Page 134 of Double or Nothing

Jack sighs as he spins around, bored of his channel surfing.

“If you stare any harder, BT, her pencil’s going to file a restraining order against you.”

Alice’s foot pokes Jack in the shoulder. “Leave him alone. He likes art, remember? Not just the purchasing, but the actual creative process.”

Jack laughs. “Fuck off, Alice. I enjoyed the creative process of the triage at yours, thank you very much. When you sell those, I’ll be expecting my cut for the jizz I invested.”

But my mind isn’t there. It’s still on the movement of Alice’s fingers.

“I’m admiring far more than the process, I’m admiring the artist,” I say before I can stop myself.

Alice’s pencil stills.

“Well, well, well,” Jack says. “Someone’s getting brave.”

I shrug. “Who knows? Maybe I am.”

Alice looks at me then, and for a second the room changes. Her eyes are bright and warm and full of something that makes my chest hurt.

Then she looks away. Back to her sketchbook as she keeps on sketching.

“Talking of selling, there’s an art auction next month,” she says, too casually. Far too casually.

Jack gives his usual laugh. “Smooth topic change, Soul Girl. Ten out of ten for subtlety.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I. Painfully subtle. Award-winning. Round of applause. Poor Bryce. Putting it out there, all for the slap in the face of a change of subject.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s tension in her shoulders now. I feel it before I understand it.

It’s always been a big deal to her to have her art on offer to the public. Putting her soul on the line for cash value.

“What auction?” I ask.

“A private one. Hammersmith again. Not charity this time, proper sale. Mixed contemporary pieces. A couple of serious collectors are going.” She taps her pencil against the sketchbook. “Thomas Mackley has work in it. So does Eliza Grainger. A few others.”

“You should put something in,” I say. “Definitely.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. I dunno. It’s a bit la de da.”

Jack twists around to face her properly. “Maybe? You sold three pieces for sixty grand and now you’re giving us a maybe? Jesus, Alice, those Thomas Mackley pieces were boring as fuck. They made the sea look like tepid splotches of tap water.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“You bought them.”

“Yes.” Jack laughs. “And I have excellent taste.”

“You thought they were splashes of crap when you first saw them.”

“No, I didn’t. I knew they had meaning.”

She shakes her head this time, laughing right back at him.

“Sorry, Jack, but I know you too well for that bullshit now. You were talking crap because you wanted a taste of my pussy.”