“I’m fine,” but I still stretch my sleepy legs, not dropping my smile as I stare at her stained face.
God, she’s so pretty. Even with graphite on her face.
She stands up and starts stretching as well just as I pick up my discarded shirt and take the steps separating us. When her smell hits me again, I fight not lean into her and my smile drops a little at my internal struggle.
Her frown deepens in confusion, her face an open door into her thoughts, when I lift my tee-shirt holding hand and ask “May I?”
“Uh… Yes, of course. We’re—”
She cuts herself off abruptly when I rub the white tee-shirt on the side of her nose, trying to get all the graphite off it. Her wide eyes dart down towards her cheek for a second before returning to my eyes.
I step back, satisfied that I got all of it, and show her the stained shirt.“You had a little something on your nose.” I smile playfully.
She looks at her hands and winces. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“You’re right, so—”
“I swear to god, Prudence,” I groan, dropping the smile, and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. “You don’t have to apologize for a damn thing,” I say softly, holding myself back before I do something stupid like grab her face between my hands. I hold her gaze though until she finally nods. I release a shaky sigh. “Alright, I gotta go,” I pause, studying her face. “Unless, you need more time to—”
“No, I’m good,” she interrupts with a reassuring shy smile. “Thank you.”
Good. Jack will start to wonder where the hell I disappeared to. “Alright. If you need another model again, askme. Forget about Jerkwood and the other asses like him.”
“Why do you call him Jerkwood?”
Because he fucking deserves it.
“It suits him,” I answer with a shrug as I put my tee-shirt back on, smiling softly at the gray stain at the bottom. “Don’t you think?”
“Well, it’s a little rude.”
“Right up his alley, then.” I wink but she seems lost in her own mind for a minute, debating whether I’m right or too harsh. “Anyway. Remember, if you need a model, you call me.”If you need anything, really.“I’ll be here.”
We both nod at each other, before my eyes dart to her bed, where her notepad is opened to her last sketch. The one that made her smile.
“Can I see that?” I ask, tilting my head towards it.
“Sure,” she answers, but I’m almost certain I see her blush a little.
I force myself to close it to the first page, starting with her first sketches.
And I don’t see why she needed the practice. She picks up on the slightest detail, making the drawings completely lifelike. She noticed the scar I have from my appendectomy, the couple of beauty marks on my left pectoral, the exact shape of each muscle.
“You’re really talented. It’s really realistic.” I cringe at my sudden lack of vocabulary. ‘Really’?Could have done better.
I freeze when I finally reach the last one. The ‘makes Prue smile’ one. And my face is suddenly burning. God, if Jack ever sees that, I’m fucked. WhatI feel is written all over my face and posture.
“Is… Is that what you saw when you were drawing?” My voice is suddenly raspy, and I can’t look away from the paper.
“I know you told me not to apologize, but I’m sorry. You were obviously uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable,” I repeat, not sure I’ve heard. Because yeah, sure, I was uncomfortable. But what I see is way more telling than that. I’m just glad she didn’t notice the fucking bulge…
“Yeah. You were fidgeting a little, and tense, and—”
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. Okay, so sheisabsolutely clueless. She doesn’t even recognize desire even when it’s staring right at her face. “Uncomfortable,” I repeat, again. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to say it.” I shake my head in disbelief, pulling at the paper to set it free from the block. “Can I keep this?” I ask, meeting her gaze.
