After grabbing my bag, she follows me into the room Ellie had walked into. "I'm just going to observe … back here." Kendall stays in the back by a few of the other workers.
I roll my eyes and sigh. "You're missing out!" I grin.
Once the seats are filled, Ms. Jones introduces herself and thanks everyone for coming. She explains the details of the night, establishing the rules of no photography or jumping from room to room. I can tell she's a bit nervous, but excited. This event is great exposure for the gallery and helps get people in the doors with the hopes of them returning again.
She then announces the model will be out shortly and skips off to the next room to do the same.
"You have an extra charcoal pencil?" Ellie leans over and whispers.
"I think so." I lean over and dig around in my bag when I see Morgan out of the corner of my eye.
Fucking hell.
I'm not sure if he's noticed me or not, but I try to ignore the urge to stare at him.
"Here you go." I hand her one of my pencils just as the model walks out. She releases the white robe she was draped in and sets her pose. Her long, brown hair is flat against her back except a small chunk in the front that covers one of her breasts.
I decide against using the easel and set my sketchpad upright on my legs as I begin outlining her features. The room is eerily silent as everyone studies the woman in front of us. She's standing at an angle, one leg extended and the other straight. Her right arm is placed over her chest and resting on her left shoulder. Her head is angled to the ground, her eyes low and steady.
I drown thoughts of Morgan out and focus on my drawing. The adrenaline rush from drawing a live nude model sets in, and soon, I even forget there's a room filled with other people.
People start to shift in their seats as the first session comes to an end. The woman smiles as she puts her robe back on and walks back out. We get a fifteen-minute break before the models rotate.
"Well, if that wasn't inspiration to get back into the gym, I don't know what is," Ellie blurts out the moment chairs and people begin to move around the room.
I laugh and reassure her she has nothing to complain about.
"Oh, trust me. Where I'm from, fried chicken and Mama's famous gumbo are a regular occurrence in the kitchen. Add in her fried gator, homemade apple pies, and banana pudding, there's no wonder I can't shed weight."
I stare at her, lost in everything she just said. "Wait, did you just say fried gator?" I make a face and cringe.
"Oh my God!" she squeals, making me jump. "You're so going to come visit me this summer in Monroe. We'll get tattoos and eat all the southern food you can stuff in your mouth. You'll never want to leave."
I stare at her, unmoving.
"Why aren't you blinking?" she asks, narrowing her eyes in on my face.
I swallow and blink a couple times. "How did losing weight turn into me getting a tattoo and eating alligator?"
She laughs, but I'm not kidding at all.
I'm not eating that.
"I'm actually good with burgers and fries. I'm a simple Midwestern girl," I say matter-of-factly.
"Stop being a baby." She nudges her shoulder into mine.
"I think I need to get some water," I tease, standing up and walking out before she can chase me down and make us blood sisters or something.
I'm careful to avoid looking in the direction of where I saw Morgan sitting. I walk to the vending machine and buy a bottle of water before heading back.
Before I step into the room, Ms. Jones comes flailing at me with a look of panic on her face. "Aspen! Oh God." She manages to blurt out before coming to stop in front of me. She's panting and her cheeks are flushed.
"What's wrong? Everything okay?" I twist the cap off my bottle and take a drink.
"No! One of the models is in the bathroom puking her guts out. She says she can't continue to the next rotation. What am I going to do?"
"Okay, well, um … " I stand there trying to think of a solution. There are only five minutes left before the next session is to begin. "What if we put half of the chairs in the empty room to each of the other rooms where the other two models are?"
"There's no room for that many chairs! They'll never fit." She paces in front of me, frantically cursing to herself.
"Can you get someone else? I mean did you have a backup or know of anyone who'd be willing to do it?" I know it's a long shot, but I can't help asking.
"No, I never thought to. And go figure, we completely sold out tonight, so the rooms are all packed. Fifty people are in that room expecting another model, and I have no one!"
"I'll do it!" I blurt out and she halts in front of me.
"What?" Her brow arches.
"Yeah, I mean … I'm not a professional or anything, but I could pose."
"Are you sure?"
No. "Yes."
"Oh my God, Aspen! You are my life saver!" She hugs me-again with the damn hugs around here. "I owe you."
I want to say something about how much she's done for me and how she allows me to sell my AR Collection here, but the words don't come. And it's true, I owe her for keeping my secret, but now I'm second-guessing my offer.
When she pats my arm and thanks me again, all I can do is nod in answer …
Reality has set in.
I'm going to be naked in front of fifty strangers.
Fifty pairs of eyes will be staring at me-studying and drawing every feature of me for the next forty-five minutes.
"Okay, you'll be in the first room. I need you to de-robe and get out there stat."
"Right, sure," I stumble. "Wait, which room is that?" She points to the room I was just sitting in. "Oh, no, no, no. I can't go in that one." Morgan, Ellie, and most of the students from my class are in that one.
And Morgan-my professor-WHO I KISSED.
"Yes, the other two models are already set up in the other two rooms. I need you in there, Aspen." Her tone is serious, and I can feel the blood draining from my face.
"Um, all right. I'll do it."
"You'll be fine, darling. You have a great ass. Just get in there and pose." She walks away before I can sputter out another word.
Did she just compliment my ass?
I quickly release a breath and head into a back room where I undress and wrap the robe around me. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I don't have time to freak out. I tighten my robe and walk out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MORGAN
She's barely glanced at me since the moment I walked in, and I know she's seen me. Some of my students are here, so I can't risk one of them seeing us. She should know I want to talk to her, but I'm afraid I've pissed her off to the point of no redemption.
I notice she hasn't returned from the short break and that people are starting to get restless. As soon as I shift in my seat to go find out what the holdup is, the door creaks open and people quiet down.
I adjust my sketchpad and get ready for another session when I see Aspen in front of the group in just a sheer robe.
My eyes widen. Fucking hell … what is she doing?
She avoids eye contact with everyone as she releases the robe. I watch it fall to the floor and my jaw drops.
I have to remind myself how to breathe.
Her golden hair is wrapped up in some sort of messy bun with a few stray pieces that lay against her neck. She adjusts the stool and sits on the edge of it. One leg is propped up while the other leg crosses over it. One arm is bent back on the stool, holding her upright, and the other across her lap, exposing her chest and stomach.
People begin moving their pencils, using their thumbs and closing one eye to measure out the length of her head, torso, and legs. They're studying the technical parts of her-skin and bone.
I can't stop staring at her long enough to blink. She's absolutely gorgeous.
My jaw ticks knowing everyone is seeing her this way. I've felt her lips on my lips. Her body against my body. She's more than just skin and bones. She's also smart and passionate, and absolutely breathtaking in the way she creates art-brave for the way she pushes through the obstacles and strong even when she seems weak.
But I see more than just what's on the outside-the goose bumps covering her skin, her bottom lip quivering, her right eye twitching as it always does when she's nervous. She knows I can see her and can't do a damn thing about it.
I decide to finally put pencil to paper and draw her the way I see her. From the outside, she's brave, flawless, and confident. But I know the truth. She's vulnerable and guarded. She relies on sarcasm to cover up the inner pain she's battling. She only gives people a small part of her, scared that if she gave any more, it would completely break her.
She uses art to cope, and without it, she'd be a ticking time bomb.
My pencil moves across the paper effortlessly as I draw her features. She's strong in the way she holds herself. Her back is arched slightly, one foot pointed, and her arm loosely over her upper thigh. Her lips are parted and eyes tilted down, but they flutter every few seconds as she struggles to blink.