He looks up at me, frowning.
“I can do lunch on Sunday?”
“Lunch on Sunday?” I repeat. “That sounds so fucking lame, Austen.”
“Lunch is not lame,” he says dejectedly.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. It’s my timer to let me know I’ve got ten minutes to get to class before I’m late—again.
“I’ll text you later,” I say, shoving my phone in my pocket and hiking my backpack higher on my shoulder.
He nods, his attention fully on the book he’s reading.
I love him to death, maybe a little too much, but sometimes… he really gets under my skin. Why the hell is it so difficult just to do something for himself once in a while?
I get to class with five minutes to spare and take my normal seat in the back.
I was smart and took most of my “boring” classes already, so my senior year would be laid back, but apparently I forgot one and now, among all my electives, is Art History—the most boring of all. I’m tired of hearing about cartouches and flying buttresses.
“Hey,” someone says, dropping into the seat beside me.
“Hi?” I look around, unsure if this guy is talking to me. There is no one else in this row, so I assume he is, but I don’t know him.
He offers out his hand, and says, “Carter.”
I stare at it but don’t take it.
“Can I help you with something?”
He pulls his hand back awkwardly. “Yes, actually. You’re the model in my drawing class.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to continue because I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help him with that. I’m also not shocked that he knows me and I don’t know him. It’s been happening ever since I started modeling for the drawing class last year.
“Well,” he continues. “I know you can only do that if you’ve already passed all your drawing classes, and I’m struggling a bit and was hoping you could help.”
“They have tutors for that.”
“Yeah, but those cost money, and I don’t have money.”
“So you expect me to tutor you for free?”
“Well, no… I was hoping we could trade?”
I shift in my seat, dropping my bag to the floor and digging out my notebook and pen before turning back to face him.
“What do you have that I’m interested in?”
“Uh, don’t think this is weird or anything, but I’ve seen your car.”
“My car?”
“Yeah… I caught you getting out of it the other day. It makes a weird sound, right? Sort of like a clunking?”
“You want me to tutor you in exchange for you insulting my car?”
“No,” he says loudly, causing a few students to look at us. The professor walks in, getting behind the podium. “Here.” He digs in his pocket and shoves a card at me. “I fix cars.”
He gets up and scurries away to sit in the front row. I knew posing naked in that class would cause some attention, but it’s getting old already. A few of the other models eat up the attention. I fucking hate it. So I shove the card into my bag and focus on class. I’ll worry about tutoring and fixing my car later.
