at him blankly. "For what? Oh, don't worry about it. I'm just used to my artists banging my door down to get paid first thing in the morning." She gestured at the three red paintings hanging on the wall as she hurried past them. "Those ones, too," she said to Emily without pausing. "Sorry about the mess. I had a great idea for a triptych yesterday, and nothing gets done around here unless I do it myself ."

  Jay had to jog to keep up as she rounded the corner, disappearing through the hidden door and up the stairs to her office. He waited at the bottom, scanning the gallery. The glossy white paint and concrete looked just as spotless as they had the night of the opening. He doubted dust would dare to settle on the paintings here .

  Swallowing a comment about not expecting to have a paycheck to collect, he said, "Everything looks great ."

  A loud snort echoed from the second floor. "You're so full of shit." She practically hopped back into view, a check clutched in her hands. His eyes locked on it, and his heart stuttered. "At the rate you're going," she said, waving the flimsy piece of paper around, "we're going to have to cut the show short or supplement with another artist. Unless you think you can get a dozen more paintings done in the next week ."

  His stomach clenched, the pain like a hard right punch. He'd been right. She was pulling his show, and he was never going to be a real artist. "We can supplement if you think that's best," he said, hoping against hope that she would give him another chance .

  She hummed thoughtfully. "The problem is finding an artist who complements your style. It really would be best if we could get a few more of your paintings to hang in the blank spots." She passed him the check and had him sign the sheet that said he'd received it .

  He scrawled his name in the space provided, his last name still awkward, even after all these years. He couldn't bring himself to look at the numbers. He knew exactly what they had listed his paintings for, and he wasn't naive enough to expect any of the more expensive ones to have sold .

  Something she'd said tickled the back of his mind. "Blank spots?" he asked faintly. Emily and one of the other attendants were wandering through the paintings on the other end of the room, stacks of sold signs in their hands. The breath hissed out of him in a shocked squeak as picture after picture was labeled .

  Oblivious to his inner meltdown, Bonnie nodded. "I have to ship out ten of the paintings this week. A company in Miami bought half a dozen of them for their corporate headquarters. I can reorganize what's left, but if you sell too much more, it's going to be noticeable ."

  Jay stared at the check, choking on his next breath. There were too many zeroes. Way, way too many zeroes .

  "I don't suppose you have any paintings that you held back?" Bonnie asked, chewing on the end of a paintbrush she'd pulled out of her pocket .

  His chest heaved as he tried not to fall apart in the middle of the gallery. "I have a few that weren't dry," he said, his voice strangled .

  She grinned like he'd told her it was Christmas morning. "I'll send my crew to get them," she said. She rubbed her hands together in a way he'd only ever seen on TV, and the moment felt so surreal that he pinched himself .

  "Am I dreaming?" He swayed slightly, pinching himself again when he noticed the 'SOLD' sign mounted next to "Lights of the City ."

  "If you are," Bonnie said, "don't wake up. This is the best opening I've had in years. I have artists who have painted for decades who don't make this kind of money their entire show, much less the first weekend." She patted him on the shoulder. "I think we'll do your next show in the spring. Everybody buys art in the spring. You'll make a fortune ."

  His throat worked, but only a tiny whine escaped, like the cry of a balloon deflating. He was going to have another show. He had enough money in his hand to pay bills and buy paints. Hell, he had enough money to go grocery shopping. His heart pounded in his ears. "I should go," he said, taking a shaky step toward the exit .

  "Of course," she said, rubbing her hands together again. "Let me know when to send the truck to pick up the paintings. Keep up the good work ."

  The slap of heat as he stepped out of the gallery knocked him out of his daze. The bright sunshine burned his eyes, washing the world into harsh lines. It all looked so real that he had to hold the check up to that honest light and make sure it still had all those zeroes .

  It did, and he leaned back against the brick of the building and started to laugh. Cupping his hand over his mouth, he laughed until his stomach couldn't take another second. He gasped for breath, clinging to the check until it started to ripple in his sweaty fingers .

  Frowning, he smoothed it out carefully, his giggles fading into hiccups. He needed a bank. He pulled out his phone to check where the nearest branch was. A text alert flashed at him as soon as he turned it on .

  "Made it back home in one piece. Thanks for asking. Mom says hi. —Kurt "

  He pursed his lips and ignored the text for a moment while he got directions. Only when he was waiting at the crosswalk did he reply .

  "How did you get my number? —Jay "

  "Magic. —Kurt "

  Rolling his eyes, Jay tucked his phone back into his pocket, gripping the check with white knuckles until he had handed it over to the bank teller. He didn't breathe until she handed him the receipt. His bank account had never been so full .

  "How's California? Still sunny? —Kurt "

  "How's your show doing? —Kurt "

  "Are you a millionaire yet? —Kurt "

  "Are you ignoring me? —Kurt "

  Jay laughed, scrolling through the messages as he walked away from the bank .

  "I had my phone on silent. I'm busy. —Jay "

  Barely a second later, his phone lit up like a Christmas tree with an incoming call .

  "What part of 'I'm busy' do you not understand?" he asked, standing on the corner and trying to decide what to do first .

  "I need something to distract me," Kurt said. In the background, someone was screaming. "Two of my sisters just announced their engagement. On the same day. Neither of them is the oldest. And they've planned their engagement parties for the same weekend ."

  Jay winced. "That sounds... awkward ."

  "The only awkward thing about it," Kurt said, his voice tight, "is that I can't escape. So be a pal and entertain me. I tried to make Luke do it, but he knows better than to answer my phone calls ."

  "So I'm the poor sucker who's stuck with you?" He shook his head. "You're lucky that I'm in a good mood ."

  "Tell me about it." Kurt jumped onto the new topic so eagerly that Jay felt bad for him. He was clearly desperate .

  Relenting, Jay sat down at an empty bus stop. "I sold paintings," he said, the words rushing out in one breath. Once he got started, he couldn't stop. "I sold a lot of paintings, and I have so much money that it doesn't even seem real. I don't have any idea what to do with it all, and I'm tempted to buy enough ice cream to make myself puke." He paused in horrified realization. "I should not be trusted with money !"

  Kurt laughed, his voice deep and booming even over the tinny connection of Jay's
shitty prepaid cell phone. "Wow," he said. "You really shouldn't ."

  "I'm a menace," Jay agreed, hysterical giggles making his abs ache. "I'm going to do something really stupid and end up homeless again in a month. I'll be one of those people you see on the nightly news ."

  "Hey, breathe," Kurt said, his voice concerned. "You'll be fine ."

  "You don't know that." Jay sucked in a breath, scrubbing tears out of his eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing ."

  "Who does?" A door clicked firmly shut, muffling the screaming. "Okay, look. Free advice. Here's what you do. You have bills that need to be paid, right? Past due stuff? Breathe, man." He sounded completely serious, and Jay couldn't help but be warmed by it when he said, "I can fly back to California tonight if you need me ."

  "No," he said, straightening his shoulders. "No, I can handle this. Bills ."

  "Are you sure?" Kurt teased. "Because I would love to be on the other side of the country right now ."

  "You'll have to trick someone else into helping you get away from your family," Jay said, taking a deep breath. "Bills. My post office box isn't far from here ."

  "I'll stay on the line. Just in case, you know?" Something smashed, the sound of breaking glass so clear that Jay flinched. "I hope that wasn't Nana's mirror," Kurt muttered .

  "So, your family hasn't actually changed any?" Jay thought for a moment. "It was Marizza and Venice, wasn't it ?"

  "Venice and Elodie." He heaved a long sigh. "And Marizza and Catherine are furious that they got there first ."

  Wincing as he remembered the fiery temperament of Kurt's oldest sisters, Jay whistled. "I'm so sorry." Kurt just grunted .

  The post office was packed, but the mailboxes were off to one side, and Jay only had to wait for one heavily tattooed man to pry a sparkling pink package out of his box. The boxes on top were smallest and cheapest, so Jay had to stand on his toes to reach the mail crammed into his box in the corner of the top row. He hadn’t checked it for the last few weeks, well aware that there was nothing he could do about any of it .