“Why are you apologizing?” He asks, stretching his neck distractedly.
“Oh, uh…” I scratch my nose awkwardly, thinking. He’s right, why do I apologize? “I don’t know.”
Both his eyebrows arch higher in surprise, and a full smile stretches his lips now. I frown, confused. “But anyway, I think I’m done,” I say, returning his smile shyly. “You’re free to move, you must be a little sore.”
“I’m fine,” he says, but he stretches his limbs, still smiling and staring at my face.
I stand up from my bed to stretch as well, my legs and back a little sore from sitting for two hours. He bends over to pick up his discarded shirt on the floor and takes a few steps to stop right in front of me and his smile drops the slightest bit. My frown deepens. What’s going on?
He lifts his shirt, holding it in his fist and stops the movement right in front of my face. “May I?”
May he?Is he asking my permission to put his tee-shirt back on?
“Uh… Yes, of course. We’re—”
My eyes widen when he starts rubbing his tee-shirt on my nose softly, eyes gleaming with amusement, the dimple in one of his cheeks on full display. First, I wish he smiled when I was drawing. I didn’t even know he had dimples. Second, what the hell is he doing? Third, how does he smell so good?
He pulls his shirt back and shows me the fabric, tainted with graphite. “You had a little something on your nose,” he says, smirking and flashing his damn dimple.
I look down at my hands, covered in it. Okay, so maybe I should have checked before scratching my nose. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he says, his smile dropping a little as he stares at my face intensely.
“You’re right, so—”
“I swear to god, Prudence.”
My hands shoot up to cover my mouth. Why am I constantly apologizing? Is that weird?
“You don’t have to apologize for a damn thing,” he adds, his tone a little softer and I give him a slow nod. “Alright, I gotta go.” But he’s not moving, his shirt’s still a ball in his hand. “Unless, you need more time to—”
“No, I’m good,” I cut him off quickly. “Thank you.”
He nods again. “Alright. If you need another model again, askme. Forget about Jerkwood and the other asses like him.”
“Why do you call him Jerkwood?” I ask, confused.
“It suits him,” he shrugs and finally puts his tee-shirt back on. But it has a large gray stain on the bottom right at the front. “Don’t you think?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Well, it’s a little rude.”
“Right up his alley then.”
Well, hedidstand me up. And if Nate heard of it, he might have bragged about it. So, Nate does have a point there.
“Anyway. Remember, you need a model? You call me. I’ll be here.” I nod and he nods back before his eyes dart away to my bed. “Can I see that?” He asks, giving a tilt of his head and I follow the direction of his gaze.
My notepad. Opened at the last drawing, where I captured all the uncomfort he was in.
“Sure,” I answer, but my hands start fumbling with the hem of my tee-shirt.
He turns it to the first page and starts flipping slowly. “You’re really talented. It’s really realistic.” He winces slightly before he reaches the last one and freezes, his eyes narrowing and… Wait, is that a blush coloring his cheeks? “Is… Is that what you saw when you were drawing?” He asks, his voice suddenly raspy.
“I know you told me not to apologize, but I’m sorry. You were obviously uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable,” he repeats slowly, lifting his azur eyes to mine.
“Yeah. You were fidgeting a little, and tense, and—”
