Page 59 of The Goal

He has acontract? To pose naked at a college bar paint night?

“The pubic hair adds texture to the painting,” Aria explains to the group. “But art is about interpretation, remember? Paint what you see in here—” She taps a hand over her heart, “not what you see here—” She points to her eyes.

“What the hell does that even mean?” I whisper to Tucker, whoseentire face is flushed from laughing so hard.

“Likethis!” Aria declares suddenly. “Thisis interpretation!”

I glance over to find her swiping Fitzy’s canvas off his easel. The big guy rumbles in protest, but she ignores him and holds up the painting with a grand flourish.

My jaw drops when I see what Tucker’s friend has painted. It’s Spector, but a badass version of him in a helmet and wielding a shield. Instead of the much-talked-about penis, Fitzy painted an elaborate-looking sword jutting from the guy’s crotch. Like, a sword worthy ofGame of Thrones.

“Dude,” Tucker exclaims, suitably impressed.

“That’s amazing!” a wide-eyed Carin gushes to her date.

He shrugs. “It’s all right.”

His modesty makes me smile. I only grin harder when Aria gives him back the canvas and then begs him to leave it with her instead of taking it home with him.

We resume our painting, cracking jokes and sipping our wine. Every so often, Tucker leans toward the elderly gentleman beside him and helps the poor guy out.

“Naw, man, you want to shade underhere,” he advises. “Imagine that the light is hitting his arm from up there. So the shadow would be down here.”

The old man harrumphs loudly. “This whole thing is a waste of time.”

“Hiram!” his wife scolds.

“What? It’s true,” he says in a crabby voice, then gives Tucker and me a surly look. “This washeridea.”

“Because I thought you would enjoy it,” the gray-haired woman protests. “You’ve always told me how much you envy my artistic skills.”

The couple appears to be in their late sixties. Or hell, maybe their late seventies. I’ve never been a good judge of age. Besides, seniors look so young these days. Nana could pass for my older sister.

“Gee, I’m sorry, Doris, but I never learned how to draw naked folks when I was getting shot at in ’Nam!”

Doris slams her brush on the table. “We talked about this! Dr. Phillips said you weren’t allowed to discuss Vietnam anymore. It’s destructive to our relationship.”

“It was the most taxing time of my life,” he says stubbornly.

“And you think it was easy for me?” she challenges. “Being at home and raising two children in diapers while you were off hunting Charlie?”

He squawks in outrage. “You were wiping bottoms! I was killing human beings!”

I bite my lip to stop from laughing, even though this isn’t a particularly funny conversation. Maybe the wine has gone to my head.

“Now, now,” Tucker drawls. “Hiram, my man, your wife is gorgeous and obviously devoted to you. And Doris, Hiram here fought for his country to keep you and your children safe—think of how much he must love you for him to have done that. So let’s not fight, huh? Why don’t we just focus on painting this nice fellow over there and doing justice to his equipment?”

Fitzy snorts from the other side of Carin.

So does Hiram, whose voice becomes gruff as he addresses his wife. “I’m sorry, Dorrie. You’re right—this was a lovely idea.”

“And you were very brave in the war,” she says magnanimously.

Hiram leans over and pats Tucker on the shoulder. “All right. Show me that shadow trick.”

My heart melts as I watch Tucker help the older man. Doris, meanwhile, is blushing prettily, probably thinking about how he called her gorgeous before.

“I like you, kid,” Hiram tells my date.

---