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him.
    He’d said nothing else as I painted every inch of his image with my gaze. I had a thing for doing that. Just staring at a particular person for long moments at a time before even saying hello. Mostly, I was just imprinting their features in my mind to use for something later. People had unique expressions and details that others didn’t share. Some faces and bodies triggered creation.
    This man. . .well. . .this man served as a buffet of inspiration.
    He was tall, at least six feet. Tanned complexion. Long, dark brown hair that hung around his forehead, but both sides of his head were shaved. He wasn’t bodybuilder huge, not like the cross-fit addicts that probably jacked off secretly to old posters of Arnold Schwarzenegger . He had a medium-sized frame, one that probably resulted from a decent concentration on what he ate, and at least three days in the gym.
    I loved his style too.
    Miami fashion symbolized sunlight, beach time, and partying. Comfortable and light clothes trumped tight and heavy fabrics. That being said, he had that sexy, effortless chic. He wore a blue-green linen top with half sleeves, and tan pants.
    Then there were the sandals.
    I must’ve stared at them for several seconds. Another consequence of being blown out of my mind. Everything around me garnered more concentration and had more meaning. Everything was a source of creation, even something as small as a pair of men’s shoes.
    They were definitely leather with double straps over the top of his feet. However on the surface, images were carved into a design. I squinted and tried to get a better look.
    His dark voice broke my concentration. “You like my sandals?”
    “Yes. What’s the image?”
    “Wolves eating each other.”
    I took a step closer and examined them some more. “You like wolves?”
    “No.”
    I snapped my attention to him. A smirk sat on his face.
    He’s lying. Why? Wait a minute. Stop thinking. You’re high. Stay in the present moment.
    “There called monk shoes. Hand-stitched. Each pair is $7,350—”
    Annoyed, I waved away the rest of the information. “Who did the wolves?”
    He parted his lips for a second as if I’d caught him off guard. “Uh. I don’t know.”
    “For that much money, they should tell you who did the design. It’s amazing. Anyway.” I extended my hand. “Hello, Dr. Sheep.”
    “Hello to you too.” He chuckled to himself. “Did you enjoy the Oracle?”
    “You sent the gold joint?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thank you.” I nodded. “It was heavenly. Remind me to return the favor one day.”
    He said the next words as if it was a funny question. “You’re going to smoke me out one day?”
    “Yes. It’s only fair.” I shrugged. “It won’t be Oracle. It’ll probably be regs , truthfully. I don’t have the money for the high-end stuff.”
    “That’s fine. I’m definitely going to take you up on that.” He smiled and captured my hand.
    I could’ve sworn he licked his lips like a wild beast ready to take a bite, but that had to be my own high imagination. At the appropriate moment, I attempted to pull my hand away. He tightened his grip just a little and kept my hand encased in his. A warmth spread through to me.
    It couldn’t have been him inciting my body to react. It had to be something else—the marijuana, brownies, the electricity in the air between us, the bright stars glowing around the moon, my lack of love life, my feeling at peace.
    It couldn’t have been this man making me ache between my thighs.
    And they ached,
    so bad I squeezed them together and bit my bottom lip.
    The server should have added that Oracle makes you horny too.
    Still holding my hand, he seared me with a heated gaze. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a very long time.”
    “You have?” I pulled my fingers away and stepped back.
    “Yes. I’ve seen every mural that you’ve done in Wynwood. Each one I’ve visited at least three times.”
    “Really?”
    “Really.”
    Skeptical, I asked.