“Oh, my God. That round-down-your-age sale thing on Monday. I saw it on the news.”
I shuddered and closed my eyes as I nodded once. The next time corporate decided to offer a one-day sale of “round down your child’s age” for the price of the usually sixty-dollar-priced toys, I was going to give myself food poisoning. No. They would’ve forced me to show up with a vomit bag. If they did it again, I’d…get myself arrested. No get out of jail free card to make them force me to work. And if a stuffed animal store somehow wielded that much power with the justice system, I’d keep that in mind. “It was like the last seven Black Fridays crammed into one day.”
When my phone trilled from the floor, I grimaced and retrieved it. Hadn’t I silenced the piece of crap?
“Might want to shut it off before—”
“Mr. Eggplant gets here. I get the picture.” I scowled.
“Is that the store calling?”
I let out the groan. “No. Bridezilla.”
“Oh.” Carly smirked. “Forgot about that too. Seems I don’t pay attention to you either, bud. The wedding’s this weekend?”
“I can’t wait for it to be over. She’s—”
“Silence!”
The Nazi-like order shut me up. Bolting upright, I watched the man who must have entered the room as Carly and I were chatting.
I’m nearly thirty fucking years old. I let my shoulders slump again. Quiet, I could do, but obedience like a schoolgirl, I could not. In high school, I’d collected more demerits and detentions than the mall Santa got soggy diapered butts sat on his lap.
“We are running late for the evening,” he said.
No big, really.
“Please wait patiently while our model prepares for class.”
Not a word was uttered in the minute that followed, but slowly, as Mr. Eggplant moved around the room, dragging a stage—white, of course—to the center of the circle, students resumed a hushed discussion.
Model?
“She’s…” Carly prompted in a whisper. “You were saying? About Bev?”
I squinted at the empty stage. What kind of a model? “Oh. She’s nutso. Freaking about every little detail. She’s already mad I’m not there for some final dress fitting party. I swear every little step of getting married is a festivity. Engagement party. Cake tasting party. Dress selection party. DJ audition party.”
“Bachelorette party?”
I nodded and grinned for the first time that night. “Thanks for reminding me.” I searched in my mess of a purse and grabbed the silver bridesmaid’s flask Bev had given us last weekend. Her saving grace was the fact she’d pre-filled them with something not PG.
Carly rolled her eyes as I snuggled the container between my thighs.
“What kinds of models do you usually—”
“Silence!”
I set my lips in a line as Mr. Eggplant glowered at me. Like I’m the only one talking. His ashy mustache twitched as he accepted my not speaking. Doritos, mister. Just you wait. As he strolled a perimeter around the room, I broke eye contact and watched the pencil tip against my paper leading the way for an angry stuffed bear holding a devil’s pitchfork.
“Our subject is ready to take place. I want you to warm up with preliminary…”
The fusty man droned on in his haughtily proper speech, but once a tanned ankle and bare foot crossed my line of vision, I glanced up. Eggplant’s lecture mixed smoothly and effortlessly into the rush of blood in my head.
Subject?
No. It was a man. Dressed in a white robe, he strode behind the rotund art instructor circling the empty stage. Taut bronze skin contrasted sharply to the pure-white fabric. Just that toned flesh standing out against the cotton. Lean calves. Strong hands. Even his ankles were sexy.
Ankles? Really? A joint of the musculoskeletal system? What was next? I’d be mesmerized by his elbow?
Probably. Everything on him was mere teases of the sculpted perfection he hid.
The thunder of blood in my head quickly changed to the drumming beat of my racing heart as I looked him in the face. This subject. Man. Model. He was on the stage and staring. Right. Back. At. Me.
Me?
Do not tell me even this stranger recognized me from that damn post.
His dark smolder was riveted on me, and if not for the tiny twitch of his lips and the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, I could have sworn he was leering. At me. Instead, he seemed amused. That chiseled hunk of a golden god, trying not to smile at me.
There wasn’t enough oxygen to compute why he’d single me out, unless he’d seen that viral #youredumped picture.
A gulp forced a swallow down my throat. Nothing that could have readied me for him dropping his single garment. One mute whoosh of fabric. Gone. Probably crumpled in a heap on the stage.
This unbelievably delicious man. Naked. And staring at me.
A lick of heat climbed my skin until my ears were so hot I brushed my hair behind one. He stood tall and proud, his hands at his hips in such a confident pose, cocky—
My gaze dipped down to stare lower and I hoped my gasp was only that loud in my head.
“Lex.”
Unblinking, I looked my fill. Every exposed, tempting inch of that skin he presented so unabashedly. When I didn’t reply to Carly’s harsh whisper, a snap of fingers in front of my face jolted me.
“Lex.”
“Oh. Wow.” Again. Why weren’t these things staying in my head?
“Lex.” This time, laughter smoothed the scolding whisper.
I turned my face toward Carly but couldn’t rip my gaze from the man. When I glanced away for the briefest of acknowledgments, I saw Carly’s eyebrows were raised, but a smile teased. “You okay over there?”
Alive and certainly not blind. How is she not dropping her jaw? “I can see why you’ve decided to become an artist.”
“And I can see you’ve become a born-again virgin. Look at you.”
“No. Look at…” I swallowed again. It took a handful of seconds for the vision of this subject to be burned into my mind, but it only took two more for a rush of very naughty thoughts to flood in, too. “Wow.” Every line and dip I’d like to lick and nip. Firm, strong legs I could crawl over and straddle as I rode that— “Wow.”
“You’re as red as a tomato.”
Covering my cheek with one hand, I ripped my attention from the model’s damning smirk and checked out the rest of the room. Goth Man seemed jealous as he narrowed his eyes at the model’s unaroused appendage. Or maybe that was just the effect his bold eyeliner lent to all his emotions. Default pissed off 24/7 like a mobster looking for a kill. Everyone else studied the stud as though they were appraising him to sketch him, not which position would get him deepest in them. The other females in the studio tilted their heads side to side, their pencils traveling over their papers.
Is gawking not allowed?
“You’ve seen a naked man before, Lex.” Carly’s pencil swept across the paper in quiet wisps.
“I’ve never seen that man naked.” I fumbled with the flask cap and took a swallow. Vodka. Bev used some strong stuff. “Holy fuck!”
Again, it wasn’t a mental curse. My censor was fried. Faces popped up to frown at my outburst.
Mr. Eggplant ambled over, his bushy gray eyebrow like a caterpillar humping his eye. “Problem?”
“No, sir,” Carly answered.
When he walked to the other side of the room, Carly leaned close and scolded, “You can’t just act like a shocked prude. Draw.”
“What…exactly?” I peered at Carly’s paper to find she’d started a faint resemblance of the man’s arm. The bulk of his bicep. The strict lines of his veins. Blinking, I doubted I could. Every spot on him tripped my insta-lust into a tsunami within my body. Even a rudimentary sketch of him fueled my imagination into a hormone-planted minefield.
“Anything! Or he’ll yell at us again.”
Maybe a flip animation? Because as I zeroed in on his impressive p
ackage, I could imagine him coming to life and getting harder and longer—
I didn’t even bother to cover my cough at the next dose of Vodka.
Carly glared. Sheesh. Guess divorce cauterized a woman’s eyesight.
While I wasn’t a child to be disciplined in a classroom anymore, I didn’t want to disappoint or embarrass Carly. And I wasn’t a born-again virgin or a shocked prude. But no matter how hard I tried to coordinate my fingers to move the pencil across the paper, I was too distracted.
A half hour later, I’d managed something that might have resembled the stretching tattoo that wrapped from his pecs to that V leading to something even more tempting.
“Dammit.” I managed to murmur that time. It wasn’t just that he was remarkably gorgeous.
“Now what’s wrong?” Carly whisper-yelled.
“He’s…”
“Come on, Lex.”
“I’m trying, really. But… He’s been watching me.”
Carly glanced up. “Huh? No, he’s not. He’s staring at the wall. I think that’s what they’re supposed to do. Look into the distance.”
“Then we’ve got a rebel on our hands. I swear. Every time I look at him, I feel him watching me.”
Carly deadpanned. “Can you please not mock this, or me? Drawing might be a joke to you, but—”
“Seriously! I’m not.” Once the initial shockwave of hormonal awareness and general visual appreciation of that fine man passed some, I still couldn’t fight the blush searing my skin. Something about him set me off—not just the nudity. Each time I’d dare to objectively study him, the weight of his attention made my control skip away.
“He’s watching me. And it’s making me feel all…exposed.” Odd. Given that my face and ass were being virally spread through the cyber world, I already was as exposed as I could get. I thought.
Carly slapped her pencil to the easel base. “Making you exposed? He’s the one who’s naked!”
Ten minutes later, though, after a faint huff, Carly whispered, “You know, you’re on to something there.”
I tried for a not-so-wobbly smile and studied my drawing. I’d done a crappy copy of the tattoo on his ribs. “Really?”
“About him watching you.”
“Oh.” I looked up at him, trying vainly to ignore the purely physical rush I felt each time I eyed him. All physical. Bodily reaction. Purely. How the hell did all those great masterpiece artists paint and draw naked people without passing out from want? Fertile female notices virile man. Not even the prudest nun could stop a body from desiring this hunk.
“He’s checking you out,” Carly confirmed.
My jaw dropped. “But he’s the naked one.”
“No. Really. Didn’t I tell you that?”
Just then, as I met his gaze, he did it again. Almost smiled. A teeny twitch of those firm lips, just a hint of mischief.
Was he goading me? Teasing me? Another glance around the room didn’t show any other flustered or targeted women, or men. Even Goth Dude had toned down his envious stare.
Why me? What was it about me that attracted the eye of the…
Well, I didn’t know what to call him other than out-of-this-world gorgeous. Spontaneously combustive orgasmic.
The last guy who’d given me a second of his time was the personal trainer who’d just dumped me via Facebook. And before him, many—too many—others of the same ilk. Sexy, tempting bad boys who were simply bad for me. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… Fine, shame me a couple dozen times. But didn’t they say you can’t teach an old dog a new trick? Almost thirty was supposed to be like the new twenty-one…so yeah, I could learn. Starting today, perhaps.
And this work of art, I decided, as I sat back on my uncomfortable stool and crossed my arms, he was just another of the same. His confident, cool attitude, standing there so freely, letting anyone check him out for the stud he was.
He is a model. For a drawing class. For people to…look at him.
Just because I had my eyes trained on him didn’t mean I was interested. Not at all. This wasn’t a bar. We weren’t at a club catching each other’s attention and playing some game of messed-up ESP, trying to figure out the odds of scoring. I was just another “student” for the night and he was just a too-cool naked model.
As if my breakup wasn’t yet another lesson learned, I was quite through with waiting for bad boys who weren’t bad for me. He might have some game to play in his mind, sneaking those little looks my way. But no matter. I was done with players and the like. Besides, it wasn’t like I’d ever see him again.
Two
Jack
“So you just stood there?” Bev asked me. “Naked.”
“Bare as a baby,” I replied, a smile spreading wide on my mouth.
Bev laughed so hard she curled over as much as she could in the driver’s seat of the cruiser we shared. “Bare-ass naked?”
I nodded as we cracked up together. It was funny when I’d lost the bet at Bev’s fiancé’s bachelor party last week. Then it was nerve-wracking when I realized I’d have to man-up and actually follow through with said bet. But now that I’d done it—been the volunteer nude model for a drawing class—I could appreciate the comedy of the act.
Thank fuck it was over.
“Oh my God,” Bev cried at my side. She wiped at her eyes as I smirked at the distant farms in the landscape. “I can’t believe you actually did it. You’re so…private.”
“A real man always honors a bet.” I couldn’t believe I’d done it either. A couple quick shots of Jack Daniels had helped steady my nerves, though. A snort almost escaped as I remembered the blushing brunette who’d snuck sips from a flask. She didn’t seem like a drunk, and I’d had my share of finding those while on the clock. Maybe she was just as stressed from something. Made no sense that I still wondered about her and what problems she might have. My focus on a woman typically lasted as long as a puddle of water did in the Sahara. I wasn’t absorbed with myself, just extremely repellent to letting a girl get into my head in the first place.
Still laughing some, Bev settled down, smoothing her trooper uniform down as she calmed. “Did you recognize anyone?”
Again, thank fuck I hadn’t. Bev wasn’t exaggerating. I valued my privacy. Especially without an armor of clothes.
I shifted in my seat as we waited for a speeder to pass by. “No.” I’d tried to make sure I wouldn’t and had accomplished that by signing up for a random class at a community college forty minutes away. “Small miracles.”
“Oh, come on. Like you’ve never done the deed. More than a few women have seen you naked.”
Wanna bet? I certainly didn’t have as active of a sex life as I’d like to. But until I could find a woman I’d want to make love with, I had no room to complain. Hand in the shower until something struck my fancy. Something worth risking because I’d learned the hard way before that some females put as much dedication into fidelity as they did in cheap bras. “Not the same, Bev. It was an art class. Not a…hookup.”
As far as a coworker or partner went, Beverly—Bev—Dexter was all right. Treading around the fringes of sex talk was a different thing. Never mind I had two older sisters.
“And I bet all those little college girls weren’t just drooling all over you.” She smacked my chest.
I’d deliberately not wanted to do a class for normal students. No telling if I’d stand there bare-assed for some barely legal chicks who I might face when pulling them over someday. The less chance for awkwardness on the job, the better. The adults’ night class was a perfect fit. “Nope.”
“Bull.” Bev stretched in her seat, as much as she could in the limited space. “I’ve seen how you are. You play the field and you’re never short on willing females.”
Not really. I could see how she and all their other coworkers would assume such, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’d had dates who wanted more, but there weren’t any I desired. Not that much.
“So you just to
ok it in stride? It wasn’t weird at all?”
Recalling the blushing brunette again, I turned my attention back to the landscape. Define weird. Absurd that I actually found a stranger who intrigued me, all while I stood naked under goddamn spotlights? Then yeah, it threw me a little. Especially since I couldn’t forget about the brunette’s unease at the sight of me. Explaining that to Bev would take too long. “Nope.”
“Really?” Bev shrugged and adjusted the speed scanner in the dash. “I guess it’d be like a doctor’s appointment or something.”
Not when that sexy dimpled woman eyed me like she wanted to trace her tongue on my skin or let me fit between her legs.
I squirmed in my seat, shoving aside the memories of her checking me out. Standing in front of a damn crowd promised no erections when I’d posed, but after? Fantasies of being nude with that blushing beauty, alone with me in my bed, checking me out just like—
Checking me out. A huff left my lips and I fussed with my collar. She was supposed to be looking at me in the studio. I just hadn’t anticipated feeling so much more exposed under her stare. That much more vulnerable at wading into the territory of wondering if she liked what she saw, that I wanted her to like what she saw. Then again, she’d spent more time staring than drawing.
“So…” Bev started after a couple of minutes of silence. Her tone carried that begging, sing-songy voice. We were friends, but still coworkers. I didn’t even want to know what kind of favor she had on her mind. Like I said: two sisters. My resistance to wheedling was something I could give tutorials on.
“No.”
“Come on.”
“I already switched my vacation days for you. And gave you a couple so you and Paul could go on a two-week honeymoon instead of only ten days.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“What is it now?” As much as we annoyed each other, she wasn’t that bad of a partner. Or friend.
“You’re coming to the wedding, right?”
I frowned and lowered my sunglasses. “Ye…ah… I RSVP’d months ago.” And I was still going, even though I wouldn’t know any of the two hundred guests. If I could adopt some asshole tendencies, I’d flake out with the excuse of needing to pack for my week-long trip to New Zealand. My flight would leave Sunday night, so it would be nice to not attend a wedding out of town.
Across From You Page 2
