The hall became crowded as more classes let out.
“Did you talk to Zach?” I asked again. If not, I’ll take matters into my own hands.
“I haven’t seen him.” He sounded annoyed. “He left a note saying he’d be down at the Cape for the weekend. But I do have an appointment with an attorney later this afternoon.”
“I’m going with.” My tone was stern.
He tapped a finger on my nose. “You don’t have to get bossy. I was going to ask you anyway.”
His scent of rain made me dizzy for a second. “Will he charge for his time?” I didn’t have money to hire an attorney.
“Consultation is free.” He pushed off the wall. “Come on. We should get to class.” His phone dinged. As he read the text, fun and cocky Kelton transformed into a man I didn’t know, stone cold. The light in his eyes went out.
My guess? It was a message from Kade. I didn’t have time to ponder that thought. When we entered the art room, all eyes went to Kelton. His indifferent demeanor changed immediately as he plastered on one of his thigh-squeezing smiles.
Heavy sighs chorused around the room, even from the guys in class. Kelton bowed his head like he had just given a superb performance on Broadway.
“Settle down, folks,” Mr. Brewer said. “Mr. Maxwell, get changed.”
I sat in the same spot I had the week before. Then I took out my sketchpad, praying that I could draw something. During the last class I’d had a problem with the placement of the eyes. Mr. Brewer had given me pointers on positioning the pupils, but I hadn’t listened, not with Kelton an arm’s reach from me in nothing but a freaking cowboy hat. My pulse began to beat like a drumroll. I blew out a breath, thinking of lawyers, my money, anything other than Kelton.
On stage, Mr. Brewer removed the screen Kelton had been changing behind. Sharp intakes of breath sounded in the room. Heat seared my cheeks. Handing in any artwork today would be impossible. The urge to run sat heavy within me. I squirmed in my seat.
Kelton winked.
Asshat.
I shook off my impure thoughts and set pencil to paper in an attempt to sketch Kelton as he rested against the back wall in nothing but bright-green boxer briefs. His left arm lay casually across his forehead while he pulled down his briefs on the right side, exposing his perfect V. The tightness of the fabric accentuated the shape of his manly parts. I licked my lips as I envisioned tracing the colorful lizard tattoo that made an alluring path south.
As I began my quest to bring Kelton to life on paper, I wasn’t certain how I was going to walk into a lawyer’s office with him that afternoon. The only thing on my mind would be Kelton’s penis.
15
Kelton
Leather furnishings, deep burgundy walls, and an oriental carpet gave the reception area of Davenport Law Offices a luxurious atmosphere. As Lizzie and I waited for Mr. Davenport, sharply dressed men and women breezed by in both directions. Some hurried with folders in their hands while others casually strolled and talked. I hadn’t heard back from Mr. Davenport yet on my interview. I thought I might that day.
“Why are you nervous?” I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.
She chomped on a fingernail. “This place looks too rich for my bank account.”
“You sure that’s the reason?”
Lizzie had had a tomato-red face all the way through art class. Occasionally she’d wiped her brow as she’d sketched me. When she wasn’t clearing the sheen of sweat from her face, she was writhing in her seat. Hell, I was trying not to do the same as I posed. I had to keep my gaze on the door as I usually did, repeating my mantra. Patriots, football, Super Bowl. Getting a hard-on was impossible to control, especially when I replayed our kiss in Dillon’s basement. By the time Brew called time, I was the one sweating like a pig.
In the law office, she kept her focus on the wall across from us where a colorful abstract painting hung. Her delicate jaw was rock solid as she held a nail hostage between her lips. “Yes,” she said in a muffled tone.
I leaned into her. “Maybe you’re still thinking of me in art class.”
Her knee began to bounce.
A man cleared his throat. I straightened, turning my attention to Mr. Davenport, whose tie sat loosely around his neck as though he’d just lost a big case.
“Mr. Maxwell, nice to see you again. Why don’t we sit in the conference room right around the corner here?” He gestured to my left, the diamonds on his wedding band glimmering.
Lizzie hopped up. I trailed behind her, watching her swing her hips from side to side. I stifled a groan as we entered the richly designed conference room—oak and leather furnishings—and filed away any and all impure thoughts of Lizzie.