Draw Me In (9 page)

It
also stole my breath. Which then made me light headed. Which forced me to close
my eyes and lean my head back against the cool wall to try to shake the
reaction that merely locking eyes with him elicited.

So
looking into Leo
’
s
eyes was enough to practically warrant a trip to the doctor
’
s office. Going to lunch with him
might send me straight to the ER. Or the grave. I didn
’
t want to die today.

“
I think I should pass.
”
That was nearly impossible
—
to force out words
that were a complete lie. They each felt bitter and acidic on my tongue, like
the dishonesty attached to them was a type of poison dripping on my taste buds.
I was a terrible liar.

“
You do eat, don
’
t you?
”

I
could see the cloud of worry cross into his eyes as he wondered if I might be
one of those girls that avoided food. I
had
been one of those in my high school years, but the more time I spent around the
sculpted curves of the female body in my fine arts classes, the more I
appreciated that feminine roundness that clung to my own breasts and hips. I
wasn
’
t
heavy, but I wasn
’
t
what one would call skinny. A happy medium of flesh and contour that earned me
the right to label my body as womanly.

“
I do eat.
”
I had to get that out there.
“
Don
’
t you have a photo-shoot you
’
re going to be late for?
”
If Ian found out I was the one
keeping him from his biggest photography break yet, he
’
d surely have my head on a platter
tonight. That might be a bit dramatic, but he
’
d at least torture me with an hour of
wine-induced whining about stealing his thunder or his spotlight or some other
thing he didn
’
t
want stolen. I owed it to Ian, and to myself, to make sure Leo got there on
time.

Rotating
his wrist to expose the glass face of his Patek Philippe, Leo sighed, much more
loudly than necessary. Maybe it was to convey a disappointment in having to
leave me. Maybe he just didn
’
t
like having his picture taken. Whatever it was, it was a breathy, airy sigh
that fluttered across my cheek, even though he was over a foot away. It was
just his breath that reached out to me, but it felt like more of him.

“
You
’
re right. I should go.
”

It
was the answered I expected, but hadn
’
t
wanted to hear.

So
this was it. An odd little mid-morning shopping spree and we were done. He hadn
’
t asked for my number and didn
’
t actually even know my last name. So
this really could be it for us. I
’
d
returned his dry cleaning, accompanied him to replace his recently ruined
slacks, and then given him an honest opinion on just how good he looked in the
new ones he
’
d
tried on.

My
job here was officially done.

If
only I could figure out a way to make that my job
—
being Leo
’
s go-to gal for awkward encounters
and embarrassing mishaps. I knew such a job didn
’
t exist, but if it had, my lengthy
resume would surely put me at the top of that hiring list. I
’
d completely rock that job.

“
It
’
s been weird,
”
I laughed as I stood up from my seat
in the dressing room hallway, offering a hand outstretched to him.

Leo
didn
’
t
blink. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth as though biting back what he
really wanted to say.

“
But it felt really normal,
”
he spoke quietly after a labored
pause. The soft droop of his eyes contained all the words I wanted to hear.

That
our random meetings meant something to him. That there was an undeniable
connection between us, however sudden and startling that might be. That I wasn
’
t dreaming up this possible something
that existed in the form of expectant emotion and hopeful uncertainty.

We
both felt it. It was as real as the heartbeats hammering rapidly through us.
But neither of us did anything to prolong it.

I
scooped my purse from the floor and lifted it over my shoulder, wishing he
would call out to me as I wove through the maze of clothing racks to exit the
store the way they do in movies. That moment of realization when you discover
you might be letting something significant slip through your fingertips.

But
that didn
’
t
happen, and I continued to slip further from Leo and what ghost of a connection
we
’
d
established as I shouldered my way through the crowded mass of New York
’
s streets. I also continued to slip
in and out of ecstasy and let down as I picked up speed, making my way toward
my loft at the end of the block.

Leo
had given me an incredible morning, and a fleeting memory that I quickly needed
to make permanent. Not waiting for the reluctantly slow arrival of the elevator
in my building, I took the stairs, skipping two at a time, until I rounded the
turn to the fifth floor. Blood thundered in my ears and pressed through my
veins so violently I could see the thick pulse of it on my wrists and feel it
in my neck. It was as though the iron in it solidified, making it almost
painful.

I
wasn
’
t
about to let Leo go that easily. Maybe our encounters weren
’
t enough for him to want to ask for
my full name and number, but it was enough for me. Enough inspiration. Enough
motivation. Enough kindle to ignite a fire under the tip of my pencil, a blaze
across the papyrus surface of my sketchpad.

Racing
to the loft and into my room, I threw my bag onto the bed and reached under the
mattress to pull out my drawing board.

I
might have just forfeited my one opportunity to actually have something with
this guy by turning him down for lunch, but I wasn
’
t about to lose the vision he
’
d given me, and the emotion tangled
up within that moment held in my memory.

With
graphite and paper, I let my fingers process my feelings like I
’
d done so many times before. Drawing
usually centered me, calmed me. This time it tore me apart.

Leo
had done something to me, and I wasn
’
t
quite sure what it was.

All
I knew was that I needed him to do it again.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

“
Honey, I
’
m home!
”
I would have thought it was Ricky
Ricardo had I not been expecting Ian.

The
front door slammed into place, shaking the panes of the windows in the loft in
a metallic rattle.

“
In my bedroom!
”
I shouted. I rubbed the tired pads
of my fingers together. Deep gray etched into my fingerprints, a swirling
abstract maze of skin and graphite. Pursing my bottom lip, I huffed a gust of
air to lift my bangs from my forehead and shook the loose strands free from my
eyes.

“
Hey, Love,
”
Ian said, one arm hooked around my
doorframe, the other hand holding up a brown paper sack from Lee Wong
’
s Chinese Food, the restaurant
located across the alley. The tangy smell of sweet and sour pork mixed with
fried wontons filtered into the room, causing my neglected stomach to roll with
a deafening growl.
“
I
grabbed us dinner. And Joshua
’
s
coming over, if that
’
s
okay.
”

“
Of course it is. But only if you
share.
”
The hunger in my gut took over and wouldn
’
t
allow me to continue doing anything else until I satiated its noisy call. I
slid my drawing pad off of my lap and rested the pencils on my nightstand.

“
Share the food or Joshua?
”
Ian winked and placed our bag with
dinner onto my dresser, thumbing his chin as he approached my bed and said,
“
Well, what do we have here?
”

“
Nothing.
”
Quickly, I drew up my quilt over the
notepad and buried it under the folds of the patchwork fabric. I wasn
’
t done and wasn
’
t ready to share it with anyone. Or
maybe I wasn
’
t
ready to explain myself. Either way, I just wasn
’
t ready.

“
That, Jules, is not nothing.
”
Ian pounced onto the mattress and
flung me aside with ease, ravaging the comforter for my latest sketch. He didn
’
t seem to care that I obviously tried
to hide it from him, and he tore back the cover to reveal what I
’
d spent the past eight hours
perfecting. Only problem was, I hadn
’
t
come anywhere near close.

“
Holy hotness, Love!
”
I could see the pulled furrow of his
brow as he analyzed the image held between his fingers.
“
I thought you were done with your art
imitating art phase.
”
He didn
’
t
look to me as he spoke, but continued dragging his eyes over every inch of the
drawing, the paper rustling in his grasp, echoing the choppy, embarrassed
breath that filtered out of me. I thought for a moment that I should dig out my
inhaler, because my breathing really had been all over the place lately.

Ian
’
s gaze slid across the shoulders,
both bare and broad, two mountains hovering powerfully over a solidly formed
chest. The variance in pressure of my pencil markings created six distinct dips
and valleys across the muscled abdominals, flanked on either side by the
perfection of man in the form of that strong, etched V which I had yet to learn
the proper name of. Crosshatching detailed the fabric denim material that so
greatly contrasted the smooth, almost polished skin. It was only shoulders, a
torso, and a little bit of jean clad hips, but it took Ian a good minute to
truly take it all in.

“
Thought you were done with your
statues, Jules,
”
he said, finally.
“
Though
I
’
ve never seen a statue wearing jeans
before.
”

“
It
’
s not of a statue.
”
I pulled the paper from his grasp
and shoved it back into my folder.

“
You
’
re telling me that man exists in
reality? Because if he does, I might just have to call Joshua and tell him not
to come over. I think a man like that is worth meeting.
”

I
rolled my eyes, knowing what a flirt Ian could be, and also knowing that he
’
d never toss Joshua aside that
quickly. He was all he talked about since their date last night.

“
You
’
ve already met him. He spent all day
in front of your lens, Ian.
”

“
Leo Carducci looks like
that
under his finely tailored suit? No
way.
”
Ian laughed, and then said,
“
He
’
s all GQ on the outside, Sports
Illustrated underneath, huh? Had I known, I would have suggested something a
little different for our shoot.
”

“
Whatever, Ian.
”
I lifted a pillow from the head of
my bed and draped it over my sketchpad, another layer of protection from Ian. I
contemplated heaving the nightstand, dresser, and beanbag chair from the corner
of the room on top, too, but that would have been overkill.
“
How
’
d it go anyway?
”

“
Amazeballs,
”
he replied, pushing off his knees to
stand. He collected our dinner from the dresser and continued talking as I
followed him out into our makeshift dining room, which really was just a card
table shoved against the kitchen wall with two mismatched chairs tucked
underneath. When you were a college student that lived in a 900 square foot
loft and ate off of an actual table rather than a cardboard box, you earned the
right to call it a dining room.
“
That
man really is gorgeous, Jules. It
’
s
funny, because he obviously knows it, or at least he knows his body well. There
wasn
’
t
a single pose or angle where he looked anything but absolutely comfortable in
his own skin. If I hadn
’
t
known any better, I would have thought he had experience modeling.
”

I
didn
’
t
doubt that. I was sure Leo knew how to use his good looks to his advantage. And
if these pictures were to be utilized for some spread that might help him find
a significant other, I bet he turned on the charm full scale. Put his best face
forward. He didn
’
t
strike me as a model necessarily, but definitely someone who deserved to have
their likeness grace the most famous business magazine in the country. Or a
life-size poster in my room. That too.

For
a moment it felt silly to even think that I had the right to try to depict
someone as beautiful as him on paper. Looks like that couldn
’
t be recreated. A photograph would
probably come close, but not much could do him justice. My pictures probably
made him look more like Elmer Fudd than the literal Adonis he truly was.

“
So that drawing.
”
Ian extended an arm to full length
and pulled down three ceramic bowls from the top shelf of our kitchen cabinet.
“
Is that all imaginative sketching, or
did you have something real to go off of? Because if you did...
”
he said as he crisscrossed a fork
and a spoon to create tongs and heaped a generous portion of chicken chow mein
into my bowl,
“
...if
you actually
saw
that in real life, well,
I
’
m not sure how you
’
re alive and sitting here right now.
Because that is the definition of drop dead gorgeous.
”

“
You don
’
t need to remind me.
”
There was enough food here to feed
an army, so I didn
’
t
feel guilty as I stacked on more than could possibly fit into my stomach. It
all looked and smelled so good that I had to at least take one bite of each
entree offered.

“
You
’
re right, I don
’
t need to remind you. You have that
very detailed drawing to do that.
”

Three
swift knocks pulsed through our front door and Ian instantly dropped his bowl
onto the counter before racing to answer it, leaving his dish to wobble like a
spinning top, drunkenly slowing to a stop. Giddiness sprung from his feet in a
bounce like that of a skipping child. Or Tigger. Actually much more like Tigger,
and I thought for a second I heard him call out
“
TTFN
”
over his shoulder.

Ian
really liked this Joshua guy, and I loved what it did to him.

I
really liked what little I knew of Leo, and look what that had done to me.
There was no excitable lightheartedness here. There was just a two by three
foot borderline-stalkerish portrait tucked between the sheets of my bed. But in
all fairness, some people had blow up dolls in their beds. At least this was
art.

It
was amazing how art could do that
—
take
something that would otherwise be labeled as creepy and twist it into something
absolutely appropriate. No one questioned art. Plastic inflatable people, yes.
But art? Not likely.

Who
was I kidding? There was no way around it. It
was
weird that I
’
d
spent all afternoon drawing a guy
’
s
stomach without him even knowing. Maybe this was why I didn
’
t do relationships. Or relationships
didn
’
t
do me. Or I didn
’
t
do anything other than draw.

It
honestly scared the ever-loving crap out of me to even think about getting as
excited as Ian was right now. Because what if Joshua ended up feeling
differently? What if that hope of affection was never returned? What if instead
of being the Winnie the Pooh to his Tigger, he got all Eeyore on him? What
then? What would Ian be left with?

Oh
bother.

It
felt safer to stick to mediums where you could fabricate your own reality than
to cling to people who could mess with the one you actually had.

“
Joshua, this is Jules,
”
Ian spoke, breaking into my reverie.
I got lost like that a lot, and was used to Ian pulling me back into the
present.

An
attractive guy with his brown hair shaved closely, almost to the scalp, on the
sides and left several inches longer on the top offered me a sweet smile and
then dove right in for the hug, completely bypassing the customary handshake. I
could already tell I was going to like this guy. His body was just as warm as
his gesture.

“
Hey Jules,
”
he said, still encircling me in his
thin, yet toned, arms. He leaned back enough so I could see his face. He had
soft hazel eyes and rosy, angular cheeks.
“
Nice
to meet you.
”

“
You too, Joshua. Hungry?
‘
Cause Ian pretty much ordered enough
food to feed an entire Chinese dynasty.
”

“
Oh,
star
ving,
”
Joshua said, peering over my shoulder to view the smorgasbord of options lining
the breakfast bar.
“
Smells
amazing.
”

“
Tastes that way, too. Mr. Wong sure
knows how to get it right,
”
Ian joked. It wasn
’
t
the first time I
’
d
heard that one, but I could tell he was eager to try it out on Joshua. He waited
expectantly for some sort of recognition with a lifted brow.

“
Hysterical,
”
Joshua approved.
“
Let
’
s have at it.
”

“
I
’
ll eat on the futon,
”
I offered, taking my bowl and fork
from the counter to free up our
“
dining
”
room table for Ian and Joshua to
enjoy, giving them a semblance of sought after privacy.

“
I don
’
t think so,
”
Joshua insisted with a vehement
shake of his head.
“
I
’
m not coming over here to kick you
out of your well-earned place at the table. You two are family. I
’
m the new guy. I
’
ll eat on the futon.
”