13. Spate of Tempests #2
“Seeing as we’re halfway through, I thought I’d share which artists have captured my attention most.” He inhaled, puffing up his chest and pausing for dramatic effect, then settled his eyes on Asher. “Theo Laurenti.”
Asher’s face blanked, neither surprised nor crestfallen .
“Well done, Theo.” Lev clapped slowly. The more sycophantic artists—Chuck, Lars, and Julian—joined in with an awkward round of low-energy applause.
Asher twisted toward Theo and smiled. “Congratulations.”
How was Lev supposed to listen to Asher talk without getting hard when he knew what his voice sounded like when he came?
“ Merci .” Theo’s eyes lingered on Asher’s face, his hand lingering longer still.
Reaching beneath his chair, Lev retrieved Theo’s glass sculpture—a tangled mess of glass strands spun as thin as silk threads.
One wrong move, a single gasp, and it would collapse.
He wanted to break it. Chuck it in the bin.
Hurl it across the room and smash it to bits.
Cut his fingers on it. All because Theo’d had the audacity to talk to Asher.
“It was a close call,” Lev continued, feeling ever the arsehole when Asher’s eyes flashed to him.
“Julian’s photograph of gulls pecking at a sickly pigeon was haunting, and I quite enjoyed the ocean’s Wrath, but Theo’s glass art was an orgy of excess, and captured precisely the mood of your first night here.
Not to mention, he’s smashed every other challenge. ”
He marshaled a few words of praise for Daria, Melody, and Lars. By that point, Chuck glowered at his plate, hands fisted on the table like a toddler about to have a tantrum.
Meanwhile, Asher’s gaze never wavered. Lev was supposed to be judging Asher, but it was Lev who felt unworthy.
“Blakely.” Lev clicked his tongue. “While I’m enthralled by your concept, your execution is missing something. You need to push beyond your comfort zone.”
Lies. All of it.
But a good teacher saved his sharpest edge for the one who held the most promise. Lev would push Asher away until only a student-teacher relationship remained, exactly as Lucian had done between father and son.
It would hurt Asher, but it would keep him safe .
“Chuck, I’m afraid that leaves you last,” Lev said, not caring to spare him a glance. “Don’t despair. You still have four sins to impress me with. For our next sin, I can’t think of one better than Envy. As you were.”
Conversation and the scrape and clatter of silverware against plates resumed. Asher swiveled back to Theo, so close their knees likely touched. Lev didn’t like that. At all.
Asher leaned in as Theo attempted to charm him with stories about his hometown in the French countryside, making it sound far more romantic than what it was—a literal hamlet populated with more pigs than humans.
Lev rose from his chair, rounded the table, and wrapped his hand around Asher’s shoulder. “I do hope you’re better able to perform today, Blakely. Any plans?”
Asher shrugged out of Lev’s grip. “Lichenmoor’s stone walls have such fascinating textures. I thought I might try a bit of frottage .”
Cheeky bastard.
“Julian, do you mind passing the syrup?” Asher asked.
“Sure.” Julian handed it over.
After pouring the syrup on his untouched French toast, Asher held Lev’s gaze and kissed a sticky drop from the side of his thumb as if he wanted to remind Lev how delicious he tasted, as if Lev needed any reminder at all, as if Lev hadn’t touched himself to the very memory, as if Lev wasn’t desperate to taste him again, to taste him everywhere.
“You’d be wise to forget frottage ,” Lev said. “Most people regret it the morning after.”
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong.”
Theo laughed mid-swig and choked on his orange juice, but survived. Alas.
Silas whistled behind Lev’s ear, mimicking the sound of a plane crashing and then exploding. “I really, really like him.”
Oh, fuck off , Lev said inside his head.
Silas appeared on the credenza. “Competence and quick wit.” He bit into his bottom lip and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Delicious.”
“I’m sorry, but can someone please explain what frotting is?” Lars asked.
Lev blinked, severing eye contact. Julian hid his laughter behind his napkin and a cough.
“ Frottage,” Theo corrected. “You place paper over a textured surface and rub it with a charcoal or some other implement to transfer the pattern.”
Lev wrinkled his nose. “We’re all so lucky to have you here to educate us, Mr. Laurenti.”
“Maybe Theo can demonstrate frottage next,” Asher said. “He looks like he knows how to create something satisfying.”
Lev resisted the urge to sling back a witty retort. Theo’s gaze bounced between them with dawning awareness, and Julian’s hawklike eyes narrowed on Lev with suspicion. The last thing he needed was the others catching wind.
“Personally, I think frottage is a tired trend best left in the thirties,” Chuck said in a smug tone Lev had come to despise.
“Nobody asked for your opinion, Chuck,” Daria said, Spanish accent more pronounced. “Thanks for breakfast.” She tossed her napkin on her plate, and left, black curls swaying with her hips as she stalked from the room.
“She didn’t sleep well,” Melody said. “May I be excused?”
Lev nearly snapped at her but softened his tone. “You can do whatever you wish whenever you wish. As I’ve said before, this isn’t a classroom.”
Melody nodded, and hurried after Daria.
Were they fast friends or something more? The others followed suit. Asher hadn’t finished his beans and toast.
“Perhaps he’s like me, Levvy,” Silas said far too cheerfully.
No. Asher didn’t have the build of someone who starved himself.
Still, as Lev washed and dried their dishes, he couldn’t help but fear that something was amiss.