Devon Hartford - Painless

“No,” I sighed. “Not until next school year.”

“And you’re not an orphan, or ward of the court?”

“Do you mean a ward like Robin is a ward of Batman’s?” I asked hopefully

She grinned. “Well yes. But you don’t happen to know any superheroes, do you?”

“One,” I grinned, thinking of Christos. “But he doesn’t have a costume. He has tattoos. Does that count?”

She chuckled, “Sadly, no. Maybe if you got him to wear a costume?” she winked

“Probably not,” I sighed.

“Any chance you’re a veteran?”

“No.”

“A graduate student?”

“Still an undergrad. Geez, I’m nothing, aren’t I?”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t say that. I’d say you’re a bright young woman with a financial hiccup. We can work through it. You don’t have any legal dependents, do you? Any children or aging grandparents you care for?”

“No. But I could get pregnant, if that would help,” I said sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” she said with amusement. “Besides, even if you got pregnant tomorrow, you wouldn’t have the baby until Fall Quarter, so your dependent status wouldn’t change until then. That wouldn’t help you pay your Spring tuition, now would it?” She winked at me.

“I guess not.”

She leveled a serious but compassionate look at me. “Don’t get pregnant, Samantha. If you think working two jobs is tough, having a child is ten times harder. I know what I’m talking about.” She picked up a photo from her desk and spun it around for me to see. It was her smiling with a little boy and girl. Both kids were grade school age. “Don’t let their cuteness fool you. Like toads, lizards, and demon spawn, the second they realize they’re larger than you, they will try to eat you,” she grinned.

“Got it. No kids.”

“Gosh,” she sighed, “there’s only one other option.”

I winced. “What? Do I have to be a member of the clergy or something? I’d totally become a nun if it would pay for school.”

“No,” she smiled, “just the opposite. You’re not married, are you?”

A bullet of surprise knocked me into the back of my chair. “Did you say married?”

“Yes.”

“As in, wed? As in, hitched?”

She chuckled, “I did. Can I take it that you have a husband? I only ask because I didn’t see a ring on your finger.”

I didn’t see a ring on my finger either, but the idea made me woozy in the best way possible. I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on Sheri’s desk. My brain and heart swirled with possibilities.

What if Christos and I were married?

What if?

I suddenly wanted to do the happy dance on Sheri Denney’s desk. But it wasn’t like I could ask Christos to marry me, could I? No. Such things weren’t done. I could hint. I could hint like crazy twenty times a day. But Christos had to do the asking, assuming I didn’t scare him away with all the hinting.

Sheri raised her eyebrows expectantly. “You are married, aren’t you?”

“No,” I sighed. “Not yet, anyway. But I have a serious boyfriend.”

She deflated a little. “Don’t rush into anything, Samantha. I don’t want you coming back in here tomorrow with some adventure story about how you drove to Las Vegas tonight and got Elvis to marry you and your boyfriend at a drive thru wedding chapel for a hundred dollars. Marriage is a serious commitment. Don’t take it lightly.”

“I know,” I sighed.

Sheri rested a hand on my forearm and looked me in the eye. “I’m not saying don’t get married, I’m just saying don’t rush into it. Get married because you love each other, when you’re ready. Not because you need some financial aid money.”

I really liked Sheri. She wasn’t so hard core like my parents, trying to control everything I did. Maybe Sheri could adopt me? No. She had two kids already.

“In the meantime,” she said, “try talking to your parents again. It’s your best bet.”

“I don’t know. Ever since I changed my major to art, they’ve been flipping out. And my mom thinks my boyfriend is a bad influence.”

“I see,” she nodded. “I argued with my mom about boys all the time when I was your age.”

“Really? What happened?”

She grinned conspiratorially at me and leaned forward to whisper, “I married the boy we argued about the most.”

“See! Maybe I should marry my boyfriend!”

She rolled her eyes. “I know it sounds like getting married will fix everything. It doesn’t. There’s more problems, just different ones. Now, you said something about changing your major. What was it before?”

“Accounting. But that’s just what my parents wanted. I changed my major to art because that’s what I’ve dreamed about doing since I was a girl.”

Sheri smiled, “I wanted to be a dancer when I graduated from high school. Getting married and having kids put a stop to that. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband dearly on all the days he isn’t driving me nuts, and I love my kids more than anything. But I never got to move to New York to be a dancer like I had always dreamed.” She gave me a serious look. “Samantha, you have to choose. If you want to be an artist, you might have to wait on marriage.”

“But my boyfriend is an artist! And he’s successful too!” A sudden rush of optimism and hope swept through me. It felt like my life was suddenly coming together, despite everything my parents were doing to stand in my way. “Maybe I can have my boyfriend and an art career and get married!”

“Maybe you can,” Sheri smiled. “But please, please, don’t rush out and tie the knot. Try talking to your parents first. If they helped you before, it’s because they love you.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. Loved me like fire loved to burn things, maybe. Groan. But I bet not like Sheri loved her kids. They were lucky to have her as a mom.

She continued, “Maybe if you explain to your parents how serious you are about art?”

“I have. They don’t think I can make any money doing it.”

“Can you?”

“Yes. My boyfriend makes tons of money selling his paintings.”

“Then you need to show your parents that you can make money as an artist too.” Sheri had stars in her eyes, as if she were suddenly living my dream with me. “This is your chance to be the dancer I never got to be. You go be an artist, Samantha. Live your dream. You’re young, and there’s no better time.”

“You’re right! I’m totally going to do it!”

She laughed, “And maybe you’ll even marry your artist boyfriend someday.”

“Someday,” I swooned.

I think it was already spring time in my tummy because I could feel flowers blooming and an army of butterflies spreading their wings inside my heart. That, or every cell in my body was getting ready to explode with sudden happiness.

For the first time in weeks, I felt honest to goodness hope.

I was dizzy as I walked drunkenly out of the Financial Aid offices.

Everything was finally falling into place for me!

All because I had Christos in my life.

CHRISTOS

“Mmmm, Christos, my neck is so stiff. Can you massage for me?” Isabella asked in her broken and accented English.

Never in my life had a naked hottie sitting five feet away from me asking for a massage been so utterly fucking annoying.

Since I’d taken the last five days off from painting, I was way behind, and I had to juggle all the models’ schedules. Hence, Isabella being in the studio today instead of her usual Wednesdays and Saturdays. I could have had Isabella here last Saturday, but I’d wanted to spend the weekend with Samantha. Not some random model, no matter how hot she may have been.

Isabella made a blatant show of rubbing her neck and working a hair toss into the mix. “You rub my neck, Christos,” she insisted, “so I feel much better.”

The pose she was holding was an easy one. Any other model I’d worked with wouldn’t have been complaining.

Isabella was up to her usual games. She was looking for any excuse for me to touch her, especially when she was naked and vulnerable. Any normal man on the planet would’ve taken Isabella’s cue and had their hands all over her luscious caramel skin and dark mane of hair a second later.

I wasn’t any normal man.

I sighed and set my brushes down. “Why don’t you take a break?” I suggested. “Put your robe on and walk around for a while. It’ll help you loosen up. Maybe do some jumping jacks.”

She frowned. “What is jumping jack? Is Jack a friend of you?”

I reminded myself that Portuguese was her first language. I cracked a smile. It was kind of funny when I thought about it. How had the word jack met up with jumping in the first place? I had no idea.

“What is funny?” Isabella smiled coquettishly.

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing. Try doing some neck rotations. Like this,” I demonstrated moving my head in circles. “And some shoulder shrugs,” which I did.

Isabella stood up, revealing her naked body from head to toe in all its perfect glory. “Massage is better,” she moaned, taking a tentative step toward me.

“I’ve gotta take a leak,” I lied, hoping it would ruin her mood.

She cocked her head, not understanding.

Subtlety was not going to work with the language barrier.

“Bathroom,” I said, “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“Walk around while I’m gone. Neck rotations will help.” I raised my eyebrows while rolling and nodding my head. “Got it?”

“Yes,” she pouted.

Instead of using the bathroom in the studio, I went into the furthest guest bathroom at the back of the house. I passed by my grandfather’s office on the way. He was sitting at the computer. I stopped and leaned against the doorframe.