Free Stripped by H.M. Ward Page B

the floor to ourselves. Pretty cool, right?"
    He holds the door open for me and we duck inside. "You're proud of yourself."
    "Just a little bit."
    We're taken to the exhibit after Jonathan introduces himself to the director. Canvases that are taller than I am line the walls, each one somber and mute. Women are depicted in paint, their expressions a little too sexual for me to look at with Jon standing next to me.
    When did he become Jon? I wonder. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, watching him wander over to a painting with his hand on his chin. He stares at it, unblinking, unafraid that anyone is watching him. The subject matter makes me blush. The woman on the canvas looks like she's in ecstasy, but she's alone. Between her isolation and the colors, it feels sad—lost almost.
    Jon turns to me, his arm folded over his chest with his other tapping his jaw. "So, what do you think of the infamous Jonathan Gray?"
    I shrug, and try not to look at Jon. The paintings are more evocative than I thought, so I joke, knowing damn well that it's a defense mechanism. "So, what's wrong with this guy?" I tilt my head to the side and look at yet another painting of a naked woman. The monochromatic tones are so somber it makes me want to cry.
    Jon moves next to me and slips his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, I think they all feel sad too. I don't know. I'd be seriously happy if I had this chick posing for me at my house."
    I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and smirk. "I'm surprised you haven't. It says the artist and models are from New York."
    Jonathan fake laughs and steps in front of me, blocking the view of the painting. Folding his arms over his chest, he says, "I haven't screwed every woman in New York."
    "No, I know. You spread your seed abundantly over the Tri-State area. Can't forget Connecticut. They get pissy when we do that." I smirk at him and walk over to another painting, glancing out the window as I pass. There are people gathered outside with poster boards that have thick black letters sprawled across each one. They seem agitated, as if something changed down there.
    Jonathan laughs deeply and shakes his head. He trails behind me, stopping in front of the window. "Damn, they're getting noisy out there."
    "I'm surprised they let us in with all that going on outside."
    He shrugs, "I'm not. It's the only perk of being a Ferro."
    "Yeah, that and obscene amounts of money." Glancing over my shoulder, I flash him a grin.
    Jonathan has this way about him, like nothing I can say will ever get to him. Every compliment or burn I've thrown his way just rolls off his shoulders like his skin is made of Kevlar. Nothing gets to his heart—ever. It makes me wonder what happened to him, what made him this way.
    Jonathan steps away and looks at his shoe before standing next to me. The painting in front of us is pale skin on snow, cream and white, and haunted eyes that make me shiver. I stare at the canvas way too long with him by my side, and ask, "What do you think his deal is?"
    "I think that's a chick, Cassie. I mean, those could be man boobs, but her ass is a little too—" I jab him in the side with my elbow and render him silent as he chortles.
    "No, you dork. I mean the artist—Jonathan Gray. What's wrong with him? All these paintings look so sad. It's like staring into an emotional void and the woman is insignificant."
    A single brow lifts on his face, like Jon's impressed. His arms fold over his toned chest as he tucks his chin in. His lips press together and part, like he wants to say something, but he doesn't.
    My voice is soft, "Tell me. I know you're thinking something—just say it. It can't possibly make my opinion of you any worse," I tease. He laughs once, but still says nothing. I copy his stance and tip my head up. Eyeing him, I say, "Your silence makes me think that you must be contemplating boning the subject."
    Jonathan laughs way too loudly, making a few people, including a security guard, look our