“There’s no room for that many chairs! They’ll never fit.” She paces in front of me, frantically cursing to herself.
“Can you get someone else? I mean did you have a backup or know of anyone who’d be willing to do it?” I know it’s a long shot, but I can’t help asking.
“No, I never thought to. And go figure, we completely sold out tonight, so the rooms are all packed. Fifty people are in that room expecting another model, and I have no one!”
“I’ll do it!” I blurt out and she halts in front of me.
“What?” Her brow arches.
“Yeah, I mean…I’m not a professional or anything, but I could pose.”
“Are you sure?”
No. “Yes.”
“Oh my God, Aspen! You are my life saver!” She hugs me—again with the damn hugs around here. “I owe you.”
I want to say something about how much she’s done for me and how she allows me to sell my AR Collection here, but the words don’t come. And it’s true, I owe her for keeping my secret, but now I’m second-guessing my offer.
When she pats my arm and thanks me again, all I can do is nod in answer…
Reality has set in.
I’m going to be naked in front of fifty strangers.
Fifty pairs of eyes will be staring at me—studying and drawing every feature of me for the next forty-five minutes.
“Okay, you’ll be in the first room. I need you to de-robe and get out there stat.”
“Right, sure,” I stumble. “Wait, which room is that?” She points to the room I was just sitting in. “Oh, no, no, no. I can’t go in that one.” Morgan, Ellie, and most of the students from my class are in that one.
And Morgan—my professor—WHO I KISSED.
“Yes, the other two models are already set up in the other two rooms. I need you in there, Aspen.” Her tone is serious, and I can feel the blood draining from my face.
“Um, all right. I’ll do it.”
“You’ll be fine, darling. You have a great ass. Just get in there and pose.” She walks away before I can sputter out another word.
Did she just compliment my ass?
I quickly release a breath and head into a back room where I undress and wrap the robe around me. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I don’t have time to freak out. I tighten my robe and walk out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MORGAN
She’s barely glanced at me since the moment I walked in, and I know she’s seen me. Some of my students are here, so I can’t risk one of them seeing us. She should know I want to talk to her, but I’m afraid I’ve pissed her off to the point of no redemption.
I notice she hasn’t returned from the short break and that people are starting to get restless. As soon as I shift in my seat to go find out what the holdup is, the door creaks open and people quiet down.
I adjust my sketchpad and get ready for another session when I see Aspen in front of the group in just a sheer robe.
My eyes widen. Fucking hell…what is she doing?
She avoids eye contact with everyone as she releases the robe. I watch it fall to the floor and my jaw drops.
I have to remind myself how to breathe.
Her golden hair is wrapped up in some sort of messy bun with a few stray pieces that lay against her neck. She adjusts the stool and sits on the edge of it. One leg is propped up while the other leg crosses over it. One arm is bent back on the stool, holding her upright, and the other across her lap, exposing her chest and stomach.
People begin moving their pencils, using their thumbs and closing one eye to measure out the length of her head, torso, and legs. They’re studying the technical parts of her—skin and bone.
I can’t stop staring at her long enough to blink. She’s absolutely gorgeous.
My jaw ticks knowing everyone is seeing her this way. I’ve felt her lips on my lips. Her body against my body. She’s more than just skin and bones. She’s also smart and passionate, and absolutely breathtaking in the way she creates art—brave for the way she pushes through the obstacles and strong even when she seems weak.
But I see more than just what’s on the outside—the goose bumps covering her skin, her bottom lip quivering, her right eye twitching as it always does when she’s nervous. She knows I can see her and can’t do a damn thing about it.
I decide to finally put pencil to paper and draw her the way I see her. From the outside, she’s brave, flawless, and confident. But I know the truth. She’s vulnerable and guarded. She relies on sarcasm to cover up the inner pain she’s battling. She only gives people a small part of her, scared that if she gave any more, it would completely break her.
She uses art to cope, and without it, she’d be a ticking time bomb.
My pencil moves across the paper effortlessly as I draw her features. She’s strong in the way she holds herself. Her back is arched slightly, one foot pointed, and her arm loosely over her upper thigh. Her lips are parted and eyes tilted down, but they flutter every few seconds as she struggles to blink.
The room is eerily silent, all focus and attention on her. I wish I could remove the image of her from their memories, pretend she was never here at all, but for a first-time nude model, she’s holding her own quite well.
As I’m working on the shading, I feel a soft tap on my shoulder and turn to see Aunt Mel standing behind me. Her face is lit up as she glances around the room, watching people finishing up their drawings.
“Isn’t she doing great?” she whispers, leaning down next to my ear.
I swallow, glancing away from my sketchpad. “Yes. What happened to the other model?”
“She got sick but is feeling better. She should be able to do the next rotation.”
Oh, thank fucking God.
I was about to have an ulcer at the thought of another group of fifty people watching Aspen.
“How did you rope her into doing it last minute?” I ask casually, hoping she doesn’t sense my irritability.
“Oh, I didn’t. She volunteered.” She smiles and my jaw ticks again.
Of course she did.
ASPEN
My heart is thumping so hard in my chest that I have to talk myself down before I have an anxiety attack.
The room is silent except for the scratch of charcoal and lead rubbing against the thick paper. Their eyes are concentrated and focused, drawing the lines and angles of my body. Their hands move rapidly as they outline my features and create a piece of me—the outside piece.
The strong-willed, fierce, put-together me.
Ellie stares at me with wide eyes. I can tell the corner of her lips are pulled into a cheeky grin. I hadn’t planned for this at all, so I can only imagine what’s roaming around in her head. I chance a quick look over to Morgan and notice him staring at me. He hasn’t moved, and I’m not even sure if he’s blinked since I sat down. I know he’s probably the most shocked of us all.
But then his eyes soften and those deep dimples reappear. His pencil moves across the paper as he looks back and forth from the paper and me. He’s not just drawing the lines and angles of my body. I can tell from his expression that he sees something more than every other person here. He sees right through me, down to every flaw and insecurity.
His body is angled toward me, more than the other artists in here. His back isn’t slouched and his ankles aren’t carelessly crossed. His stance is strong and defensive. He’s on guard as if he’s trying to control his thoughts and actions, and knowing people can’t see him react to me.
He’s hardly in control at all.
I can’t help the thrill that jolts through me knowing he’s watching me, drawing his interpretation of me. He’s all I’ve been able to think about all semester, so after kissing him twice, my body is ready to explode. His lips, his hands, his eyes—they’re all magnetic to mine.