Butterfly by Nelle L’Amour
CHAPTER 25
Roman
Ispot him instantly upon entering the art supply store. Blickdick is at the cash register ringing up a long line of customers. Wearing a Blick T-shirt, hair slicked back. No different from the first time I met him. Except now he’s also sporting a shiner. His looks no worse than mine.
Holding a red basket, I surreptitiously head down one of the aisles—the one where all the paints are stocked—trying to rehearse an apology in my head. I’m not good at saying sorry to anyone. I haven’t even told Sofi I’m sorry about last night. For being such a shmuck. Dammit! I wish last night never happened.
Halfway down the aisle, a bright green sign captures my attention.
NEW! JUST IN!
The shade of green reminds me of the Luna moth painting I saw on Sofi’s phone. And for the first time, I notice how similar it is to the color of Sofi’s eyes.
Below the sign are neatly stacked jars of paint. I pick one up. What do you know? It’s called Luna Green. With a single sweep, I shove them all into my basket, not leaving one behind. Fuck the sign. Setting the basket down, I pull out my Montblanc from my phone case and snap off the cap. I flip the sign around and scribble on the cardboard. New sign:
OUT OF LUCK!
OUT OF STOCK!
I am a schmuck. I pick up the basket and hurry to the cash register. Now, I have a reason to interact with Blickdick though I’m still not sure what I’m going to say to him, assuming I can control my physical impulses. By now you should know, anger management has never been one of my strong points. On the plus side, at least, I have a peace offering for Sofi.
The slow-moving, long line grates on my nerves, making me more irritable than I already am. When I finally get to the front, I want to strangle someone. That someone being Blickdick. His eyes grow wide when he sees me.
“What are you doing here?”
One by one, I set the paint jars down on the counter. Procrastinating. Finally, I meet his gaze and the words tumble out.
“I’ve come to apologize. I’m sorry about last night.” The genuine sincerity—and humbleness—in my voice startle me. I don’t even sound like myself. I sound like some kind of ninny. Ninny . . . Vinny . . . crap, that rhymes.
Vinny’s dark eyes stay on me. “You should be sorry people like you exist.”
His words actually sting. “Yeah, you’re right.” I stare at his black eye and am reminded of mine. “You pack a powerful punch. I deserved that, but thanks for sparing me my eyesight. It’s bad enough with only one eye.”
Vinny’s face softens and he quirks a small apologetic smile. “Hey, I’m glad I didn’t cause too much damage.” He pauses. “You’re really into her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sofi. You have a thing for her.”
I feel my muscles tensing. Jealousy is rearing its ugly head. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah, but she’s never been into me the way she’s into you.”
Jealousy is quickly replaced by curiosity. I ask him to explain.
“I saw the way she looked at you when you took her into your arms. And the way she danced with you. Clung to you. Your bodies fused like she never wanted to let you go.”
At his words, the memory of dancing with her zips into my head. I felt the same way, but I’m not going to tell him that. He goes on.
“I take a lot of nature photos too.”
I tense up, expecting him to tell me that he’s been to the Butterfly Conservatory with Sofi and took those spectacular butterfly photos that are on her phone. The fucker better not have. That’s our special place. To my relief, he doesn’t and instead says, “The grass can’t compete with the trees.”
I digest his odd choice of words. Given how physically slight he is compared to me, maybe it’s some kind of analogy. He’s not going to fight for Sofi.
His gaze shoots down to all the paint jars on the counter. “Want me to ring you up?”
“That would be good.”
He picks up one of the jars and reads the label. “Luna Green . . . Are these for Sofi?”
I nod. “Lunas are her favorite butterfly.”
“They’re moths,” he corrects.
“Right.” I twist my lips. “It’s a peace offering. She’s really pissed at me.”
He grins. “Don’t worry, I know Sofi well.”
How well?Jealousy creeps back into my veins. Has he fucked her? The question burns on my lips, but I bite my tongue as my nemesis starts ringing up the paint.
“Sofi doesn’t have it in her heart to hold grudges. She’ll get over it.” He rings up the last jar. “Besides, like I said, she’s hot for you.”
His words flit around my head while he bags the jars of paint. My butterfly sure has a weird way of showing her feelings. Maybe he’s just playing nice to me so I don’t hit him again. Suddenly, I remember the other reason I came here. Before Blickdick hands me the bag and receipt, I reach into the breast pocket of my jacket and retrieve a small unmarked box.
“This is for you.”
He glances up at me. “Huh?”
“Take it.” I hand it to him. “Open it.”
With a puzzled expression, the wiry store manager lifts off the lid. His eyes bug out. “Holy shit!”
It’s not my speeding ticket, though I’d be lying if I didn’t say I thought about giving it to him. Rather, it’s a five-thousand-dollar gift certificate to B&H Photo, the best and biggest camera store in the city . . . maybe the world.
“Sofi put you up to this?” he stammers, still unable to blink an eye.
“Nah. She has no clue.”
He’s speechless.
“It’s the least I could do for breaking your camera.”
His jaw drops to the floor; the poor kid’s in shock. “Man, I can’t take this.”
“Keep it. I want you to have it. Besides, it’s non-returnable and I have no need for it.”
“Wow!” says Vincent under his breath. “Thanks, bro. I thought you were an asshole, but you’re not.”
I chuckle. “I thought you were a dickhead, but you’re not.”
Vincent laughs too. “I still can’t believe this.”
“Buy yourself the best equipment possible. Everything you need.”
“I will.”
“I went on Instagram and checked out your photography. You’ve got real talent, Garcia.”
“Thanks,” he says humbly, handing me the bagful of green paint and my Visa.
“I’d like to work with you on my upcoming collection.”
Vincent’s eyes bug out again. “Seriously???”
“Come on. Do I look like a bullshitter?”
After a silent shake of his head, he meets my gaze with earnestness. “I’m not a bullshitter either. In case you’re wondering . . . I’ve never slept with Sofi.”
I believe him. A giddy mixture of relief and ecstasy floods me.
He throws the receipt into the bag. “Ro-man, she’s strong but fragile. Be gentle with her.”
I try to read into his words. Is he saying Sofi’s a virgin?
When the timing is right, I’m going to find out.