The Art of Appreciation (6 page)

Jason laughed. “Gotcha! I knew you were practicing when I wasn’t here.” He gestured toward Abby before heading to the kitchenette. “Chelsie, Abby. Abby, Chelsie. Do we have any more beer?” He opened the refrigerator and peered around.

Chelsie smiled at Abby tentatively, turning her game off and gesturing at the other side of the loveseat. “Nice to meet you. Have a seat.” Abby sat awkwardly, smiling back and nodding.

Jason cut the tension by handing each woman a beer and flopping on the floor by Abby’s feet. “Chelsie is my manager and my best bud since…” He looked at her fondly. “Fifth? Sixth?”

“Fourth grade,” Chelsie said, smiling at him and brushing a hand over his short hair. “You have the memory of dirt. I, on the other hand, remember everything.”

“That’s why you’re my manager,” Jason said cheerfully. He wrapped his large hand around her calf and grinning up at her. “Abby Reynolds is a very nice woman I met at The Catalyst tonight, Chelsie.”

“I figured, bonehead.” Chelsie made a goofy face before turning to Abby. “What brings you to Santa Cruz, Abby? I assume Jason told you why he’s here, because he tells everyone.” She stage whispered, “He got the big head from having his body chosen for those statues; don’t let his false modesty fool you for a minute.” They all laughed, and the ice was broken. The rest of the visit was easy as the three of them talked casually about lots of things, from the tiny city in which they currently resided to a mutual love of horror movies. As the hour before Sarah was expected drew to a close, Jason moved closer, sliding his hand up Abby’s calf to stroke the back of her knee with a fingertip. She looked down into his inviting dark eyes.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Chelsie said wryly, standing and patting Abby on the shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you, Abby. Come back again, okay?” Chelsie opened her mouth to say something to Jason before shaking her head. “Right. Night.” She headed into the small bedroom and shut the door.

Jason eased up onto the loveseat in her place and trailed a finger down Abby’s arm. “So. You wouldn’t change your mind about leaving, would you?” he asked.

“You have to get up early,” Abby reminded him, watching his hand as he trailed the back of his fingers up her arm and over the ball of her shoulder. She shivered as he brushed his lips over the same spot on her shoulder that he’d just touched.

“I’m young. I recover quickly.” Jason’s full lips pressed against Abby’s jaw.

Abby’s head spun at the possibilities that rested in that short statement. “Food for thought,” she murmured, and she felt him smile against her skin. He drew back and took her hand.

“No pressure here. Let’s just enjoy the few minutes we have left, okay? I like you, and I think you like me. Just fun.” He leaned toward Abby, looking at her mouth.

Abby met him halfway. Jason’s lips were firm on hers, his hands gentle as he ran them from her wrists to her shoulders before wrapping one arm around Abby and cradling her head with the other. Her hands rested on his waist before moving up his back, stroking the hard muscles under his shirt. A pleased sound rumbled in his throat, and he pulled her closer.

After a while, Jason drew back. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked in an uneven voice.

“Not bad at all,” Abby said breathlessly, watching the rapid flutter of the pulse at his neck. And it really had been…nice. Warm and slightly exciting and…nice. Abby grabbed Jason’s arm and looked at his watch, cursing Sarah.

Jason smiled and straightened his shirt. “Well, it’s been over an hour, and I haven’t attacked you and left your body in a ditch yet. Trust me to walk you back to the club?” He laughed when Abby threatened to hit him with her shoe, then he called out to tell Chelsie where he was going.

The walk back was quiet but not uncomfortable, and Jason soon wrapped Abby’s hand in his. He began chuckling. “I wonder if your friend had fun with that skater kid.”

“His name is Skater?” Abby asked. “And how is he any more of a kid than you are?”

“I can’t remember his name, but I’ve heard about him. He’s in some skater gang that terrorizes tourists. And he’s a kid because he is. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. I’ve seen him skateboarding around town. Believe me, he looks younger with the beanie on his head and his ass hanging out of his pants.”

Abby stopped dead. “What the hell was he doing in the club, then?”

He shrugged. “It was crowded. He probably slipped in with a group. I’m sure he would have been thrown out if he’d been noticed. He wanted to be there, so he didn’t mess with trying to buy a drink is my guess. Problem?”

“Hell, yes, it’s a problem.” Abby yanked Jason toward the club. “He looked a lot older than that tonight and earlier today when Sarah first met him. I thought he was about your age. Sarah wouldn’t be doing whatever she’s doing if she knew that he wasn’t. No way.” Abby scanned the lot, which was still full, trying to remember where the car was parked. She spotted Sarah’s Hyundai, windows heavily fogged, and dashed over. She yanked the passenger door open. Sarah blinked owlishly in the sudden light. Her hair was mussed and her shirt half-unbuttoned.

“Abby!” Sarah tried on a smile. “I didn’t forget; I just got distracted.” She grinned at her distraction, whose shirt was entirely missing.

Jason laughed loudly and opened the driver’s door, gesturing for the kid to get out. “C’mon, Romeo. Haven’t you learned yet that it’s not nice to take advantage of sweet, drunken ladies? What’s your name?”

“Tyler.” He glared at Jason. “This is none of your business, you know. The lady wants me to go home with her.”

Looking up from adjusting Sarah’s shirt, Abby growled, “Not in this lifetime, Junior Mint. Jason, if he doesn’t get out of this car under his own power I’d like you to help him.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jason crossed his arms and looked down at the kid. “You heard the lady, Tyler. Move.”

Reluctantly, Tyler slid from behind the wheel and plucked his shirt from the backseat. He pulled it over his torso. “Sarah, I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon.” He shuffled toward the back of the lot.

Abby buckled Sarah’s seatbelt before walking around to the driver’s side. With a light hand on her arm, Jason stopped her from sliding behind the wheel. “Well, that was an interesting way to end the evening,” he said. Abby chuckled and nodded. “I really enjoyed meeting you tonight, and I want to see you again, if you’d like that, too.”

She thought about the past couple of hours and smiled. “I’d like that.” After exchanging phone numbers, Jason tipped Abby’s face up for another pleasant kiss before he headed across the parking lot, waving as he went.

Sarah mumbled in her sleep and caught her breath. Abby got in and started the car. “Sarah, if you hurl before we get home, I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

Sarah looked up blearily. “I think I’m gonna wish I was dead anyway,” she croaked, closing her eyes and holding very still.

Abby laughed. “Not before I get to tell you about your boy toy. Then you’ll wish you were dead.”

As she drove home, Abby took a mental tally of the night:

One sick friend.

One teenage lothario to poke sick friend about for the rest of her life.

Two beautiful men who had promised to see her again.

Not a bad night at all.

M
ATT’S
L
UNGS
B
URNED
, and his legs ached. The drinks that had sounded like a good idea the night before were coming back to bite him in the ass. The Catalyst wasn’t a place he went often, as he didn’t usually care to listen to drunken girls ask each other stupid questions over music with bass beating loud enough to change heart rhythms, but Chris had felt like playing pool, and The Catalyst had a lot of tables. Seeing Pretty there had been a treat that he hadn’t expected. For some reason, she’d gotten into his head, and being blown off by her had stung.

A screech of brakes brought him back to the present; he’d narrowly missed being run down by his elderly neighbor. After a flash of a smile and a wave, she barreled past him toward the beach, her VW Bug belching smoke.

“Head in the game, Clarke,” he muttered, pushing himself harder. That lasted for about three minutes, then his mind was back in the bar the night before. He’d spotted Pretty again, near the door, talking to a tall guy. Matt had waved, surprised by the sheepish look on her face until he realized that her companion was younger than he’d at first appeared to be. Something about the guy seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place him.

Smiling at the irony of Pretty’s dirty little secret—and after calling
him
Peter Pan—he was starting to anticipate seeing her again. He hit the halfway mark in his run and felt his temples pound; maybe a glass of water and a couple ibuprofen would have been a better idea than running.

Matt hesitated at the edge of the road. He really shouldn’t. He still had to get back and shower before the potential model showed up for his briefing. Matt regretted the motivation that had led him to suggest such a god-awfully early time.

He’d turned to retrace his steps when movement on the beach caught his eye. A smile curved his lips as he recognized a hank of hair and curve of hips. He pivoted to hit the beach running. It took longer to catch up than he expected; Pretty walked faster than he thought she would. She’d moved a few hundred yards farther down the beach before he caught up and murmured in her ear, “Hi there.”

Pretty stopped dead and swung her fist sharply backward. Yelping, Matt was able to turn enough that she caught his quadriceps rather than his nuts, but it was close, and it was still enough, given the pain already his legs, to cause him to plop down on the sand.

Her angry face as she turned was almost as funny as the situation, and Matt lay back, laughing. “Well, that didn’t work out the way I’d planned.”

Crouching next to him, Pretty looked both irritated and apologetic. Her hand fluttered over the spot she’d thumped, clearly both desiring to soothe it and realizing that it would be inappropriate. “I’m sorry, Matt. But what the hell were you thinking?”

“Not about being attacked, that’s for sure.” He leaned up on his elbow and used the opposite hand to slide up the leg of his shorts so he could examine his injury. Yep, already bruising. Thank God she’d missed her original mark, because that woman hit hard. He caught her eyes as she shifted them away from his leg. “Help me up, Wonder Woman?” He smiled. “I think my run is over.”

Pretty got to her feet in one fluid motion. She extended a hand and pulled him up. “It’s your own stupid fault,” she said cheerfully. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t a masher?”

Matt chuckled. “Masher? Who says that? Grandmas?”

“I say it. I don’t need your permission. And I suppose I could be mistaken for a grandma, compared to some…” She set off at a brisk walk. Matt enjoyed the view, loose pants rolled down at the waist in deference to her wound and a stretchy tank that didn’t quite meet her waistband, leaving a strip of silky-looking flesh between top and bottom. His impulse to touch her came back in a rush. He was glad he’d had the sense the night before to sketch out the sculpture idea the graceful arc of her neck had given him.

He caught up to her. “Nope, definitely not grandma material. Trust me. Compared to anyone.”

Pretty’s eyes softened. “Thanks.” They walked a few more steps. “So, how was your evening? Exciting?” Her lips twisted into a smirk, and she glanced at Matt from the corner of her eye.

“Drank too much and went home.” He sent a silent thanks to the sea god that he’d resisted Zoe’s offer to share his bed after she’d helped him stagger to his front door. One kiss was all they’d shared—surely Pretty couldn’t fault him for that. Matt looked over at her, a grin playing around his lips. “I should ask you the same thing. Working out the kinks? Was he a little too energetic?”

The smile dropped from Pretty’s face. “That’s—” Her lips set in a firm line.

“Fair?” Matt suggested, and she snorted. “Why is it that I’m a dirty old man when you think I’m sleeping with Zo—which, as a matter of fact, I am not—but your rec time with the boy toy is off limits for discussion?”

“Jason is not my boy toy, and discussion of my ‘rec time’ is off limits no matter who you’re asking about.”

Matt winced. All he wanted to do was to tease her a little, and now he’d made her mad. He tried to think of something to say, but Pretty beat him to it.

She stopped and put her hand on his arm. “You’re right about one thing, though. It’s not fair for me to shit you about Biker Barbie when I was with Jason. I’m sorry.”

“No problem.” Matt shrugged. “Guys my age get used to that.” They walked in silence for a while, and then Matt noticed that she was gently covering the scuff on her hip with one hand. “Hurting?”

Pretty grimaced. “A little.” She stopped and pushed down the fabric that was brushing her road rash. “Does it look like it’s healing all right to you?”

After a glance at her face to see if she was serious, Matt crouched in front of her and studied the injury, looking for signs of infection. Resting one hand lightly on the hip opposite the wound, to help with balance, he raised his other hand and looked up again for permission. Getting a nod, he pressed the periphery of the scabbed area gently, watching for any weeping. He couldn’t resist letting the backs of his fingers trail over her unblemished skin as he lowered his hand. It was as soft as he’d suspected, and Matt stood back up so he wouldn’t be tempted to stroke it again with the pads of his fingers. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck before he answered, giving him a chance to swallow and lubricate his dry throat. “Looks okay to me. Normal for a nasty scrape. Have you seen a doctor?”

Pretty rolled her eyes. “That’s where you come in, right?”

Matt stared at her. “I’m not getting you, Pretty,” he said, starting to walk again.

“Hold up.” Her voice was strident, and Matt turned to look at her. “You’re Doctor…whatever-the-Hell-Your-Last Name-is, right?”

He started to laugh. “Nope. Not a doctor. I’ve just seen a lot of injuries over the years from surfing. Concussions, water inhalation…” He pulled up the back of his shirt and twisted around to look at the scar along his lower back. “I’ve even had a scrape like yours, but I guess you’d call it coral rash. I was surfing off Maui, and—”

“You ass!” Pretty burst out, and Matt looked around to see that her face was completely red.

He dropped his shirt and held up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say anything to make you think I was a doc. I’m past making up stories to impress a girl. I told you that Scotty had me check your head—”

“Because surfers know about head injuries.” She snickered and shook her head. “No wonder you looked so startled when I asked you to look at my hip. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Matt replied, and she smacked him on the arm.

“Well, then, Matt—that
is
your real name, isn’t it?”

Matt grinned and nodded, and they started walking back toward her house.

“Well, then, Matt-who-isn’t-a-doctor, what
do
you do besides walk around looking hot in board shorts?”

“Remind me to keep you around; you’re good for my ego.” Matt nudged her, and she laughed. “I’ll tell you if you tell me your name.”

“Pretty works,” she teased. “Give me a hint.”

“Mmm…I know a lot about anatomy. Professionally and personally.” He traced the soft lines of her body with his eyes. “Yours is very nice, by the way.”

They had reached the beach at the back of Pretty’s house, so she stopped. “Talk about ego boosts. Thank you so much, sir.” They stood looking at each other for a minute before she laid a hand on Matt’s arm. “Hey, would you like to come in for coffee? Sarah is still in her alco-coma, but I promise that I don’t bite. Much.”

In extending his elbow to her, he caught sight of his watch.

He dropped his arm. “I forgot that I have a meeting this morning. I should be back in the studio, showered and dressed, in about five minutes, in fact. Can I have a raincheck?”

Her smile faded. “Sure. I’ll see you around. I’m supposed to meet Jason for lunch anyway. I should get cleaned up.” She smiled. “Thanks for checking out my hip, Not-a-Doctor.”

“Anytime. I like your hips.” Matt started backing away. “I intend on inviting myself over, you realize. The boy toy needs a little competition to keep him on his toes. Or maybe we can get rid of him altogether?”

“Maybe. He’s awfully cute, though…” Pretty backed toward the stairs, shaking her head doubtfully. She smiled at Matt’s mock-stricken face. “You’re now officially late for your meeting.”

He grinned at her, watching the ends of her hair flutter in the slight breeze off the water. “Worth it. He can wait.”

“Well, my shower can’t. I’ll see you.” She smiled again and gently closed the door, leaving Matt with an image of the graceful lines of her body exposed as she stepped under the water; he could almost feel the smooth curve of her thigh as the first drops beaded on her skin.

A flash of inspiration struck. Matt took off for his studio, favoring the leg she’d bruised until the stiffness wore off. Running up to his door, he peeked at his watch again and groaned. Fuck a duck. The model should be knocking, he still needed a shower, and he knew from experience that leaving an idea unsketched often led to it slipping away forever.

He caught a break with the flashing light on the answering machine. Jason Shaw had called to say that he was running late and would get there as soon as he could. Breathing a sigh of relief, Matt grabbed a pencil and the sketch he’d made the night before, adding legs, one lifted as if stepping, to the twisted torso. He refined her hand holding the hair on top of her bent head and adjusted a few lines, making sure the shape of her hips was correct in the three-quarter view he’d drawn. Having just studied the originals, Matt wanted the copy to be perfect.

A knock on the door startled him. He’d missed his chance at a shower again. “Come on in,” he shouted before he corrected the arch of Pretty’s neck.

“Girlfriend?” an interested bass voice asked from beside him. Matt looked up with a smile, and there was Pretty’s boy toy. He straightened up and gave himself a mental shake. That’s why he’d seemed familiar—from the photos that had accompanied his resume. Pictures could deceive, though, and didn’t convey the subject’s attitude, which is why Matt required an in-person interview before offering the job. Shuffling the paper off to the side, he smiled. Shaw obviously didn’t know Pretty intimately enough to recognize the figure on the paper. “Nope. Another project.” He stuck his hand out after wiping charcoal-smeared fingers on his shirt. “Matt Clarke.”

Jason shook Matt’s hand firmly. “Jason Shaw. I called to say I’d be late, but…”

“Sure, I got your message.” Matt looked his prospective model over and was grudgingly appreciative. Jason had chosen dark twill slacks and a dark button-down shirt that had to have been tailored to fit his arms. He was obviously taking this interview seriously, which was a relief after working with Tyler Oda. Tyler had shown up in cutoffs and a muscle tee and had goofed around so much that Matt had been forced to fire him and work from old snaps of Chris. “I was running, as you can probably smell, and got held up anyway. Do you have a few minutes to kill? I can jump in and out of the shower real quick.”

Jason nodded, and Matt left him examining the pictures he’d taken of Zoe and Chris. Ten minutes later, he was back and feeling more up to the interview. Jason was studying the body shots of Chris and Zoe closely. “What’s wrong with using this guy?” he asked, waving a picture of Chris. “He’s ripped as hell.”

Chris’s reaction when he was told that the client thought he was too small still made Matt laugh. “The buyer wanted someone bigger.”

“My win. I’m kinda glad that Chelsie heard about this gig.” He waved a shot of Zoe, looking at Matt with a raised eyebrow. “Is this who I’m posing with?”

“Eventually,” Matt said. “I’ll get individual shots of each of you first, and then we’ll see about the couple sculptures. The client hasn’t specified what she wants yet.” A thought crossed his mind. “Will that be a problem, working with another model? I won’t purposely ask you to do anything that’s likely to become…embarrassing, but you will be spending time together stripped to the waist. Zoe has modeled for me several times and is used to it, but—”

Jason waved his hand. “Forget about it. I’ll be fine. I’m a quick learner.” He looked at the picture again. “She’s my usual type, but lately I find myself preferring someone more like that sketch over there.” He gestured toward the table behind Matt.

“Come on over and sit down.” Matt went to the table and sat in front of a stack of folders, making sure his sketch was covered. He opened the folder that contained Jason’s photos, headshots and full body, and the letter he’d gotten in response to his original inquiry. An artist friend had recommended Jason, based on seeing him at a race, and Matt had contacted Jason’s manager for photos.

Tapping his pencil on the edge of the table, Matt wondered idly how serious things were between his model and Pretty. He stole another look at Jason. Damn, the guy was a big, good-looking bastard. Matt rubbed the back of his neck, the motion reminding him of Pretty’s beautifully arched neck last night, how soft her skin felt and the texture of the tiny hairs at the base of her skull. His hands itched to start molding that image in clay, despite the time it would take away from his paying job.