Sleet Sugar by S.J. Tilly

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

IZZY

The ride here was rough. Pulling teeth, nothing to talk about, super awkward, rough.

Even though I wasn’t excited about going on this date, I still dressed the part. I’m in a deep purple wrap dress with three quarter sleeves and knee-high black heeled boots. I stuck with black for all my accessories and the result ended up a little more femme fatal then I‘d intended. But I refused to do a multi-outfit change for this, so Domme Izzy is what Bill gets.

Bill, on the other hand, went full corporate. He’s in a suit and tie, just like he’s been every other time I’ve seen him. He is good looking, in a clean-shaven, Wall Street -haircut kind of way. He’s definitely not too old for me, he’s just too boring.

I think back to Meghan’s comment about his dick and I have to hold in a shudder. He’s… I wouldn’t say fit, since I can’t picture him going to the gym, but he’s slender. I’ve had enough work lunches with him to know that he always gets the salad with a vinaigrette dressing and no bread or cheese.

See, entirely too boring.

Zach might be limited on what he eats, but that’s because he’s a professional athlete. And he sure as hell goes to the gym. Not that I'm one to judge a person’s fitness level, but I like what I like.

“After you, Isabelle,” Bill says, holding open the door of Burgundy Strokes.

The studio is more formal than I was expecting. It’s set up like a classroom, rather than a collection of tables. There are three rows of easels with stools, all facing the front of the room, where there’s a podium and a projector. The room itself is styled like a Renaissance painting. The walls are dark, the floors are dark, all the furniture is made of heavy dark wood. There are deep red velvet drapes along the walls and an abundance of vases filled with dried flowers. It’s a bit much.

“Bonjour!” A tall, whip-thin man greets us. “You are here for the class, oui?”

“Oui,” Bill replies.

I barely resist the eye roll. Good grief Bill, I know you don’t actually speak French.

“Superb. You may call me Monsieur. I’ll be your teacher tonight. Pour yourselves a glass of my gorgeous red and find a canvas that speaks to you.”

As Bill gets our wine, I wander closer to the painting stations to see if one calls to me. None do.

Wine glasses in hand, Bull turns to me. “Where shall we sit?”

I’ve noticed Bill has been keeping a friendly distance between us, he doesn’t put his hand on my back, or stand too close. It’s not exactly date etiquette, but I appreciate it.

“How do you feel about the back row?” I ask.

“How daring -” Bill’s eyes widen. “I’ve always been a sit-in-the-front-row kind of guy.”

“I believe that.” I smile.

We select a pair of seats that are in the middle of the back row. There are a few other people already here. Another couple, and a group of four ladies. I’m hoping the class fills up, since I don’t want the Faux Frenchman to spend too much time critiquing my work.

Each station has a little side table holding a selection of paints and brushes with extra space to set down my wine glass. Touching all the colors, I start to think that this might end up being kind of fun.

“I can honestly say, I don’t remember the last time I did anything artistic,” Bill says while looking through his paints. “Please don’t judge me based on what I produce.”

“Deal. And same goes. I loved painting when I was a kid, but the closest thing to art I’ve done recently is play around with my adult coloring book.”

Bill looks over at me in shock. “Umm, what’s that?”

“You know, coloring books for adults. They’ve been all the rage for the past few years. They’re supposed to be good for reducing stress. Gives your mind something to focus on that doesn’t take a lot of brain power. There’s a million to pick from. I have a kitten one, a candy one, a Christmas themed one...” I shrug. “I got a bunch as gifts from my friends last year.”

“I’ve never heard of that. So, it’s just a coloring book. Not like…” He trails off and blushes.

I cock my head at him trying to figure out what he was thinking. Then it hits me.

“You thought the adult part meant it was… erotic?”

Bill’s blush deepens. “What was I supposed to think?”

I can’t help it, I laugh. I probably laugh harder than the situation calls for, but seeing how flustered Bill got at just the mention of something adult is hilarious. Poor guy is too sheltered for his own good.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at you,” I say while dabbing at a tear, but he’s grinning, so I don’t think he’s offended.

“It’s quite alright. Clearly I don’t get out enough.”

“You always were a workaholic. What made you want to come here tonight, if art isn’t your thing?” I ask, honestly curious.

“My sister came here last year and wouldn’t stop talking about it. You kind of remind me of her, so when I saw you the other week I thought of this place.”

Oh, boy. I remind him of his sister?! That’s more than a little cringeworthy.

My face must show some of the horror that I feel.

“Oh. Umm…” Bill pales. “I didn’t mean for that to sound creepy. I just… I’ve been wanting to come here is all.”

“Bill, it’s okay.” I chuckle.

We both take large pulls from our wine glasses. This is so uncomfortable. We can only go up from here though, right?

We both take a few moments to examine our paint selection again.

A man’s voice floats over to me from the entrance. “Sorry, my date cancelled on me tonight, but I still wanted to come and paint. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

No. Frenching. Way.

I’d recognize that voice in my sleep. Hell, I often hear that voice in my sleep.

I turn my head to find Zach standing near the doorway, talking to Monsieur. I had a feeling that our fearless painting leader was on Team Testosterone, and his reaction to Zach is confirming that suspicion. He has his hand on Zach’s bicep as he insists that he join our class, even if he’s going stag.

Date cancelled my ass. No one would cancel on Zach. I’d bet my secret gummy bear stash he was planning to come alone.

But seriously, how does he keep finding me? There’s literally no way this is a coincidence. Clearly I have a mole in my organization. I’ll have to hunt them down.

After all I’ve put Zach through, I can’t believe he’s still pursuing me this hard. He could have anyone he wants, whenever he wants. Instead he’s giving up his whole evening to sit through an event that I’m sure he’ll hate, just to be near me. He should be at home resting. He had back-to-back away games this weekend, and he has another game tomorrow.

Zach shakes hands, again, with Monsieur before heading to get his own glass of wine.

He has to pass behind us to get to the wine table. I watch, out of the corner of my eye, as he walks our way. He takes a moment to give my date a full once over as he approaches. Then the jerkface smirks and snaps his eyes over to meet mine.

I expect him to make some big scene, but he simply nods to me as he passes.

I can not believe the nerve of this guy! He shows up here, uninvited, and has the gall to judge my date on appearance alone. I look back over at Bill, take in what Zach just saw, and sigh. Yeah, okay, I’d smirk if I were Zach, too. Which is a total bitch thing to think. Bill is a decent guy. He’s kind, smart. He has a good job and good hygiene… Wow, good hygiene? That’s the best I can come up with?

Guilt from being happy that Zach’s here mixes with relief that Zach's here. At this point I should have assumed he’d show up tonight, but it’s still unexpected. And totally welcome.

My heart softens towards Bill. I’m sure he’ll find a nice woman someday. A nice, clean, boring woman.

The noise in the room picks up, as more people file in through the front door. It looks like the class will be pretty full after all.

“So, business still going well?” Bill asks me.

He asked me that a couple of weeks ago when I saw him at his office. I think it’s safe to say that he’s feeling the awkward tension between us, too.

I try to relax. “It is. The players I work with are all great and every day is different. I have a few new client meetings next week, trying to branch out to another sport, so I’m looking forward to that. And it’s nice to be able to see my dad at work.”

“That’s right - I always forget that he’s a coach.”

That makes me smile. “I don’t know if I’ve ever asked you, do you watch hockey?”

Bill shrugs. “Can’t say that I have. I never really understood the point of sports, and hockey is just so violent. I don’t know why people enjoy it.”

I hear a muffled cough as Zach passes in front of us. At least I know that Bill won’t recognize him.

“Oh, I mean, that’s not to say that it’s bad that you watch it.” Bill catches his misstep. “I mean, my sister loves hockey.”

“The one I remind you of?” I can’t help myself.

Another laugh turned cough sounds in front of us.

Bill shifts in his seat, and I feel a bit bad.

I reach out and pat him on the back. “I’m teasing you, Bill. It’s okay that you don’t like hockey.”

Someone loudly scrapes their stool across the floor. Like everyone else in the room, I turn towards the sound and see Zach pulling out his seat. Directly in front of Bill. Directly in my line of sight. Great. At least Bill’s canvas is blocking his view of Zach. I have a sneaking suspicion that Zach won’t be behaving himself.

A few more minutes pass with Bill and I making stilted small talk. I want to take the pressure off of both of us and just tell him now that this isn’t going to be a romantic date, but I don’t want Zach to hear. I can only imagine what he would do if he overheard that conversation. I picture something along the lines of bodily removing Bill from his seat and Zach claiming it as his own. I’m not looking to humiliate poor Bill. I’ll just have to look for an opening later.

“Bonsoir, class! Thank you for joining me tonight to partake in the wonderful world of art. You have all claimed your canvas, and - before we get started - I would like us all to take a moment to thank our blank slate.” He pauses, we remain silent. “Come, come - say thank you. Give it a little stroke.”

A giggle escapes me as the class oddly mumbles their thanks. I notice that Bill takes this request very seriously. Petting his canvas a few times before folding his hands back in his lap.

“Very well. I’ll be putting up a collection of images for you tonight. I want you to pick the one that speaks to you, or you can choose to use them as inspiration. Creativity is the juice of life. It flows through us and comes out in various ways. It might be subtle, or it might surge from you in a crashing wave.”

Zach slowly turns his head until he’s looking at me. Eyes wide. Eyebrows arched. I have to put a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

“Tonight is a full moon, and I wanted us to honor Mother Nature with our paintings.”

This guy is half stuck-up sommelier and half flower child. I take another sip of wine as Monsieur clicks a button and a row of paintings flash to life on the front wall.

Holy vaginas!

I literally spit-take my wine, leaving a Jackson Pollack of Burgundy across my canvas. A few drips find their way onto my dress. And my cleavage. Bill doesn’t even notice.

“The goddess guiding us this evening is the one and only Georgia O’Keeffe. I present to you Black Iris, Grey Lines with Black Blue and Yellow, and White and Blue Flower Shapes.”

Monsieur turns to admire the paintings he chose. I hear snickering and murmurs throughout the room. I can only see Zach’s profile, but it’s easy to spot his wide grin. I check on Bill for his reaction, only to find him staring, brows furrowed, head tilted.

“Why do those look familiar?” He asks.

Oh. My. God. I can’t handle this.

I know Zach heard Bill, because I can see his shoulders shaking.

Monsieur faces the class again. “Any questions?”

Zach raises his hand. “What if we can’t pick a favorite?”

What a suck up.

“Wonderful!” The teacher clasps his hands together and beams at Zach. “You do whatever feels right. Just listen to your sexy inner voice and do what it compels you to do.” My sexy inner voice is telling me to ditch this class and mount Zach. But I don’t think that’s what he meant. “Alright, pupils, you may begin. I’ll be walking amongst you, but please don’t hesitate to grab my attention if you need any assistance.”

As I start to pick through my paints, I decide to try my hand at recreating the Grey Lines painting. It has a very strong vulva game and the color scheme would work great in Meghan’s living room. She did say that she wanted to keep my painting after all.

Hmm, Meghan. She knew I’d be here tonight. But so did Katelyn and Steph. And probably Jackson. Perhaps even Luke, if Jackson had reason to mention it. I gotta narrow in on the traitor.

“Oh!” Bill has an epiphany. “Black Iris… an Iris is a flower, right? That must be what looks familiar. My sister has an extensive garden she’s always forcing me to admire.”

Zach barks out a laugh too loud to be turned into a cough, and my face flames red in embarrassment on Bill’s behalf. But… I decide to have a little fun with this.

“Sounds lovely, you should paint that one for her! I bet she’d appreciate it.”

Bill nods. “What a great idea!”

And with that, all of Bill’s focus goes into selecting the right paints for his sister’s pussy. I mean painting.