I flicked my eyes at the mirror, “I meant me.” I turned to face the mirror square on and flexed my abs. All eight of them popped, as did the fingers of my external obliques. I was as ripped as ever.

“Your ego is so big,” Samantha joked, “I’m surprised everything in the solar system isn’t sucked right into it.”

I chuckled while I padded up to the canvas in my bare feet, and applied some freshly mixed color to the canvas. “How’s your phoenix painting coming along?”

Samantha had been working on it like crazy ever since she’d finished the sketch and showed it to us over a week ago. It sat on her easel in her corner of the studio. Based on my advice, she’d decided to do it in oils to give it the widest range of contrast from light to dark, and the most vibrant colors possible.

“Good,” she smiled. “It’s way more work than I expected, but I’ve got a handle on it.”

I walked over to look at it. She was doing a really good job considering she’d only had one class on oil painting so far. I think all the time she’d been spending at my dad’s studio watching over his shoulder was probably helping a lot. I know watching him and my grandad paint everyday growing up had been a huge help for me. I nodded supportively as I looked over the painting. “It’s already kicking ass. When it’s finished, people are gonna love it.”

“Do you think Brandon will put it in the Contemporary show?” she asked tentatively.

“If he doesn’t, he and I are going to have a long talk involving a lot of knuckles.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grinned. “I’ll do my very best. For the sake of Brandon’s teeth.”

I walked back to the mirror and posed to match the painting. This self portrait shit required a lot of walking. I walked back to the canvas and put down another brush stroke. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?” Samantha asked from her easel.

“I really need to do a portrait of just you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she dismissed. “We already have LOVE. It shows the two of us. What could be better than that?”

“I’m loving the LOVE,” I grinned, “but I’ve been getting inspired by your Phoenix painting. You’ve come so far since I met you. I sort of want to capture how you’ve changed as a person. How I see you, the woman you’re turning into right before my eyes. Not just the way we are together. But you. Samantha Anna Smith. And the way you’ve grown so quickly into the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. You’re my inspiration, you know that, agápi mou?”

She blushed and set down her paint brush. “Oh, Christos. That’s so sweet. I love you so much.” She walked over to me and leaned up to kiss my cheek. “But I don’t know, isn’t that going to be too much of me in your show? I mean, how many paintings of me do you really need? Isn’t one enough?”

“How could there ever be too much of you, agápi mou?”

A bashful look knotted her face as she said, “Who wants to look at me all the time?”

“I do,” I said. Grinning to myself, I marveled at how Samantha still doubted her own beauty. The irony was, her innocence elevated her level of sexiness into the stratosphere.

In my experience, hot women who knew they were hot tended to play it up. I had always been able to see through their acts like it was a practiced performance. Because of this, these women lacked a certain spontaneity. Knowing men worshipped them turned their beauty into a tiresome facade sooner or later, as if it had become a burden or a job, and they were bored with it. Ironically, they would never give it up, never walk out the front door without maximizing their beauty with hair, makeup and clothes. These women couldn’t even go to the Emergency Room in the middle of the night without making sure they had at least a touch of eyeliner on.

Samantha was the total opposite. She had a smudge of paint on her cheek and another on her forehead, and her hair was in a messy ponytail. Her beauty was an after thought for her. The outcome was that she was a considerate, thoughtful person who was always trying so hard to be kind. She didn’t think about her looks. She thought about being a good person.

Every minute I spent with her was refreshing, genuine, and inspirational.

I knew that combination of her determination and her open hearted authentic spirit was where all the magic was. She might doubt it, but I saw it every day. I wanted it to go into a painting of just her. Samantha Anna Smith.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“You really want me to pose again?” she said with considerable doubt.

“I do,” I grinned.

A strange look flashed across her eyes.

“I do,” she swallowed, “I mean, I will.” She blinked a bunch of times and smiled up at me.

I leaned down and kissed her passionately.

SAMANTHA

Brandon sat at the desk in his office at Charboneau and flipped through Kamiko’s new paintings. Me and Kamiko sat in the chairs facing his desk, on the edges of our seats.

Brandon reminded me of one of those fashion magazine photos you see of a young guy in a stylish suit sitting in a fancy office, doing important things, all while looking ridiculously dashing. All Brandon needed to do to sell the image was stand up and lean against his desk while looking out a high rise window at a throbbing metropolis. But La Jolla was too quaint and beachy for that. And instead of stylish designer furnishings, the office walls were crowded with amazing paintings. But that didn’t make Brandon any less hot.

He nodded thoughtfully to himself, engrossed in the paintings. I hoped that was a good sign. After he examined the last one, he looked up and said, “Kamiko, this is excellent work. You painted all of these?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Uh huh.”

“I had no idea you were so versatile,” he said.

I shook my head and hid a smirk. There were a lot of things Brandumb didn’t know about Kamiko. If he gave her half a chance, maybe he’d find out.

“You paint in a wide range of diverse styles, Kamiko,” Brandon said. “Few artists have that ability. I’m impressed,” he smiled.

“Does that mean you’ll accept one of my pieces for the Contemporary Artists Show?” she asked hopefully.

Brandon leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face.

Me and Kamiko leaned forward an inch.

He lifted an eyebrow.

We leaned forward another inch.

Oh boy, he better say yes or I was going to jump over his desk and stab him in the heart with the brass letter opener sitting on his desk. Oh wait, if he said no, it was because he didn’t have a heart, so I’d have to stab lower, where it would hurt a man the most.

Brandon opened his mouth to speak.

Kamiko and I leaned so far forward we were about to slip off our seats and fall on our butts like idiots.

I drilled Brandon with my gaze and put my ESP to work. SAY SOMETHING!!!

Kamiko glanced at me, a surprised look on her face. Had she heard my ESP? Kamiko raised an eyebrow at me. I think someone had finally heard my ESP! Yay! But Brandon hadn’t heard a thing.

He took a deep breath and said, “Yes.”

“Oh my god!” I started clapping and threw my arms around Kamiko. “You did it!”

“I did?” Kamiko said skeptically.

Brandon nodded, “Yes. But.”

BOOM.

I knew Brandon was always too good to be true. I scowled at him.

“You’ve brought me a dozen pieces, Kamiko. But I only have room in the show for one more.”

Kamiko looked from Brandon to me and said, “But what about…”

“I really like this one,” Brandon said, pointing to Kamiko’s painting of the three kimonoed Kamikos standing on a bridge over koi fish Brandons. “Something about it really works for me.” He chuckled as he looked at it.

Kamiko gave me a surprised glance and bit her lip.

I wasn’t going to say anything.