“Asshole.”
“Sure am.” One side of his mouth lifts in the signature grin that fans mistakenly find cute. The man is a shark. “What’s that?” Zion points at my face. He looks worried.
“What?” I swipe at my cheek. “I get it off?”
“Nope. Here.” He leans forward and clasps my face in his hand, the move reminding me of his first night here.“That. Right there.”
“Come on. What are you talking about?”
“Is that…it can’t be. Is that an actualsmileon your face?”
I pull away, half-annoyed. But only half. After another sip, I work up the courage to ask. “You got plans to play with her?”
“No, Liev. Why would I?” His eyes narrow on me. “When she’s so clearly yours.”
Blinking fast, I finish my beer, shake myself off, and make a decision. “I gotta go.”
“Yeah?” Zion rolls to standing, smooth as a dancer. “Where to? You got a date?”
I shake my head. “Need a walk.”
“Sounds good.” He sinks back down, his all-knowing smirk pissing me off, and palms his dick. “I might just sit here and jerk off looking at the new sculpture, man. That’s definitely the hottest thing I’ve seen you—” I stomp over to the shelves, grab a drop cloth, and throw it over the work in question. “Aw, come on, you cock-blocking son of a bitch.”
“Make your own damn sculpture,” I say, heading towards the door.
Zion, who usually laughs, calls out. “Forgot something.”
I glance back to see Grace’s sketchbook in his hand. It’s been hell ignoring it all afternoon and, like an arrow to the heart, Zion goes straight for it. “Where’d you get this?”
“Grace left it at the coffee shop. I tried to return it, but you were—” He opens it, which feels like a violation, even to me. “Hey, man, you can’t look at an artist’s—”
“Whoa,” he whispers.
I stop.
“You see these, Liev?”
There’s no point answering now that he’s opened Pandora’s box.
“It’s you, bro.”
Me? I shake my head hard, like a dog, not quite getting why my eyes are so blurred.
“Look.” He holds it open to one of the first pages. It’s us. Her and me. She’s against a tree, head thrown back, and I’m on her. I’m huge, my body made of boulders instead of flesh and hers is a mass of thorny vines, growing over me. Holding me up. Shit, the picture makes me hard and fucking terrified all at once, like she’s somehow seen inside my soul and what she sees doesn’t scare her.
The next one’s me between her legs—a parched man drinking from her body. There are pages and pages of us, then others—in the Dungeon, I assume, but then—
I stagger back and topple onto the couch, boneless. “Wow,” I mutter, blown wide open. Seen.
She drew me—face and all—two nights ago, in the Dungeon. No way she knew who I was then, right? And yet, I saw her that night, too, didn’t I? There was recognition between us. I can’t deny it.
In the picture, I’m a wolf, standing guard in a sea of sheep. My face remote, my body immoveable. She’s drawn me as a wolf made ofstone, which is somehow the part that cuts deepest. I feel made of stone sometimes. She saw that. That very first day, she saw it from across the room.
Fingers numb, I flip through the remaining pages. There’s a series of sketches of the sculptures I’ve got strewn around the property, which feels important, though I can’t explain why. Lamé is there, too, at the end, a playful, benevolent Greek goddess on skates. I can’t help but laugh.
“Pretty sure she likes you, bro.”
I give Zion an annoyed glance, which he completely ignores.
