Page 3 of Ex Marks the Spot

Massive hands.

“Oookay, let’s get to work.” I spin him around and point to my bedroom. “Second door on the left.”

Movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I glance back to Corrina and Megan, who are flailing dramatically on the couch and mouthing,Oh my god!

I don’t bother hiding my smile when I mouth,I know!before heading into the hallway.

Court enters my room two steps in front of me. I flip on the light and watch his jaw fall slack as he turns in a full circle, taking in the blue, yellow, and white swirls sweeping from one wall to the next.

“Wow,” he whispers.

“I take it that’s a good wow?”

“That’s an incredible wow. Van Gogh would be seriously impressed.”

My lens of self-criticism rarely allows me to accept compliments at face value—there’s always something that didn’t transfer correctly from my head to my hand, and my first instinct now is to highlight those flaws. But the quiet wonder in Court’s voice encourages me to see my room through his eyes.

“The Starry Nighthas always been my favorite painting. When I was a kid, my parents took my brother and me to New York City. We went to the Museum of Modern Art, and I remember standing in front of the display and telling my mom to be careful because if you looked at the swirls long enough, they’d carry you away to the village in the painting. It’s the first time a piece of art made me feel something. I already loved art class in school, but that was the day I decided to be an artist when I grew up.”

My lips form a soft smile at the memory of seven-year-old me gaping up in wide-eyed wonder at van Gogh’s greatest masterpiece.

“Then I started studying art history and learned that van Gogh paintedThe Starry Nightwhile he was at an asylum in France. The landscape is based on the view from his window. I mean...to create something as beautiful as that when your mental health is at its lowest point...” I release a breath and let my eyes drift over the life-sized swirls. “It’s like looking at fragments of his soul on a canvas.”

Court tilts his head, studying the wall. “I never thought about it that way, but it makes sense.”

“Yeah, but I tend to get carried away. Sorry for nerding out on you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being passionate. Like your roommates said, that just means I’m in good hands tonight.”

I immediately glance at his crotch. In related news, Megan and Corrina can kiss my classically conditioned ass.

“On that note, let’s get started.” After trapping my rebellious chestnut waves in a hair tie, I twist on the floor lamp beside my easel and kill the overhead light. “Our prompt for this project is ‘rearview mirror.’ We can draw whatever comes to mind, but I’m obviously taking a literal approach.” I cross the room, flip the switch on a small nightstand lamp, and position myself in front of the freestanding mirror I set up earlier.

“You’ll stand like this with your back facing me so I can see your reflection. I taped two lines on the carpet as a mark for your feet when you’re ready for a break. With the way I’ve angled your position and the lighting, I won’t be able to see any of your...front.”

Which is a damn shame.

“Also”—I point to the quilt I tacked over the lone window to prevent rogue shadows and sidewalk voyeurs—“I’ve triple-checked from every angle and no one can see in from outside.”

“Sounds easy enough.” He grips his T-shirt at the back of his neck and tugs it over his head, revealing a body that’s no stranger to lifting heavy things.

I was so captivated by his face (and, subsequently, his hands) that I didn’t notice his physique until this moment. It’s a crime I atone for now. His chest and abdomen are an intoxicating blend of ridges bathed in light and shadow from the floor lamp. If I was a photographer, I’d tell Court to freeze in this exact pose—hair askew, arms slack, and shirt hanging from his right hand—to capture it all.

He folds the shirt and sets it on my dresser, then unbuttons his jeans. It’s like watching Michelangelo’sDavidundress, ifDavidwas six-two and wore denim...and deliciously form-fitting black boxer briefs.Whoa.Whoever gets to see this view every day is—shit!

“I should’ve asked before, but do you have a partner? Or anyone else who might be upset at the idea of you sitting nude for me?” I quickly add, so it doesn’t sound like I’m asking for personal reasons, which I’m (mostly) not. “Because if you do, I’d be happy to talk with them to explain my idea and ensure there are no issues?—”

He stops me with a shake of his head. “No girlfriend...or anyone else.”

Relief washes over me. “That’s good. Not that it’s any of my business what you do or who you do it with.” I pause, cringing. “Also, I didn’t mean ‘do it with’ like that. Well, sort of, but...” The rest of the sentence dies along with my pride.

Thankfully, Court offers an amused smile instead of looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I understand what you meant. But what about you? Do I need to worry about any jealous lovers coming after me?”

My brain short-circuits watching the wordloverscome out of his mouth. Or maybe it’s from him rising to his full height after removing his socks, wearing nothing but the aforementioned boxer briefs.

“I am also single,” I finally manage, the words dropping onto my tongue one at a time like I’m brand-new to speaking English.

Kill.

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