Chapter 7 Jake
SEVEN
JAKE
Turns out, Pottering Around is only a few minutes’ drive from French Press, and about fifteen minutes from my apartment, if the traffic lights cooperate.
The storefront has a large plate-glass window with the name of the studio written out in cheery letters above the image of a potter’s wheel and a clay vase.
Matt pulls out his keys and unlocks the front door before entering his code to deactivate the alarm.
He flips up a row of light switches and the studio bursts into brilliant view.
The walls are plain white but lined with shelves of brightly colored pottery in various shapes and sizes.
There are workbenches in front of the shelves, and lots of sections that are obviously for specialized functions, but I have no idea what those are.
There’s a back room, and since I don’t see a kiln—and even I know there should be one—I assume it’s in that space.
In the center of the room are two rows of electric pottery wheels.
They face each other, probably to maximize space.
Between them and the back room are four large rectangular tables with stools, and I’m assuming those are for other kinds of projects like painting or—well, something else.
“Wow. This is impressive.” On one wall hangs a large studio calendar with lots of the blocks filled in.
“Seriously. You have group classes, offer private studio time, and host birthday parties. You’re really making it happen.
” I turn to face him, and his soft smile and pink cheeks make my heart race.
He shoves his hands into his coat pockets.
“Thanks. I got a pretty good idea of what worked in Eugene and set my schedule here with the most popular classes and events. It’s taken a bit to get the word out, but the studio is finally making enough that I’m not constantly worried about finances.
Which, let me tell you, is a huge relief. ”
“I’ll bet.” I move toward him, holding his gaze. “Now, someone promised me a private pottery class.” I don’t stop walking until I’m deep into his personal space.
His lips twitch, as if he’s trying to fight a smile.
“A private pottery class. Well, those aren’t cheap.
” As he talks, he unzips his jacket and tosses it onto a workbench.
“You get the whole studio to yourself, my undivided attention, then there’s the cost of materials. Will that be cash or credit?”
I take off my coat and toss it next to his, then rest my hands on his chest. The woven cotton is smooth under my palms, and warm from his body heat. Touching him, even through his shirt, has my nerves tingling. “This okay?”
He nods and settles his hands on my hips. “This okay?”
“Definitely.” My insides swoop with excitement. “Now, I know payment is usually monetary, but would you be open to a different kind of remuneration?”
Matt laughs. “Remuneration? Now there’s a word you don’t hear often in my line of work.” His smile softens and his gaze drops to my lips. “What did you have in mind?”
“We should defer that discussion until after the private lesson, and base the charge on the success of the instruction.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really? Now you’re questioning my teaching ability?” He’s grinning so he’s not actually upset.
“Hey, I have nothing to go on but a well-stocked pottery studio and some very attractive pottery on shelves. But that could have been made by anyone. And just because you can make pottery doesn’t mean you can teach someone else to make it.
” I lean closer. “Plus, you have no idea if I’m any good with my hands. ”
He snorts and gives my hips a squeeze. “True. Okay then, instruction first, negotiation after.” He gestures to my dress shirt.
“I’m going to change out of mine. I have some spare tees in the back for when I’m working and get too messy to wear the same shirt home.
Do you want to change or risk getting that one covered in clay?
I’ll warn you, it doesn’t come out in the wash. ”
“I’ll borrow a shirt, please and thank you.
I definitely don’t want to ruin this one.
” I start on my buttons and glance up, freezing in place as Matt does some sort of speed unbuttoning, stripping out of his dress shirt in seconds before whipping off his undershirt.
And holy mother of god. I have no idea where to look, because I want to ogle all of him at once.
He’s not gym muscular, but his upper body is a delicious work of art.
His torso is lean, with definition from working clay.
Yeah, I know a thing or two about that. I watched Pottery Boy social media clips like everyone else.
Hence Matt’s name in my phone. He drapes his shirts over his coat and disappears into the back room like nothing eventful just happened, while I’m over here trying to get my tongue unstuck from the roof of my mouth and my fingers to cooperate with each other.
Once he’s out of sight, I slowly breathe in and out, shaking myself both mentally and physically before hurrying to take off my shirts.
I lay them across my coat as Matt returns.
He tosses a well-worn grey T-shirt at me, and I catch it without missing a beat.
Upon second glance, the base color of the shirt is gray, but there are various stains in a variety of colors all over it.
I pull it on and drag my fingers through my hair, pushing it into place.
“I kind of like the pattern. Very abstract.” I run my hands down the front of my shirt—Matt’s shirt—and glance at him.
His eyes are dark, and his lips are slightly parted, and a wave of lust slams into me, making my heart stutter and my cock perk up.
“Don’t look at me like that unless we’re skipping this whole pottery thing and going into the back room to get naked.
Because that’s what that look is suggesting.
I’m trying to be good, but it’s been a year of solo play for me, and I’m only human. ”
Matt grins and clears his throat. “I just—” He exhales and grins again.
“You’re wearing my shirt, and that’s kinda hot.
But, yeah. Sorry. It’s been a long stretch of solo play for me too.
Plus, you look really good out of your shirt.
Which got me thinking about how you probably look really great out of your pants, too.
” I glance meaningfully at the back room.
“Sorry. Right. Derailing that train of thought.” He gestures to an uncluttered table.
“Why don’t we work there? I’ll get us some clay and show you how to make a mug. ”
A whole range of emotions crosses his face as he exerts some herculean self-control, which I’m not feeling.
But since he’s being a responsible adult, I should probably do that too.
Matt dons what I imagine is his professional pottery instructor persona.
Okay, maybe not completely professional, but definitely focused.
He hauls out a bag of clay and thunks it onto the worktable, then reaches into a drawer and pulls out what appears to be a garrote.
“Are you planning to turn this into a date from a cheesy horror movie?”
Matt sighs dramatically and puts a fist on his cocked hip.
“Damn! You found me out. There go my plans for the rest of the evening.” I laugh, and so does he.
“I suppose technically this is a version of a garrote wire, though you can buy this online or in most craft stores. But this is what we use to cut off hunks of clay. It’s similar to a cheese wire, which I guess could also be used as a weapon. ”
He demonstrates the use of the clay cutting wire, and it is very quick and efficient at slicing the clay block into smaller pieces.
He sets one in front of me and the other in front of himself.
“Mash the heck out of that until it’s soft enough to work the clay well.
I’ll be right back.” He disappears into the mystery room again, returning with a clear storage box.
It’s filled with stamps of various shapes and sizes.
He sets it aside and heads off to the sink where he fills a small cup with water, then comes back to work his own lump of clay.
“So, we’re going to make what’s called slab-built mugs.
The whole process is very quick and only takes fifteen minutes or so. ”
“Oh nice! I’ll have a finished mug tonight.”
Matt leans forward, forcing the heels of his hands into his clay, and I watch his biceps bulge, stretching the sleeves of his T-shirt. He catches me looking and thankfully he chuckles. “Hey, pay attention to your clay, not me.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Who says I can’t do both?”
“Then do both.” He winks, and my chest tightens.
God, it’s been forever since someone’s made me this excited to be around them.
He gestures to my clay with his strong chin.
“Mash.” I get to mashing. “And you’ll have a finished, unfired mug when we’re done.
You won’t be able to take it home yet. But I have a bunch of things to put in the kiln tomorrow, so I can add your mug to that load.
It’ll still need to be painted or glazed at some point.
And then I’ll have to fire it again. After that it’s finally done. ”
Resting my chin on the back of my slightly messy hand, I bat my eyelashes at him in an exaggerated way. “You know, if you wanted to see me again, you just needed to ask. No need to bring pottery into the mix.”
“Is that so?” His gaze is soft and his smile is a little wonky, and oh my god he’s adorable. “I know our date isn’t over yet, but I would really like to see you again.”
“Good.” My stomach swoops and my heartbeat increases to about ten times its normal rate.
“I’d really like to see you again, too.” We stare at each other, not saying anything, like we’re awkward middle schoolers.
Before it can get uncomfortable, I focus on my mound of clay. “Is this the correct consistency?”
Matt checks and nods. “Yeah. Now we need to flatten it out. I have a slab roller, but that’s kind of a pain in the ass for two mugs, so we’re going to use a rolling pin and a guide platform.” He gathers the equipment and walks me through the surprisingly simple steps of making a slab mug.
About twenty minutes later, I grin down at my finished project.
In honor of Valentine’s Day, because why not, I went with a love theme and decorated my mug with a swoopy stencil of the word kiss in capital letters, a stamped outline of a mouth similar to the Rocky Horror lips, and a bunch of capital and lowercase letter Xs.
“When it’s time to decorate, I’m going to paint it in pinks, reds, and white because go big or go home, right? ”
“Obviously.” Matt laughs and takes my mug into the back room while I wash my hands in the large sink. “Once it’s fired we can figure out a time for you to paint it.” He pokes his head through the door. “Maybe that can be a second date?”
I shake my head as I dry my hands with paper towels. “Nope. Our second date is happening on Saturday, if you don’t already have plans.”
He considers, and I can tell the moment he remembers what Saturday is. “Valentine’s Day? What did you have in mind?” He joins me at the sink to wash his hands. “I can tell you from my many years of waiting tables through college, we’re not going to get a reservation anywhere this late in the game.”
I give him my best pleading eyes. “If I can guarantee plans will happen, will you agree to go out with me on Saturday?”
“Of course. I mean, seriously, you can invite me over and serve me breakfast cereal and I’ll be there.
” His cheeks pink sweetly. “I just want to spend more time with you.” He grabs a handful of paper towels and dries his hands.
“Is that okay to say? I’ve never been any good at playing it cool or anything like that. ”
I slip my arms around his waist. “Those are all good things in my book. I want to spend more time with you too. And I’m most definitely not into game playing.
I’d much rather you figuratively hit me over the head with whatever you’re thinking or feeling, because I’m horrible at mind reading.
” I can’t help myself and lean in, gently brushing my lips against his.
The soft sound he moans into my mouth almost derails my good intentions.
God, I want to undress him and kiss and touch every part of him right here.
But I don’t. Because huge plate-glass window.
With the lights on it’s like we’re in a fishbowl.
Ignoring my internal sobbing at my good behavior, I pull back. “So, Saturday?”
He shrugs. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”
“Dinner. At my place. I’ll cook. If you’re so inclined, bring wine. Whatever kind you like. And if not, I’ll have some freshly brewed iced tea.”
He tightens his arms around me. “I can bring wine. But only if you also let me bring dessert.”
I’m not going to say no to that. “Perfect.”
He grins. “With any luck.”