Page 64 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)

Taylor

Effie follows me around the studio as I give it a final once-over.

“Hors d’oeuvres, champagne, and sparkling water in the back.” Effie points out, and I smile politely at one of Inferno’s club employees behind the table. We walk to the front of the gallery, with another employee working security. “The guest book and your artist statement as soon as guests enter.”

My artist statement is painted in red, the letters dripping down the wall like blood.

Taylor McKenna casts dark, thought-provoking narratives.

Her paintings invite the viewer into her nightmarish landscapes, with subjects ranging from the tangible problem of affordable healthcare to the intangible darkness of mental health challenges.

Violent. Jarring. Seductive. Welcome to Crazy, Reimagined.

“Thank you again for helping me with my opening.” I didn’t take Lily’s suggestion of asking Valentina Parisi for her party planning services. I’m not sure where everyone stands in that fucked up family dynamic, and my opening wasn’t the time to find out.

“My pleasure. I’ll be milling about this evening, ready to ring up any sales.”

I blow out a nervous breath. “As long as I make at least one sale, I’ll be happy.”

“Nonsense. You will sell out; mark my words.”

Effie excuses herself, and Gavin appears with a hammer in hand.

“Need anything else adjusted?” Pretty sure it’s the hammer Mike used in his ringside entrance, but there are some things I don’t need to know.

I shake my head. “No.” If I make one adjustment, then I’ll have to make ten more.

“I’m only loaning out my art collection,” Gavin warns. “Anyone tries to take my paintings, they’ll be picking up their teeth.”

My muse has his own wall, punctuated with the Round signs.

Madness’s Muse. Still one of my favorites.

The Spider. My sketch of the spider with gold rings for eyes. And yes, I did finish it with my mouth open, ready to devour him.

Abstract Expressionism Meets Jealousy. Cum and green paint explode from the mythological creature’s mouth.

The Champ. And my latest painting for Gavin, a bloody fighter in the ring. He’s wearing the championship belt while he slams shut the door to ghosts of the past.

“That’s what those red dot stickers on the painting titles mean. They’re not for sale.” I wrap my arms around his neck, smacking my lips against his. Pulling back, I examine my handiwork. “You have red on your lips.”

“Mmm, my favorite color,” Gavin agrees.

“Like the monkey suit, but where’s your bowtie?” I ask.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He wags his eyebrows.

My eyes land on his crotch, and he chuckles, pulling the bowtie out of his pocket. “Good luck, baby.”

The doors open, and I get a little teary-eyed at so many people here to support me and my art.

I spend hours chatting about my pieces with various collectors, enthusiasts, and a few fellow artists. “Such an interesting medium. What is it?” someone asks about Madness’s Muse.

“That’s my proprietary medium.” Because nobody else is getting a hold of Gavin’s cum.

A familiar face catches my eye, and I excuse myself, crossing the room.

“Like the painting?”

Ripped from a Fortune Cookie.

A toe peeks out of the bloody cookie, with the fortune written on the toe tag: Death is the only excuse.

“Got some dark shit swimming up there, don’t you?” Steve taps his temple.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say dryly.

“Meant it as one. You’re talented.”

“Aww, thanks, Steve.” I beam.

He harrumphs.

“How’s the new ring girl search going?” I ask him.

“Sure I can’t talk you into coming back next season?”

“Ha, knew you’d miss me,” I taunt.

Steve snorts. “Like a hemorrhoid, maybe.”

“Uh-huh,” I drawl.

“None of the ring girl contenders have sense to pour piss out of a boot,” he laments.

“But I thought playing the role of fantasy girl was the most important thing?” I mock.

His eyes narrow. “You’re still a pain in my ass.”

“Your hemorrhoids are not my problem,” I counter.

He shoves a bag in my hand and walks away. Peeking inside, it’s filled with fortune cookies. “Steve, we are besties, and you can’t tell me different,” I call after him.

“I’ve been replaced by a boomer?” Kat appears with her bodyguards.

Things between me and my bestie have changed. Kat chose her side, and I chose mine. Maybe in the future, there won’t be sides.

Maybe.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” I tell Kat, giving her a hug.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Thank you so much for the wedding gift. Fabio and I love it.”

“Aww, you’re welcome.” I didn’t even realize Kat was a dog person, but she requested a dog collar and leash painting as her wedding gift.

“I won’t keep you. Just wanted to say congrats. I’m going to scope out your work before everything gets snatched up.”

“Thanks again for coming.” We hug, and she flitters off.

Effie appears, placing a red dot on Ripped from a Fortune Cookie.

“Who bought this one?” I wonder.

“Steve.”

“Artsy-fartsy.” I smile, blinking back the tears.

I’m on cloud nine when the evening comes to an end, and I take in all the blank walls, save for Gavin’s loaned pieces, of course. But Effie was right: I sold out my very first show.

Gavin grabs my hand, leading me to his car. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“Celebrating. This is a hell fucking yeah moment!”

“It is,” I agree with a huge grin.

He drives me to his boxing club, unlocking the door. The ring is set up with a table and spread. “You didn’t have a chance to eat tonight,” he says, holding the ropes open for me as I duck between them.

After feeding each other sushi, one thing leads to another, and I’m straddling him on the mat, our tongues warring. “Gavin, fuck me.” I moan against his lips.

“Not here.” He picks me up, carrying me out of the ring and down the hallway, to the newly constructed locker room.

My eyes land on the cushion placed near the bench, a brand new strap on, and an excessive number of lube bottles.

I do a double take. And the ball gag I “gifted” him, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Gavin, you don’t have to—”

“Taylor, I want to give you everything, so don’t stall and give my asshole time to back out,” he warns, placing me on my feet.

“I like you, but for the next little bit, I’m going to treat you like I don’t. Strip and get on your knees, ass hanging over the bench,” I command.

With a bark of laughter, he strips, his dick standing ready. “Just remember, man-eater, you tear up my asshole, I’m gonna tear up yours.” He falls to his knees on the cushion, making a kissy-kissy face.

“Oh, little fuckboy, it’s on.”