Draw Me In (6 page)

“
I check them out anywhere I can.
”
Immediately realizing how wrong that
sounded, I clenched my eyes tight in an effort to rearrange my thoughts and
words, a game of Scrabble played out in my head.
“
I mean, I look at statues of naked
men when given the opportunity.
”
Well that made me sound like a freak with a fetish for males carved from
marble.
“
Not
just statues though,
”
I tried to backpedal, but it appeared the pedals were not only broken, but had
completely fallen off. This had the makings of social suicide written all over
it.
“
I
look at the real thing, too.
”

I
worried if that provoking smile of his stayed on his face any longer, it might
end up there permanently like some maniacal clown face with a twisted
expression.

“
I think I
’
m no longer the only one in hot
water,
”
he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. Even through his white dress
shirt, I could see his taught muscles pulling against the fabric.

Wow.
He was so much better looking than I
’
d
remembered: all russet hair, plump lips and a solid, toned definition. I
completely understood how Michelangelo was able to create someone as gorgeous
as David because he wasn
’
t
present when he
’
d
made him, but was an accumulation of all the gorgeousness one could dream up,
cut into stone, pulled from imagination.

But
this man was real. Not a dream. Damn. I very nearly wanted to pinch myself. Or
him. Maybe both.

“
So you work at a coffee shop and like
to look at naked men.
”
Tugging his tie back and forth between his fingers, he slid the knot closer up
to his throat. The ball of muscle tightened briefly at the back of his jaw and
I went into full swooning mode. What was it about that jaw muscle that was so
incredibly irresistible? It was a trigger, cocked and ready to shoot a heated
current into me with just one blast. Ka-
POW
!
“
Anything else I should know about
you?
”

“
I like to draw,
”
I breathed, feeling the tension in
my shoulders start to slip away.
“
Both
in my coffee and of naked men.
”

I
wasn
’
t
expecting his laugh to be so raspy, sexy, and utterly knee weakening, but I
shouldn
’
t
have been surprised because everything else about him was all of those things.
“
I thought for a moment you were going
to say you liked to draw
on
naked
men.
”

“
That
’
s a whole other thing,
”
I laughed, thinking back to my
short-lived stint as a tattoo artist in Queens the summer before enrolling at
UVA as a freshman. Oh how I
’
d
had some exquisite drawings
—
and
men
—
back
then.
“
I
don
’
t
do that anymore.
”

“
Oh my God, I was totally joking,
”
he laughed, his upper body pressing
forward so his head leaned my direction. A rush of warmth fell from his mouth
onto my forehead and made me shiver all the way to my waterlogged sneakers.
When he pulled back, the moist patch of air evaporated.
“
So, assuming you are able to get this
machine fixed, you owe me coffee, which
—”
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and slid a business card out,
flicking it toward me between his index and middle fingers as he continued,
“—
you can deliver
here.
”

“
Oh.
”
I reached out to take the card from
him, feeling a spark in my gut when our fingers grazed.
“
We
’
re not really allowed to deliver. Can
’
t leave the shop during a shift.
Stupid store policy.
”

He
looked at me with an arched brow.
“
Okay.
”
The way he rubbed the pad of his
thumb over his full lower lip made me want to do the same, but with my tongue.
Sheesh, I didn
’
t
even know this guy
’
s
name and I was already fantasizing about licking him. I needed to get laid.
Pronto. This was pathetic.

I
glanced down at the business card in my palm.

Leo.

So
he had a name. Only three letters, but I guessed that still qualified as a
name.

“
In that case,
”
he continued.
“
Please have this dry cleaned and
returned to me at the address on my card.
”

Oh
he was good. I wondered if I
’
d
find out that he worked at some high-powered law firm once I took the time to
fully read his information. He had that inherently convincing quality about
him.

“
And before you come, swing by a
coffee shop and grab me a quad shot, iced Americano. That is, if you remember.
”

There
were million incoherent thoughts hurtling through my brain like the white crash
of meteors showering through the night sky. Stardust. Black holes. Alternate
universes that I was fairly certain I was currently experienced firsthand.
Everything about this felt entirely out of this world.

Yet
amid the void of confusion that was my muddled mind, one thought surfaced,
bright and clear.

I
needed to see this guy again.

If
becoming a sort of personal assistant was necessary to ensure this would occur,
I
’
d not only do his laundry and order
his drinks, but I
’
d
probably even scrub his toilets and cook him breakfast if he requested it. I
’
d actually do anything he asked of
me, because he had the charm and charisma of all of those damned Disney princes
put together. He was Prince Charming and Eric and Phillip and the Beast after
he transformed into a human, and Aladdin and even Flynn Rider and Prince Naveen
but not when he was a frog because even though people always said you had to
kiss a lot of frogs, this girl is not stooping to the level of pressing her
lips to anything scaly or remotely amphibian. So yeah, in essence he was every
girl
’
s
childhood fantasy.

But
don
’
t
get me wrong; he was equally the main character of every woman
’
s smut novel fodder.

Basically,
he was perfect.

“
Do you have a specific dry cleaner
you prefer?
”
I jutted my hand into the space between us to claim his jacket. Touching
something that he
’
d
warn so close to his body felt intimate on the most basic level.
“
Like a green cleaner that doesn
’
t use chemicals or something?
”
I figured this suit had to be at the
very least a few thousands dollars. There must be certain places that cleaned
top-notch clothing.

“
Honestly, I
’
ve never dry cleaned anything in my
life. I typically just buy a new one if it gets to that point.
”
Leo
’
s mouth twisted into a confused
smirk. I wondered if he even did laundry, or if he just bought new underwear
when he ran out like all the other guys I knew.

For
more seconds than I should, I stood there, thinking about him getting down to
his last set of chones, and when I realized I was picturing this stranger in
front of me in his tighty whities, I seriously contemplated slapping myself to
shake away the dazed expression plastered on my face. The pint-sized angel on
my shoulder instructed me to snap out of it in a deliberately trained voice,
while the two-horned devil licked her lips in desire. Smoke burst from my
shoulder as the halo-donning conscience poofed into oblivion.

“
Where
’
d you go?
”
Leo bent closer toward me, his eyes
probing mine and making them instinctually lift to meet his. I
’
d never seen any like them
—
well, other than
when I
’
d
seen
them
before back in Italy.
Intensely blue with aqua around the edges and golden flecks skirting his
pupils, which were much too dilated for the amount of light that filtered into
the coffeehouse. Seriously, why were his eyes so dilated? The thought did funny
things to my stomach.
“
You
still with me?
”

All
I could think to say was,
‘
My,
what big eyes you have!
’
so I kept my mouth shut and just nodded.

“
Okay. Tomorrow.
”
He finally slipped out from the
counter and back into the main area of coffee shop.
“
Coffee and my coat.
”
As he swiveled away, his back to me,
he flicked a quick glance over his right shoulder and said,
“
Just not coffee
on
my coat. You know, since you apparently like to not only draw
naked men, but draw
on
them, as well.
Worth clarifying.
”

I
sputtered. This guy had officially turned my brain to mush, worthy to be served
up in a bowl with a cup of coffee on the side. Maybe that was what happened
when a flood of hormones raced into your blood stream. I was no science major,
but some chemical effect had obviously just taken place, and I was pretty
positive those hormones must
’
ve
dissolved what little I had left of a brain inhabiting my skull. I was all
gaping mouth and blank, vacant eyes and fluttering heartbeats.

Unfortunately,
I wasn
’
t
able to reassemble myself before he was out the door.

“
Miss Thornton?
”
Eva raced over to the bar, her hands
slamming onto the wooden surface, a clap of excitement.
“
Who
was
that?
”
Her eyes that had appeared so hollow moments earlier were now huge on her tiny
face.

“
I
’
m honestly not sure,
”
I said, my head wobbling on my
shoulders as I struggled to put the pieces together from everything that had
just happened. But nothing fit. I
’
d
gotten to the end and there was still one piece missing. A gaping hole in the
landscape of my thoughts.

With
a growing smile, Eva practically giggled,
“
I
think you should go find out.
”

“
I think I will,
”
I said, still nodding in a daze as I
hugged Leo
’
s
jacket tighter to my chest. I swear I felt the arms of it squeeze back.
“
Do you know of any one-hour dry
cleaners?
”

CHAPTER
FIVE

“
It
’
s the same dude, Love.
”

Ian
stood in front of the full-length mirror as he cuffed the sleeves of his
periwinkle shirt into three, sleek and precise folds, ever the perfectionist.
His eyes held mine in the reflection. Curling my knees up to my chest, I hugged
myself tightly and rocked back and forth against the natural dip of the
mattress, watching him get ready for his date with Joshua. He was a guy from Ian
’
s film noir class he
’
d been flirting with for the past
month, but finally worked up the courage to ask out just yesterday. Turns out
modeling nude and then gaining quite a large fan base as a result was good for
the ego, regardless of what sex you were attracted to.

“
You
’
re wrinkling my sheets.
”

I
stopped mid sway.
“
Sorry.
I
’
m just a little out of sorts.
”

“
And you look like a drowned rat.
”

“
I said I was out of sorts. Gimme a
break. It
’
s
been an eventful day.
”

Sympathetically,
Ian cocked his head with just enough exasperation present to indicate that he
didn
’
t
totally feel sorry for me at all. Eyes, all green and mocking, like a cat
laughing at its prey.
“
Yes,
but eventful in an incredible I-just-had-a-wet-t-shirt contest-with-the-hottest-bachelor-in-NYC
kind of way.
”

“
We don
’
t know he
’
s a bachelor,
”
I retorted, not denying the rest of
his statement. There were flecks of truth strewn throughout each one of those
syllables.

“
Yes.
”
Ian ran his palms down the front of
his heather gray slacks.
“
We
do. It
’
s
part of the spread they
’
re
putting together for the magazine. Single, successful, and searching.
”

I
wasn
’
t
sure why, but that knowledge made me simultaneously nauseous and giddy, like I
could laugh and vomit all in one act. Sort of like riding those Tilt-a-Whirls
at the fair, both excitement and terror wrapped into one crazy ride. Minus the
carnies, though, because they were just plain scary.
“
Searching?
”

“
As in looking for someone. Or at
least eligible.
”

“
Is that what your shoot is all about?
Trying to find him a soul mate or something?
”
Though I obviously had no claim on
him to speak of, I didn
’
t
like entertaining the idea that maybe this was all part of some widespread
matchmaking process. It tempted me just enough to contemplate flicking the
television on to see if he was on the other side conducting his very own rose
ceremony. If he was, how had I missed out on that screening process?

“
Nah, it
’
s not like that. It
’
s just that he
’
s been single for a few years now and
there
’
s
gossip that he
’
s
being pushed back into the dating scene by his family.
”
Ian
’
s phone buzzed across his immaculate
glass nightstand and he raced to snatch it up. Typing with wildly frantic
fingers, he shot me a look while he continued texting.
“
Not sure why he was ever
out
of the dating scene, but to each his
own. Now that their business is successful, maybe it
’
s time for him to start enjoying the
finer things in life.
”

I
’
d fiddled with the business card so
much this afternoon that it now lay crumpled and worn at the edges like a
well-loved book, the fibers pulling away from themselves.
“
I think he does plenty of that
already. I looked up their wine label and it
’
s huge in Italy. I
’
d say he already enjoys the finer
things on a daily basis.
”

“
Fine wines and fine women are two
different things, though I suppose they should be enjoyed at the same time.
”

“
When was the last time you enjoyed a
woman, Ian?
”
I teased, returning his mockery from earlier with my own.

“
I enjoy drinking wine with you,
Jules. You
’
re
a woman.
”
I could always count on Ian for my daily feel-good dose. I actually quit taking
vitamins when I moved in with Ian. Apparently it was good for your health to be
around someone that showered you with compliments and unconditional love.
Growing up, I never got that nutrition. Could make for a pretty screwed up
adulthood, but I never let that ruin me.
“
But
tonight I plan on drinking wine with Joshua. Lots of it. I might even get drunk
enough come back and do a little Rockband. I feel the urge to channel my inner
Police.
”
Curling his fingers around his cell, he microphoned his mouth and crooned,
“
Rox
anne!
”
at least four octaves higher than
his typical baritone.

I
cringed and flopped back onto his bed.
“
If
you
’
re
trying to impress this guy, I
’
d
steer clear of the alcohol. And the karaoke.
”

“
Noted.
”
Ian smoothed his hands over his
golden hair once more before slipping his billfold into one back pocket and
tucking his phone in the other.
“
Don
’
t wait up.
”
He tossed a wave over his shoulder
as he walked out of his room and toward our front door, flinging it open.

“
I won
’
t.
”

“
And don
’
t draw anymore Davids. Believe it or
not, I
’
m
actually getting a little tired of looking at that perfectly sculpted body.
”

“
Noted,
”
I echoed, weaving Leo
’
s business card over and under my
fingers, a loom of flesh and paper. I stared at my knuckles, feeling the ghost
of his lips brushing against them like they did eight months ago in Florence.

Leo
Carducci, Vice President

Carducci
Wines

Sienna,
Italy and NYC

Leo.
Like the lion. Or maybe Da Vinci. I preferred that option and wondered if, in
fact, he was named after anyone significant. I loved the idea of Da Vinci as
his namesake because it somehow created a connection between us, however forced
or fabricated it might be. As things stood, I couldn
’
t see any other commonalties.

He
was a businessman in Lower Manhattan.

I
was a student and a tutor and on occasion a barista at a local coffee shop,
though I wasn
’
t
even sure I still had my job there anymore after today
’
s waterworks mishap. They
’
d told me not to bother coming back
in until the machine was up and running. I took the hint as I dished myself a
large helping of humble pie.

Leo
and I were clearly on two very different paths in life, yet these paths had
intersected not once, but twice, and on two completely opposite continents.

And
they were about to intersect again. Collide.

Abandoning
Ian
’
s
bed, I dropped my legs over the side and shuffled my way down the hall to my
room. We hadn
’
t
swept in a few days, and I figured my fluffy pink bunny slippers were picking
up the stray dust bunnies that lined the baseboards. I laughed to myself at the
silly thought. I also made a mental note to give the apartment a thorough deep
cleaning this weekend. We were long overdue, and if Ian planned on impressing anyone
he might bring back here, our collection of cobwebs and dust probably wouldn
’
t help at all with that.

I
rounded the hall to my room. It wasn
’
t
large. Only a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a highboy dresser could fit
inside, and even those were all touching at the corners like they were just one
larger piece of furniture, welded together by proximity. I reached my hand
under the mattress to fish out my oversized drawing pad, and then retrieved my
case of pencils from within my nightstand drawer. They
’
d all been sharpened to a needlelike
point and I knew I had Ian to thank for that. He was one of those that believed
in returning things in better shape than they were originally in. Even though I
preferred sketching with a duller edge, I couldn
’
t help but smile at the gesture.

I
took everything with me back to my bed and crossed one leg over the other,
resting the sketchpad across my knees like a tray. Ian was right. No more
sculpture recreations. In truth, I was a little tired of my art imitating art.
That was why I craved the time in the studio with live models. It fed me. Then
it was just my pencil depicting what was in front of me, not capturing
something that someone else had already brought into being. No middle man. Just
me and my subject. That was when I felt like a true artist, not a thief. In my
mind, to steal the creation of another was sort of like to trying to fit on
someone else
’
s
soul. You could never duplicate it, only create some shadow of what they
’
d already mastered in pouring out
themselves.

There
were so many artists I idolized, but their souls never matched mine. Where was
that soul mate of mine everyone always talked about?

Unfortunately,
I didn
’
t
have a live model now. Sure, there was a lamp on my nightstand that I could
sketch. Or that flower arrangement wilting on the dresser that Mom and Dad sent
two weeks ago for my birthday. Inanimate objects didn
’
t do anything for me though, and that
showed in my work. It really was true that you were best at what you loved
most. I loved the delicate, yet equally strong, physical form of the human body
and I was good at depicting that on paper. I wanted my art to imitate life, but
to do that, I needed a living, breathing subject.

The
only one in this apartment to fit that criteria was me, and even then the whole
breathing part was a little iffy because I kept reaching hyperventilation mode
every time I thought back to Leo drenched in water at the coffee house, his
white dress shirt plastered to his chest like alabaster. It took a lot to get
me hot and bothered, but seeing him like that totally did both. Okay, maybe the
scalding temperature of the water clinging to my skin and dripping through my
hair contributed to it, but there was no denying how incredible looking that
man was.

I
caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror suspended over my dresser and
decided if I was going to do any drawing this evening, I
’
d just have to be my own subject. It
had been a while since I sketched any self-portraits, and I thought maybe this
would be my next assignment for the kids at the co-op. It was always a good
exercise, especially for teens. I found that when you truly studied your
subject
—
I
mean really examined it
—
you
gained a deeper appreciation for the details and beauty tucked into the curves,
the shadows, the form. Those were often overlooked on a daily basis. Though Eva
and I didn
’
t
have a chance to meet up after the whole espresso machine debacle, I hoped
maybe doing something like this would help her with whatever was eating away at
her. Self-image could be such a difficult thing, especially for a teenager.

Pulling
my drawing pad off my lap, I inched closer to the mirror.

I
was pretty. That
’
s
what my parents always echoed growing up. But parents were required to say
those things. I mean really, if your child was unattractive, it wasn
’
t like you would ever tell them the
honest to goodness truth of that.
“
Sorry,
Jimmy, but you look like you
’
ve
been beat with the ugly stick. I mean seriously, your face is hideous! Can you
please pass the mashed potatoes?
”
That wasn
’
t
good dinner conversation.