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The class trickles back in, and Kodiak drops his robe again. At least he’s not hard anymore.
I spend the second half of the class working on the details above his neck and between his legs. Professor Meyer stops behind me. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if I end up with a failing mark for this, but there’s so much gratification in the end product that it will be totally worth it.
She clears her throat, and it actually sounds like she’s trying not to laugh. “That’s an interesting perspective, Lavender.”
“Just embellishing the subject, so it lines up with my vision.”
“I look forward to hearing all about it in your write-up.” She moves on to Elise and calls out, “Ten minutes left. Please put the finishing touches on your piece.”
I add extra shading, taking liberties by adding a hint of color until Professor Meyer calls time and we all have to put our pencils down. Elise looks over, forever trying to compare us when we have completely different styles. Besides, I’m going to spend my life sewing costumes, not creating masterpieces on canvas or paper. This is my therapy, not my career.
She’s in the middle of a sip of water, which she sprays all over her drawing and the floor. “Oh my God!”
All of a sudden, I have the attention of the entire class. I’m actually surprised the students behind me didn’t notice until now, or maybe I was covering the head with my body.
Curiosity must get the better of Kodiak, because he shrugs into the robe and comes around to look at my piece. He coughs a couple of times. “Wow, that’s—”
“Astoundingly accurate,” I supply.
I drew a half-erect penis where his head should be, and where the head of his actual penis should be, I drew his face—a tiny, very detailed version, red and angry, with horns, like the devil.
It’s actually one of my better drawings.
Chapter Thirteen
The Secrets We Keep
Lavender
Present day
POST-ART CLASS,I spend the night at Lovey and Lacey’s, not wanting to go home to the possibility of having to face Kodiak. He’s always at our place. I don’t know why they can’t hang out over at his and BJ’s house. I love seeing BJ, but Kodiak is always with him.
I don’t tell the girls why I don’t want to go home until after I’ve had two coolers. And then my motormouth kicks in and I spill all the half-hard-on beans. They’re equally as mystified by the fact that he posed for my class as I am. It’s completely out of character for him. I also tell them what happened with Dylan and how I’m not really interested in another tutoring session, and I doubt he is either.
I sleep like crap and dream about Kodiak lounging in that freaking velvet chaise—except in the dream he’s clothed and I’m the one who’s naked, straddling his lap, my classmates sketching us as he tells me over and over that he’ll never love me.
Even in my dreams I’m pathetic.
I don’t head home until early afternoon on Friday. Lacey and Lovey tell me I can stay over again, but there’s a sorority party, and Dylan might be there. I’d like to avoid him for as long as I can.
When I enter my house, BJ’s passed out in the recliner—I think he likes it more than his own bed. Three guys fill the leather couch, wearing what are probably wet swim shorts, drinking beers, and playing video games. One of them is Quinn. He’s not here often. He’s getting his master’s in physical therapy. He’s a second round pick based on his reputation, since his anger issues are a red flag for the scouts.
One of the guys calls out to me, and Quinn shoots him a glare that would make me pee myself if I didn’t know him. “She’s a Waters. Do not talk to her unless you want to lose precious body parts.”
I roll my eyes. “Please don’t castrate anyone on my behalf. Blood is really hard to get out of the carpet.”
“I’d do it in the backyard to avoid the mess.” He gives me a wink and brings the bottle to his lips, tipping his head back and draining the contents.
“Not sure if I should be grateful or concerned that you’ve already thought that through.” I salute him, grab a box of Lucky Charms from the cupboard—checking to make sure it’s not one of the three I’ve already eaten all the marshmallows out of—and hoof it up to my room. I lock the door and shove in my earbuds, pulling up a heavy album to drown out the music blasting from the outdoor speaker.
I move across the room and run my fingers over the satin-and-velvet skirt hanging from my dress form. It’s a project for my costume and set design class. It isn’t due for another month, but since I love sewing more than Lucky Charms, I started it right away.
It’s complex and layered, with lots of ruching, an intricate lace overlay, and detailed bead work. I’m in the middle of a particularly tricky part when there’s a knock on my door. I’m inclined to ignore it, but the knocking continues—two raps, a pause, one rap. It’s River.
I finish the line of stitching, set the dress aside, push my chair back, and stand slowly. My shoulders are sore from hunching over, and my right foot is stiff. I hobble to the door and open it a crack.
“Hey, can I come in?” He looks over my head, as if he’s expecting someone to be in here with me.
