I remove the joint from between his lips and take a hit. “Nothing like weed after painting and fucking.” I hand him back the joint and head over to the kitchen island, where I retrieve the box of donuts he brought from beneath the brushes and paints I piled on it. I grab one stuffed with chocolate and shove it into my mouth.
“Need some energy after your hard work?”
“Just trying to scarf this down as unromantically as possible so you don’t get the wrong idea and try to date me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, as if I need all this trouble in my life.”
Tatum knows me better than most, but if he knew half of what goes on in my fucked-up brain, I’m not sure he’d want to get fucked by me. I’m not sure he’d want anything to do with me.
He searches the box before I grab one and hand it to him. “The one stuffed with cream, right?” I ask. “It’s obviously your favorite.”
He offers a pointed look. “I mean, I wouldn’t have minded.”
“Shut the hell up, dork. Now I gotta shower and be out of here in…” I check the time on my oven clock. “Fuck. Like tenminutes ago. I’ll have to wait to shower later.” I scramble for my clothes.
“Are you fucking kidding? You’re gonna go to class covered in paint?”
“It’s Figure Drawing. I don’t think they’ll be shocked to see someone with paint on them.”
“Figure Drawing? Is that like a nude model? They hot?”
“This is the first time I’ll see them, so I’ll let you know.”
As I finish buttoning my pants, he says, “You know, if you came back to Omega Psi, you’d be closer to campus.”
I shoot him a look that must be even more severe than I intended because he raises his hands in surrender.
Last year, I was expelled from the frat for…reasons. But because Dad’s always been generous with donations, I’ve learned they’re more than happy to have me back. Something I haven’t taken them up on. Figure I’m saving them the hassle of having to deal with backlash from the other Peach State frats.
“Just saying,” Tatum adds. “But hey, the broody, loner thing suits you better anyway.”
Anger bubbles up, and there’s a part of me that wants to get into it, but I do what I usually do—shut it down.
“I’ll see you later.” I toss my shirt on as I head for the door.
“Okay, well, I’ll get this uploaded to the Tok this afternoon, and we’ll probably have an order in the next twenty-four hours because it’s a damn good one.”
I glance at the painting again. It’s all right. Nothing special, but it’s the kind of thing my followers are into.
“I’m not gonna give you any more compliments, though,” he says. “Your head’s big enough as it is.”
“You’re clearly attracted to how big it is, so I don’t see why you don’t just spoil me.” I slide on my shoes at the door. “Just sell the shit out of that and let me know how it goes.”
“Sure thing. And let me know when you want to just skip the art and get on my OnlyFans account because we could make a lot more money.”
I don’t bother to acknowledge it because I’ve said no enough times that he should know better than to bring it up.
“Lock up for me,” I say as I head out the door, taking another bite of my donut.
Tatum wasn’t wrong. It was so much easier to get to class late when I was at the frat. Now I gotta haul ass from about three blocks farther away. But this being only the second week, I doubt anyone’s gonna give me grief for being a few minutes late.
Fortunately, when I get to class, Professor Reger’s still sitting at her desk in the art studio. Everyone’s set up at their canvases around the platform where the model will pose, so I take my place in the same spot as last week, catching my breath from rushing to get here.
“Now, everyone,” Professor Reger says, “our model should be here in a few minutes. He’s running a little late.”
Guess I’m not the only one with that problem this morning.
“But please remember the etiquette we discussed last week.”
