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“No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t do anything.”
I stepped up onto the stone and sat down facing him. The cold of the surface leached through my jeans, but I ignored it, waiting for him to say more.
It took him another long moment, but finally he rubbed his palms over his thighs and sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t fair to you. We’ve been keeping to ourselves for so long, I almost forgot what it was like to have a friend that wasn’t Devan or Garrett.” He gave me a half-hearted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m…out of practice.”
I tilted my head to the side and watched his face. His eyes shifted to the side behind his glasses, his expression uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I believe that,” I said. “I mean, everything was fine before that night at the bar. I know it was a shitty situation, and Garrett…”
His gaze dropped to his lap, and I trailed off as the pieces clicked into place. I didn’t know why I hadn’t figured it out before.
“Garrett told you guys to stay away from me,” I guessed, and his lack of response spoke volumes.
“But…why?” I asked.
He sighed again, raising his hand to drag it through his hair. “It’s not you, I swear. It’s just better if we keep to ourselves, don’t make friends.” His eyes were wide and pleading, as if asking me both to understand and to not ask any more questions.
I glared at him for a beat, but finally my face softened. “Look, obviously you guys have something going on, and God knows there are already enough stupid politics around this place I don’t want to get involved with. I don’t need to add yours to the pile. So, it’s fine. Don’t tell me what this is about; I really don’t care. But please, just…stop ignoring me, okay?”
His mouth pulled up in the corners, and this time it reached his eyes. “I’m not ignoring you; we’re doing this project together, aren’t we?”
I raised an eyebrow and continued to glare, and he relented. “I’m sorry, yes. I’ll stop. Honestly, I missed coming out here with you.”
Relief flooded through me.
“And tell Devan to cut it out, too. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss his stupid science jokes.”
Micah laughed. “I’m not going to tell him that. It’ll go straight to his head.” His smile fell away and he regarded me seriously. “But I’ll tell him. I’m sorry we’ve been making you feel bad for the past couple of weeks.”
“I’m just glad it wasn’t something I did,” I said.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure why I cared so much. I wasn’t going to be around for more than another week at that point, and yet the relief at having my feelings out in the open was palpable.
I changed the subject, opening my sketchpad to a blank page and flipping up the lid of my supply box. “So, how do you want to do this? Do you know what you want to draw?”
He followed suit, getting out his supplies, then surveyed me with slow appraisal. “I’m not sure. Is there anything you don’t want me to draw?”
Heat rose to my cheeks, but I shrugged. “I’m not taking off any clothing, but other than that, I don’t suppose I care. What about you?”
He gave me a roguish smile. “Draw whatever you want.”
I let my gaze wander over him—the bright hazel eyes behind dark glasses, the messy fall of dark hair, the broad set of his shoulders, his long, lean legs. In truth, there was nothing about the man that wasn’t beautiful, except maybe his scar, but that only served to make him more interesting, and I couldn’t imagine how he’d even look without it. In the end, I decided on his hands, turning my sketchpad up so he couldn’t see, and tried my best to hold still while I worked so he could draw me as well.
It was hard to focus. I was so aware of his eyes on me as I worked, glancing up to study me every few seconds before dropping back to his drawing. He’d done a portrait of me before, on the first day of class, but I hadn’t known what was happening at the time, and this seemed much more…intimate. The flush burned in my cheeks as I wondered what he was drawing and tried to concentrate on my own work.
I focused on his right hand, the one he wasn’t using to draw, which was resting lightly on his knee. Unfairly, his hand was as beautiful as the rest of him. Long, strong fingers with clean, blunt nails, the veins visible in the back of his hand as it tapered toward his wrist. The sleeve of his shirt was pushed up slightly, revealing the barest hint of the ink I knew covered his arms. It was tantalizing, and I wanted to push his sleeve up further and trace the lines of ink with my fingertips. I wanted to feel the texture of his skin, touch the light dusting of dark hair that covered his arms.
I shifted on the rock. God, this was ridiculous. How was I getting turned on over a hand? My face flushed further, but I ignored it, focusing on sketching out the loose threads in the torn knee of his jeans below where his hand rested. Eventually, I lost myself in the drawing, the tiny details. A little freckle at the juncture where his thumb met his forefinger. A smudge of charcoal on the side of his hand. I rooted through my supply box, adding color. Flesh tones and highlights and deep shadows. The drawing came to life, and I imagined I knew exactly what he would feel like without ever having touched him. Knew every callous and the feel of the strong bones of his knuckles. I half expected the hand to reach out from the page and touch me. I wanted it to.
A cleared throat pulled me out of my daze.
“I haven’t seen you draw anything in a few minutes,” Micah commented. “Can I move? Are you done?”
I blinked, then nodded, glancing down at my drawing. I supposed I was. “Are you?” I asked.
He stretched and nodded as well. “Can I see it?” His eyes were bright.
My cheeks heated with sudden shyness. It was only a hand, nothing crazy, but the entire exercise had been much more intimate than I’d anticipated, and my palms grew sweaty at the idea of letting him see a piece of himself the way I saw him. But I had no choice, so I motioned him over anyway. He scooted closer as I tipped the sketchpad down to reveal my drawing.
I held my breath and scanned his face for any hint of a reaction. He didn’t say anything right away, just gazed at the drawing, but finally his face creased in a smile and I let out the breath I’d been holding. He glanced down at his hand. “I didn’t even know I had a freckle there.”
