The door finally opens, just enough to show her face, and she frowns when she sees me. My heart rate suddenly escalates.
“Nate? What—what are you doing here?” She asks, peering over my shoulder, her eyes widening slightly when she notices all the girls standing there, watching us.
“Are you going to let me in?” I ask, meeting a few of the girls who starewith a frown.
“Hum… Are you here to see Sonja? Because she left early this morning for the winter break and…”
“Prudence, can you please let me in? I’ll explain, but not in this damn hallway while everyone is staring at us.”Who the fuck is Sonja? Her roommate?
I’m about to turn around and yell at everyone to get lost and mind their own business—their eyes making my skin crawl—when she finally steps away, opening her door wider to let me in.
I hear the door click shut behind me, and stop to look around, not able to stop the curiosity.
I can clearly see which side is hers. Graphite sketches covering the wall over her bed and desk, on the closet doors, scattered on her bedside table. Open artbooks, depicting sketches of people, portraits, small animals, or landscapes. I know she wants to be a forensic sketch artist and she focuses more on portraits and people—and that’s the whole reason why most of her drawings are exactly that.
“As I told you, Sonja is not here and—”
“Where should I stand?” I ask, before I chicken out, taking in her space one last time.
“Excuse me?”
I turn around abruptly, catching the confused look on her face, her dark brown eyes shining and a little puffy. Fuck, has she been crying? Because Jerkwood didn’t show up?
I try not to think too much about it and pull my shirt over my head, keeping it in my hand at my side. Her lips part in shock and I fight a grin when I notice the blush creeping up her cheeks.
“So you can draw,” I continue. “Where do you want me to stand?”
“I’m sorry but—wait, what? What are you doing?”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide, and I roll my eyes. What did she expect was supposed to happen when Jerkwood would have shown up? That he would keep his shirt on?
“I’m stepping in,” I sigh. “Weren’t you supposed to meet with Jerkwood? So you could practice drawing?” I pause, narrowing my eyes. “Or was it like an excuse to—”
“No, no!” She interrupts, darting her eyes away, looking embarrassed.“I was, but—”
“He’s not coming,” I deadpan, in case she’s still hoping he’d show up. “Don’t ask me how I know, and just accept the replacement.”
She frowns, and I curse myself internally for the tone I used. The girl believes she’s been stood up, there’s no need for me to be an ass. She’s not moving, and not saying anything. Fuck, did I just upset her?
“Come on, let’s get to work,” I say with a softer voice, dropping my tee-shirt on the floor, and clasping my hands together in front of me to prevent myself from reaching for her. “Where do I stand? Do you need me to do something, or… I don’t know, just stand there? Sit somewhere? Prudence, you’re gonna have to lead me through this, I have no idea what I’m doing here and you’re just— frozen…” Wait, what’s wrong with her? She’s frozen on the spot, her face slightly red, her eyes wide and focused on my face, her mouth gaping. “Prudence?”
She jolts slightly when I say her name. “I—I don’t…” her eyes finally move then, landing on my naked chest, abs and arms, before she snaps them close. “It’s alright, Nate. You really don’t have to do this,” she sighs and turns away, taking a step towards the door.
And I don’t have the time to think before I jump after her and wrap my hand around her small wrist, making her freeze just before she reaches the door handle. Her head pivots slightly to the side, our eyes clashing briefly before she looks down. And I’m almost struck on the spot with how beautiful but sad she looks. By how much I want to pull her in and wrap myself around her, keeping her close and safe in my arms. I realize that I’m going to have to talk to Jack. It’s not a silly crush. Damn, this girl doesn’t even know how deeply she dug into my mind and soul. How I wish I could spend my whole time here just watching her draw, or listening to her speak. It doesn’t even have to make sense. And I hate myself for also thinking about her in the way those other assholes were, but now I can’t deny that it’s her I picture in my fantasies, when I’m alone in my room or in the shower, desperate for someone I can’t have.
Fuck, I’m so screwed.
“Really, I don’t mind,” I say softly, barely over a whisper. “Let me help. Get your art stuff and tell me what you need.”
But please, don’t ask me to go,I say silently with my eyes when she finally lifts her gaze back to mine, searching my eyes.
After a moment, she exhales a shaky breath and drops her gaze to my chest. I let her look in silence, trying my best not to push her too much. I’m comfortable in my own body. I work out a lot but don’t hold back when I want to eat or drink something. No matter what I tell myself, I know why I take care of myself and exercise as much as I do. After all, I did spend three years flirting and fucking around. My stamina has never failed me, nor has my body when it came to satisfy a woman.
And now, I don’t seem to care about anyone other than her. Her, a woman Ican’thave. And yet, I can’t seem to stop working out, thinking about the imaginary day I will have her, and how much I want to make her feel all kinds of good.
Does that make me vain or simply delusional?
“Alright,” she whispers, taking a step towards me, and the surprise makes my hold on her wrist loosen. “Can you go stand by the desk? Next to the big floor lamp.”
