12. Swirly Girly
Swirly Girly
CARTER
“What building are you looking for, hon?” The woman behind the information desk was barely visible over the counter as she chomped away on her gum.
“The Cobalt building? I’m looking for Sarafina Devereux’s class at noon.”
She motioned over her shoulder. “Head down this hallway and exit through the back. It’s the last building at the end of the sidewalk. If you hit a parking lot, you went too far.”
“Thanks.” I tapped the desk as I stepped away.
“You active?” She nodded to my Air Force hoodie and then asked with a tilt of her head, “Career guy?”
“That’s the plan.”
She looked me up and down. “Must be hard on your girlfriend, unless you’re single?”
I opened my mouth to correct her, but changed my mind. “We make it work.”
“Good for you.” She turned back to her computer indifferently.
I wandered through the maze of hallways, hoping it wasn’t an epic mistake to show up unannounced.
After the clusterfuck that had been Thanksgiving, I wasn’t sure how Sara would feel about seeing me, especially on her turf.
But I was scheduled to be overseas for Christmas, which meant this was my last chance to try and fix things.
Otherwise, another three years was going to slip by, and there was no telling where that would leave us.
Inside the Cobalt building, the smell of art supplies filled the air.
Paint, canvas, and something acrid—in an open classroom, someone was working on a massive piece, wearing long gloves and a respirator.
As I hurried down the hallway, trying to get the smell out of my lungs, I seriously hoped Sara wasn’t dealing with these kinds of noxious chemicals on a daily basis.
Feeling incredibly nervous, I slid my phone into my back pocket and slowly approached her classroom. The door was open, and when I peered inside there she was.
My heart skipped a beat. I felt like I couldn’t move, couldn’t walk inside, couldn’t take my eyes off her at all. She was thankfully too preoccupied to notice me lurking.
She looked incredible for so many reasons. One being that I’d never seen her so in her element before, and the other being her outfit .
God, that innocent little outfit was anything but.
She was wearing the kind of thing you’d expect to see on your high school art teacher, but the hot as hell version.
A strappy little tank top, tucked into wide-leg pants that were covered in paint smears, conveniently hugging all the right places.
That gloriously thick hair of hers was unsurprisingly piled on top of her head, curls escaping left and right, the whole of it a bit frizzy and entirely sexy.
I crossed my arms and anchored against the doorframe, not quite ready to make my presence known as I unabashedly feasted on her with my eyes.
Surely, just looking couldn’t hurt. She’d always been exceptionally beautiful, of course, but seeing her at Thanksgiving after all those years—how three years had slipped by in the blink of an eye, I had no idea.
What had started out as giving each other space had turned into something else entirely.
I’d convinced myself that’s what she needed after everything that had happened that awful night I’d found her in the ditch, but I wasn’t entirely sure that had been the right choice at all.
In fact, I was positive it wasn’t. I’d been a complete idiot, and now she was—I didn’t bother finishing the thought.
She was off limits, is what she was, and I had a fading bruise to prove it.
I’d been impulsive on Thanksgiving, and Sara deserved so much better than that, she deserved to know she wasn’t just a game to me. It wasn’t a mistake I was going to make again. Not when it came to her.
I knew I should make my presence known, but I couldn’t peel myself off the doorframe, never wanting the little movie in front of me to end.
Sara had a concentrated look on her face as she dragged the easels across the room, one after another.
She’d stand, head tilted for a moment, before moving it another imperceptible inch and then another, until she had it just right.
I chuckled to myself, knowing that was Sara in a nutshell.
An overthinking perfectionist, through and through.
She’d always been too hard on herself, always run a little anxious, and sometimes I wished she could see what I saw.
Those moments when her guard slipped down, when she was wild and free, and so much freaking fun.
I was positive she was going to be an incredibly successful artist. One, because she was clearly good enough to oversee classes by herself, and two, because everything about her was fucking magic. Always had been.
As if sensing my gaze, Sara looked up, her blank expression turning confused. “Carter?” She headed my way. “What are you doing here?” Her hands landed on her hips as if I were in trouble, and I wondered if I was about to be.
“I couldn’t make it home for the Christmas party, so I thought I’d visit you before you went back on break.” I loomed in the doorway, waiting to see if she was going to kick me out.
“Why?” she puzzled, like it wasn’t completely obvious.
I raked a hand through my hair, a nervous tic. It did nothing, however, to steady the heady buzz that seemed to emanate from inside my very bones. “I wanted to see you.” I said simply, was dying to see you , I didn’t add.
“I do not get you, Kensington.” She cocked her head, and a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Well, come in, you’re blocking the door.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way while several students filed in around us.
God, I wanted to pull her into a hug, but I didn’t. “I heard you needed a model.”
“Oh!” She thought for a moment and then frowned. “I didn’t know you were coming. We already have a model and besides?—”
“ I’m actually your model.” I grinned, all too proud of myself. “I called ahead and made the arrangements.”
“ You’re the model?” She clapped a hand over her mouth, concealing a laugh.
I shifted uneasily. “What’s so funny?”
She chuckled with pure amusement. “Carter, this is a nude composition class.”
Oh fuuuuuck.
“Nude?” I puffed out my cheeks before blowing out a heavy breath. “No shit.”
She shook her head, already composing a text as she chuckled like an adorable little gremlin. “It’s alright, I’ve got a few models on standby, you’d be surprised how often they back out. Even when they know it’s nude.”
I dragged a hand over my face. Shit-mother-fucker. This was my moment. Buck up or walk away.
“Hey now,” I grabbed her phone before she could send the message. “If you need me to strip, then I’ll strip.”
She crossed her arms and skeptically nodded towards the podium. “You’re going to stand up there, butt naked, for an hour?”
“I was not aware that’s what this class was, but yes.” I started pulling my hoodie over my head before I could change my mind.
“Woah there, flyboy, slow your roll. The models definitely don’t strip down in the middle of the room.” She practically dragged me towards the small ensuite bathroom. “You can dress down in here. There’s a locker for all your stuff, and you’ll use the robe until it’s go-time.”
“So proper.” I chuckled. “But dressing room or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re about to see me in my birthday suit.” Her gaze dropped to my crotch and then snapped to my eyes in realization, like she hadn’t fully processed what was about to happen.
Which made it all the more satisfying as her neck went redder by the minute, visible to me by the compliments of her skimpy little tank top.
I stifled a groan, realizing her black bra was visible through the too-thin fabric.
Instead of staring, I offered her a lazy grin while she desperately tried to regain her composure.
“Carter, I appreciate the gesture, but you really don’t have to do this.” She was nervous, wringing her hands. “I’ll call for a backup, yeah, that’s probably for the best.”
“I said I would do it, and I will.” I was not about to let her down because of my poor planning.
“Oh God. Oooookay.” She laughed maniacally and clapped her hands together, rambling nervously as she slowly backed away. “Okay. Yup. This. Is. Happening.”
I followed her like a magnet who had no other choice, because I didn’t.
“I think you’re forgetting, I’m the one who’s gotta get naked.” It was too much fun watching her unravel.
Her voice went up an octave. “I have to finish prepping for the class.” She motioned over her shoulder. “Yes, I’ll be over here.” She walked away and then abruptly turned back to me, trying to get back into professional mode. “But please let me know if you need anything.”
“I like you, swirly.” I said with a chuckle.
“I am not swirly.” She argued as she proceeded to actually twirl a loose curl around her finger—her expression went glazed before she abruptly turned on her heel, leaving me with just my nerves and my quickly dwindling gumption.
I had never been particularly prude or shy about my body, and frankly, I was pretty happy with how I looked these days, but as I stood there on that platform—I realized I had a big problem on my hands.
How the hell was I going to look at her for an entire hour without getting hard?
I shouldn’t have watched her, looking so goddamn sexy, for so goddamn long before I’d come in. Total. Rookie. Move.
“Hey.” Sara crossed through the circle of easels, voice low. “Are you totally and completely sure about this?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” I winked, and she rolled her eyes at me, but honestly, she looked even more nervous than I felt.
“So I’ll give everyone instructions and then, when you’re ready, you can give me your robe.
Just try to find a position that’s comfortable, since you’ll be standing in the same pose for a while.
” She was trying so hard to be all business.
“For this particular class, we’ll do four poses, so you won’t be stuck in the same position for the entire hour.
” She nodded, assuring herself more than me.
“You good?” I asked.
“Great.” She swallowed thickly. “You?”
I grinned, “You know, I actually woke up this morning and thought, I’m in the mood to flash someone.” I bobbed my head back and forth. “I wasn’t, however, in the mood to get arrested, so you’re really solving a problem for me.”
She grinned at that. “I’m not one to kink shame, Carter. To each their own.”
I nearly groaned, trying not to let my mind wander from that comment.
Her face got stern. “Seriously, though, you don’t have to do this.
I really appreciate you showing up, but honestly, you don’t have to prove anything.
” Her gaze dropped for a long moment, before she finally peeked up at me through her lashes, voice lowered.
“I’m so sorry about how things ended the other night. ”
“Me too.” I offered her a smile before I raised a brow teasing, “And I know you’re not calling me a quitter, Devereux, because I’m so doing this.”
“Oh, I would never call you a quitter.” She smirked and patted my arm. “Good luck, Kensington.”
She whirled back nervously, rubbing her neck.
“Oh, sorry, I almost forgot—if you uh, you know, go up. ” She motioned a rising erection with her pointer finger.
“Don’t worry, it happens all the time. Totally normal.
” I nearly choked as Sara practically sprinted away, leaving me with that zipper-tenting little nugget.
As she left, I didn’t dare peek at the back of her. Instead, I focused on every disgusting thing I could think of, because having my best friend’s little sister talk about my erection right before I had to stay flaccid for an hour—was a recipe for disaster.