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women wish they could be men? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Annoyance hit me.
    “Well, don’t they?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe, you should ask yo mama?”
    He opened his mouth in shock.
    Fuck. Relax, Red. This is business. Talk professional. Any response that includes “yo mama” is not an appropriate one.
    “Sorry.” I combed my fingers through my hair. “I’m just saying. I think lots of men would want to be reincarnated as women too.”
    “I doubt it.”
    “Hey, you get to have children. Don’t you want to experience a pregnancy or even the birthing process?”
    “Absolutely not. It looks like it hurts.”
    “Fair point. I bet it does. And then, men are so freaking wimpy while women are super strong.”
    “So you’re saying that that a woman’s vagina makes her strong?”
    “Uh. ” I shook my head. “Let’s just get back to the commission. So, you want me to do the floor or that wall by the door.”
    He stepped closer. “Were you a fan of Mickey Mouse?”
    “No, I was a hater of the rat. I never got to go to Disneyworld.”
    “You had a rough childhood?”
    “What?
    “Living in Florida, its pretty much child abuse if you don’t take your kid to Orlando once.”
    “How do you know I lived in Florida all of my life?”
    “I’ve read your interviews.”
    A little bit of tension filled me. “I don’t talk about my childhood or life in my interviews.”
    “Then, I guess it was a good guess. Regardless, how was your childhood?”
    “Do I need to have a good childhood in order to do a mural for you?”
    He laughed. “No.”
    “Good.” I clapped my hands. “So where do you want the magic to go?”
    “On the wall by the door.”
    “What do you want me to paint?”
    “Anything that inspires you.”
    “Really?” I asked.
    “Really. I just have two requests.”
    “What are they?”
    “I want to watch you paint.”
    That same electricity sparked around us. Weed did lots of things, but it didn’t form magic. Anticipation rushed through me. Which was odd. I didn’t like people to watch me while I worked. It was a solo thing.
    But for some reason, I got excited at the idea of him behind me as I painted the wall’s surface with my art.
    It could be hot. Erotic even. In the most innocent of ways of course. Nothing would happen. Just paint and sweat and moans. . .I meant moans of pleasure. Okay. I’m going to drink more water.
    I got another bottle, rushed to twist off the top, and guzzled down a bit more.
    “Can I watch you?” His question almost made me choke. There was sex in those words. Hot, bodies-sliding against each other sex. And although other times I would shy away and put my focus back on work, this moment I didn’t feel like it anymore.
    Had I not earned one fun fling? Had I worked hard, every night—taking as many side jobs as I could to afford to buy my cans of color? When was the last time I’d been truly laid anyway? Three years, maybe. Five, if I used Mary’s method, and not count all of the bad sex.
    “Yes.” I winked. “You can watch.”
    “And my second request—”
    “It better not deal with my clothes being off,” I blurted out.
    “W-what?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Umm,” he paused for a few seconds. “Is having you paint with your clothes off, an option?”
    I grinned. “No.”
    “Well, then my second request is that you paint the mural tonight.”
    “Say what? Tonight? That’s crazy.”
    “My staff will bring up anything that you need.”
    I checked my watch. “Most stores are closed now.”
    “That’s fine. I have my own art supply room. You’ll have any color you desire.”
    “You have your own art supply room?”
    “Doesn’t everybody?”
    “No.” Who is this guy? “What is your room filled with?”
    He stirred a little. “Spray paint mainly.”
    “You do graffiti?”
    “No.”
    He said that too quickly. He’s lying again. But why lie?
    I considered the pipe themed in the Cuban flag. “Are you Cuban?”
    “Do you not work for