Page 102 of Beyond the Lines
“So, I was thinking—” I start.
“About the project—” she says simultaneously.
We both stop. And we both smile.
And it’s the warmest look I’ve seen on her face sincethatmorning.
She gestures for me to continue. “You go.”
I nod. “I know you wanted to draw each other, but I’ve got a surprise…”
As if on cue, the studio door opens, and Linc strolls in wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips and a devilish grin on his face. His most striking feature, however, is his hair—dyed a shade of red that would make Ronald McDonald question his life choices.
“What’s up, artists?” Linc gives us a little twirl. “Ready to capture all this?” He gestures to his body with a flourish.
Lea’s mouth drops open. “Um…” she manages, looking at me for an explanation. “Dec?”
“I thought we’d be able to concentrate more—and collaborate, if we need to—if I got us another model, so Linc is going to pose for us,” I say.
Linc sheds his towel and strikes a pose, one hand on his hip. “Draw me like one of your French girls, Andrews.”
Lea’s cheeks flush a shade that matches Linc’s hair, and it makes me melt for her all over again. I catch her looking at himthere, and it’s only then I wonder what Mike will do if he finds out that Lea has seentwoof his teammates’ junk…
Lea finally finds her voice. “You can’t just… I mean, we can’t…”
“Yeah, we can, but not…” I gesture at Linc’s entire body. “Not all of… that.”
“Rude.” Linc pouts.
“His legs,” I explain to Lea. “They’re covered in scars from surgeries. Four knee surgeries, two torn patellar tendons, plus a tibial shaft fracture. Good textures.”
“Wow, way to make a guy feel sexy, Dec.” Linc gives anexaggerated sigh but doesn’t seem genuinely offended, even as he puts the towel back over his midriff.
I turn back to Lea, whose expression has shifted from horror to curiosity. “What do you think?”
She tilts her head, considering. “Yeah, that could actually be fascinating. The juxtaposition of the athletic body with the evidence of injury and recovery…”
“So you want just my legs?” Linc clarifies, sounding mildly disappointed. “Not the full Monty?”
“Just the legs,” I confirm firmly.
“Fine.” He sighs dramatically. “But I expect top billing in the sign: ‘Featuring the magnificent lower appendages of Lincoln Garcia.’”
Lea snorts, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I’m pretty sure we can manage that.”
“Great.” Linc adjusts his towel, securing it better, then looks between us. “So, how do you want me?”
“Sitting is fine.” I move a chair to the platform. “Just so we can see the scars on your legs.”
Linc positions himself, then gestures up at his hair. “You don’t want to include this masterpiece? The whole second line did it an hour ago.”
“You look like a literal leprechaun,” I inform him.
“A sexy leprechaun,” he corrects.
“Is that a thing?” Lea asks, her lips twitching.
“It is now.” Linc winks at her.
