The question whispers from somewhere deep in my brain. But I know the answer is yes.
“A kick, huh?” I ask, amused. “How many?”
The pink on his cheeks spreads and turns deeper. He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, even though he’s anything but. “A dozen?”
He wasted his weekend watching adozenart documentaries just because I mentioned one? That feeling in my chest grows.
“Was the documentary you watched calledRevenge of the Nice? The one about Impressionism?” he asks
“Yeah, that was it.”
His eyes twinkle. “I knew it.”
My forehead furrows even as I smile dubiously. “You knew it?”
He shrugs again. “That’s one of the ones I watched. Something about it, I don’t know … when I was watching it, I had the feeling it was the one you watched, too.”
Oh, brother. If his sappiness could put Canada’s maple syrup industry out of business, his cheesiness could do a number on Wisconsin’s dairy industry, too.
But you know what? It’s not the turn-off I’d have expected. I don’t know why it isn’t, because sappiness and cheesiness aresonot my things. Maybe it’s because he’s so genuine, so … uncalculated.
A woman wearing paint-stained jeans and an oversized buttoned-up shirt, looking very much like she’s accustomed to spending long hours in front of a canvas and easel, walks hurriedly from the hallway. She stands near the chair that everyone in the room is facing.
“Bad news, everyone,” she begins. “Our model won’t be able to make it today.”
Murmurs of disappointment buzz around the room.
“I know, I know,” she sighs. “We were all looking forward to starting in on figure painting. But the model we hired came down with a cold. We’re hoping he’ll be better by next week.”
We were supposed to do figure painting today? Maybe that’s why the heat is cranked up so much in here: because the model was going to be half-naked. Maybe whole-naked.
And the instructor just said the model was supposed to be ahe.
An outlandish thought wiggles into my mind. I’m nudging Jamie with a smirk on my face before my judgment can counsel me to keep it to myself.
“Maybe you should volunteer,” I whisper through the side of my mouth.
Jamie’s face flushes with crimson. “Me?”
My eyes elevator the length of his seated frame. “Sure. Someone like you has no reason to be self-conscious about showing their body in public. You’ll save the day. And after all, the whole point of this is formeto find out ifIhave a knack for painting, right? You’re not the one who needs to find a hobby.”
I’m not usually the type to joke around like this, but the way Jamie’s blush spreads all the way to the tips of his ears is just too amusing. I can’t help myself.
Plus, if I’m being honest … I don’t expect him to do it, but I really wouldn’t mind seeing exactly what Jamie’s working with under those clothes of his. I can’t deny that the way his muscles ripple underneath his shirts and the way his backside is framed in a pair of jeans often has my imagination conjuring up images.
I know a hookup with Jamie is off the table. But I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to get a peek after all these months of knowing him.
Now that I’ve spoken the thought out loud, it’s like there’s a devil on my shoulder urging me to keep pushing.
“It’s not like it’s too cold in here or anything. Besides, think of everyone else here. We don’t want them to have come out in this weather for nothing.”
How much am I just teasing him, I wonder? How much do I actually want to see him stripped down?
Someone behind us overhears. “Wait, you’ll pose?” she asks, loud enough to have more heads turning in Jamie’s direction.
Jamie’s eyes dart around at the faces trained on him expectantly. “I, well …”
The looks pile on, eyes brimming with excitement at the potential solution. I wouldn’t call Jamie a people-pleaser, but he’s definitely someone who has a hard time saying no when he’s in a position to help others.
