Page 38 of Ballad of Nightmares

Ana smiled. “I’ll put on extra mascara,” she promised. “I know how much you love seeing it run down my face.”

Shit, she was good. He had a sound mind to pull her into a janitor’s closet and fuck her backwards right there. But he’d toy more with guessing how wet she was in a bit. He was seemingly enjoying their date.

His crooked smirk widened as he removed his hand completely and took a step back from her. “The red lipstick, too,” he said. “I didn’t get to see it smeared all over that fucking face on Death’s Day.”

“Done,” she told him.

Sam took her hand in his then, and as they started walking together to the next exhibit, the entire room seemed to let out a great exhale.

People had stopped walking and were instead gawking at the pair; one even had her phone out. Sam caught the eye of the woman standing across the way and gave her a wink, then flipped off the camera.

They stayed in the museum for over two more hours, talking about each piece and contemplating what the artist might have felt at the moment. Though Sam knew some of the artists, he had even been friends with a few. However, he kept those details to himself and speculated with her.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply walked around a gallery and admired Shadowmyer’s past. Sure, he would visit some of the galleries on his own just to have peace. Millie was usually too busy with her work to go with him, even though she sometimes met him for lunch on the benches. And Rolfe… Rolfe wasn’t really the museum type.

“I miss her,” Millie said as she chewed part of her sandwich and stared at the sculpture, shoulder leaning against Sam’s. “This artist, Samantha. She was fun.”

“Wasn’t aware you were attached to her,” Sam said before taking a bite of her food.

“We had a few dates,” she said.

“What are we doing here?” Rolfe grunted from the other side of Sam, leaning on his back like he and Millie were using Sam as their personal pillow between them. “What’s this sitting tree thing?” he asked, pointing at the statue.

Millie and Sam huffed a laugh, and Rolfe just rolled his head over on Sam’s shoulder to look at them, his eyes hazed over slightly from the mushroom tea he’d brought for the three of them. Millie snorted as Sam took another bite of her food, and then he leaned his elbows over his knees.

“Samantha was obsessed with trees,” Millie said. “She thought they were connected to the soul somehow.”

“Oh yeah,” Rolfe said, pulling his foot onto the bench. “I remember her. Fun times.”

“What did you know about Samantha?” Millie asked.

“How fucking perfect her pussy tasted,” Rolfe said before blowing out his smoke to the ceiling.

“Ah, it did, didn’t it?” Millie agreed.

“Excuse me, sir,” someone new said as they approached their bench. “You can’t smoke in here.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder, a smile on his face as the security guard glared at Rolfe, and Rolfe blew a plume of smoke in the guard’s face. The guard’s eyes fluttered, Millie snorted, and Sam knew they were about to be kicked out.

“Yeah, we’re going,” Sam said as he stood. The guard looked wary, but Sam waved him off. “I’ve got him,” he said before grabbing Rolfe’s hand and hauling him up. “Never inviting you back,” he bantered. “Ruined my peaceful spot.”

“—Sam?”

Sam blinked back to reality as Ana squeezed his thigh, and he turned his head to find her watching him.

“You dazed off,” she said.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You want to go grab some food?”

Her smile softened, and she nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam took her hand, kissing her knuckles, then stood with her and headed towards the next room. There was a small cafe on the eighth floor that he liked. Great sandwiches, his favorite, a nice view of the uptown area—

Though by the way Ana was rubbing his arm and playing with his fingers, he wondered if perhaps she had a different idea for nourishment.

Ana paused in front of a marble statue on the fourth floor: a naked man, nearly eight-feet-tall with long, billowing hair, full spread wings, and a crown. Scars along his trim chest and eyes of pain.

Her fingers tenderly caressed his palm in a way that had a warmth trickling up his arm and settling in the pit of his stomach, and Sam forgot that they were staring at a depiction of Death himself.