Page 112 of Hello Stranger

“First I’m going to just kind of map you with my hands. And then once I’ve got a really 3-D mental picture, I’ll start sketching.”

Joe nodded again, likeLet’s go.

But I was still hesitating. “I’m going to frame the portrait kind of from the waistband up. So I’m really going to have to touch you everywhere.”

“Got it,” Joe said.

“And I want you to know,” I went on, “what I’m about to do to you, I’ve also done to myself.”

That came out unexpectedly suggestive.

I was trying so hard to pretend like this was just another day at the office. Like I did this kind of thing all the time—no big deal. But my hands were weirdly cold. And I was strangely aware of my blood traveling through my body. And then, as I reached out to touch him, just before I made contact, my hand faltered.

It just… stopped. Like there was an invisible force field.

But that’s when Joe’s hand came up, and he cupped it behind mine, and he pulled my palm to his chest. I felt the impact before I realized what he was doing: the stonelike hardness of his collarbone beneath my fingertips, the spongy firmness of his pecs beneath, the warmth of his skin.

I could feel that he was looking at me. I could feel him encouraging me. And something else, too. Something that felt like longing.

Was it his or mine?

For a second, the air in my lungs felt tight.

“Don’t be shy,” Joe said. “I’m fine. Just do what you need to do.”

“I’m not being shy,” I said. But neither of us believed me.

Anyway, that broke the ice. After that, I closed my eyes and worked my hand around his shoulders and neck and chest before making my way up past the Adam’s apple and over the ridge of the jaw to his face.

Was it working? I wasn’t sure.

But I’d decided I didn’t have to decide.

I was just going to do it. I wasn’t going to overthink it or evaluate it or judge it.

I was just going to capture the moment. For better and for worse.

This was by far the most self-conscious I’d ever been around a model.Pull it together,I told myself.Doctors touch people all the time.

But I was no doctor.

Also, I’m assuming, doctors didn’t usually spend a ton of time with patients outside the office. Or have recent memories of altruistically kissing them in front of their ex-wives. Or have crushes on them they were in denial about.

The truth is, it was intense.

For one thing, we were so close to each other. You’re never just inches away from people for long stretches of time like that. I was close enough to hear him breathing, and even to feel those breaths as they brushed over my arm. I could smell his aftershave, which was scented like cedar and juniper, I decided.

For another thing, I was really touching him. I was going deep—working the pads of my fingers over every inch of his face, from hairline to jaw, exploring his skin, and the muscles beneath that, and the bone structure even deeper.

I mean, I was no stranger to other people. I’d dated guys. Flirted. Kissed. Gone to bed. I’d lived with Ezra fortwo years.But even people I touched all the time… I didn’t touch them like this.

The fact that I was exploring himfor the sake of artdidn’t feel too relevant in that moment. Thewhatwas much stronger than thewhy.

And thewhatwas skin against skin. Breath swirling around breath. Eyes closed.

To be honest, my heart was thumping so hard, I wondered if he could see it. Like my shirt fabric might actually be quivering over it like an echo.

I tried to keep it professional, I really did.

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