The studios were divided between the different disciplines. Laura’s major was drawing, with a concentration in pen and ink. Mine was painting. Those two disciplines shared a room, although Laura didn’t come down here as often as I did. She could draw virtually any place, and most of her homework and projects could be finished in our living room as well as anywhere else. I, on the other hand, had to be in the studio at least three to four times a week. I was pretty sure she’d suggested us coming down today as a distraction for me, to take my mind off my hangover, but that was all right; I was willing to play along if it gave me some time on the easel.
The room was a study in chaos. There were canvases in the process of drying propped against the walls, half-finished three-dimensional sculptures scattered on tables and windowsills, and boxes of paints and brushes piled here and there. I felt perfectly at home.
“Meghan! Hey!”
I turned my head to glance down the haphazard row of easels, where a tall, skinny boy in chino shorts and a paint-splattered T-shirt was waving his brush at me. Forcing a smile, I returned the wave and clenched Laura’s arm. “Don’t leave me alone.”
“Why?” She followed my gaze. “Oh, shit.” As he approached us, her phony grin matched mine. “Hey, Preston. How are you?”
“I’m awesome, just like always.” He slung an arm over my neck, pulling me close. I stood perfectly still, trying not to stiffen my body. “What’re you ladies doing down here? Gettin’ your paint on?” He laughed at his own lame joke.
“Yeah, just putting in some time down here before it gets too intense.” Laura slid her eyes to mine. “You know, with finals and everything coming up.”
“I hear you. So Meghan ...” He bent his arm, forcing me to look up at him. “I looked for you last night at Oswald’s. Where were you hiding, girl?”
I clamped down my lips to hold back a wince. Some guys could pull off calling me ‘girl’. Preston couldn’t.
“We didn’t go. I just got back from Florida last night, and I was tired.” It was the truth. He didn’t need to know about our adventure into the wilds of Georgia.
“Florida, huh? Rockin’ a little spring break action? Wet T-shirt contests? Niiiice.”
I ducked from beneath his arm and took a step back. “No, actually, I went home because it would have been my dad’s birthday. I wanted to be with my mom and my brother. The closest I got to a wet shirt was when my nephew spilled his juice down his onesie.”
Preston had the good grace to look abashed. “Oh ... yeah. Sorry. I forgot that’s where you’re from.” He gave me all of thirty seconds to absorb that apology before he plunged ahead. “So listen, want to go out with me tonight? I thought we could head back to that coffee shop you liked, down on Broughton. Get a cappuccino, and then you know ...” He trailed one finger down my arm, from shoulder to elbow. “See where things go.”
“Thanks, but no.” I was suddenly nauseated again. “I’m staying in tonight.”
“Aw, c’mon, sugar.” Preston closed his hand around my upper arm. “We had a good time last fall.”
“Sure we did.” I pried his fingers off me. “That was then. I’m not interested now. Thanks.” I walked away, looking for an open easel, preferably far away from wherever Preston was working.
I picked up a blank canvas on my way and set it up in a quiet section near the windows. The light was good, and I could keep my back to the rest of the room, making it easier to ignore assholes like Preston Riker.
“Meghan.” He was behind me, and I closed my eyes, counting to ten.
“Preston, I’m sorry, I really am, but I’m here to work, not to socialize. I don’t mean to be rude, but I said no, and I meant no. I’m not interested in going out with you again.”
“Don’t be a bitch.” His tone lost some of its honey. “I like playing the game as much as anyone, but you don’t want to mess with me too long. I might get ...” He leaned to speak into my ear. “Impatient.”
“I hope you’re not threatening me.” I unrolled my brush kit. “I’d hate to have to turn you in for sexual harassment, Pres. Though I’m pretty sure I’d find some corroborating witnesses.”
“It’s not harassment when you want it, too.” He slid an arm around my ribs, snugging me against his body. His thumb brushed against the lower swell of my breast.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight and moving it away from me. I pivoted to face him and, keeping him off-balance, I twisted his arm behind his back. “I don’t want to make a scene here. But if you don’t step away now, you’re going to be curled up on the floor, clutching at your dick and crying like a little baby. Get the message. I’m not going out with you. I don’t want to see you now or ever. Now go away.” I released his hand and pushed him away.