Page 41 of Beyond the Lines
My strokes are better.
Not great, but better.
By the third pose, I’m finally settling into a rhythm. The familiar scratch of charcoal on paper grounds me. I force Lea from my mind with all the mental fortitude I can muster, andfocus on the sketches. I block in the basic shapes, letting muscle memory take over.
“Time,” Professor Lucas calls. “Next pose.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Lea shifting position. I try to focus on the model, but my gaze drifts to Lea’s hands as she sketches. Her fingers grip the charcoal with delicate precision, moving in quick, confident strokes across the paper.
But then my thoughts go wild. I watch those same fingers that had tangled in my hair Saturday night, that had pressed against my chest, urging me closer. And then the memory of her body against mine floods my senses. The soft curves of her breasts pressing into me, the way her hips had fit perfectly in my palms. My cock stirs, and I shift uncomfortably on my stool.
Focus on the model. The assignment. Anything but Lea.
But it’sfuckingimpossible, even though she’s completely ignoring me. When she bites her lower lip in concentration, all I can think about is how those lips felt against mine, how they’d parted on a gasp when I’d slipped my tongue inside and touched hers, how good her ass felt when I ventured south to grab it and?—
The charcoal snaps in my grip.
Jesus Christ, Andrews. Get it together.
“Two minutes,” Professor Lucas calls out.
Oh no…
The model shifts her pose, and I realize I’ve totally missed one of the poses, which is a cardinal sin in a class like this. I can only hope that Professor Lucas doesn’t call for examples, or decide to take a look through our work, given it’s the first class…
I start to sketch the next pose, but again my eyes shift to Lea. Because right now, all I want to do is drag her into thesupply closet and make every dirty thought in my head reality. Show her exactly what she does to me. Make her understand that one kiss wasn’t nearly enough.
But I can’t.
Because she’s Mike’s sister.
Because she thinks I lied to her.
Because this is exactly the kind of complication I don’t need right now.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
But it’s more than that. More than attraction to her body. It’s attraction to her mind, and her art. I watch her work, and her drawings are fluid, expressive. There’s a looseness to them that I envy, a kind of wild energy that perfectly captures motion.
She’s good.
Reallygood.
The knowledge hits me like a punch to the gut. Because of course the girl who gets under my skin like no one else, who makes me question everything I thought I knew about myself, would also be talented enough to make my own work look stiff in comparison.
“Two minutes. Last short pose,” Professor Lucas announces. “Make it count.”
As the model shifts again, I drag my attention back to my easel, but it’s too late. The pose is ending, and all I’ve managed is a few halfhearted marks that look more like chicken scratch than anything resembling human anatomy, on top of the pose I missed entirely.
As I sketch the final pose, Professor Lucas looms over me. As she studies my… ‘work’… her eyebrows lift slightly. “Interesting approach today. Very… different.”
Translation: What the hell happened to you?
I force a smile. “Trying something new this year, Professor… Minimalism is the new black.”
She nods, but I can tell she’s not buying it. Neither am I, honestly. I’ve worked my ass off for years to prove I deserve one of the few spots in her special select seminar. And now I’m throwing it away because I can’t handle sitting next to a girl who probably hates me?
Get it together.
