He’s silent for a moment before he answers. “That a newbie like you would strategize a collaboration with me, a stellar photographer with five times the popularity on social media? It’s brilliant.”
I scoff, the harsh sound of it nearly echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “I didn’t ask you to do this because of the number of followers you have. I asked because I want to paint your photograph.”
“That’s the only reason?” he asks with a well-practiced ‘come-hither’ lilt to his voice.
Just barely restraining myself from rolling my eyes, I pause my ascent on the stairs and pivot to face him, staring directly into those twin dark pools for eyes when I speak. “Yes. That’s theonlyreason.”
Zayne laughs as we continue, but the sound falls suspiciously flat. We quickly round a corner at the top of the staircase and enter what appears to be a spacious spare bedroom. There, we find the photograph propped up on an easel of its own, facing a second easel. Zayne places my canvas on the empty one and drags a nightstand over to set my painting supplies on.
“Think you’ll need anything else?” he asks.
I let my gaze trail across the room before I reply, “Nope, I should be good. Thanks.”
He hesitates before pulling his phone from his back pocket. “Well, let’s exchange numbers, just in case one of my other roommates comes lurking.”
I laugh. “I didn’t realize we haven’t exchanged numbers yet.”
We take each other’s phones and enter our information.
“Have a good time on your date,” I say as we hand our phones back.
“Thanks. Have fun admiring my masterpiece,” he purrs, his signature smirk spread across his face as he exits the room.
I close the door behind him and return my gaze to the photo. It’s haunted me since I first laid eyes on it. It gives me an uncomfortable sense of urgency. Like I’m wasting time. Like I’m rapidly losing something I’ll never get back, no matter how hard I might try. What Zayne was talking about during lunch today made me think he must’ve been feeling something similar when he took this photo. That’s why I was finally able to pluck up the courage to ask him if I could paint it.
I open up my tote and get all of my materials set up, but before I begin painting, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I roll my eyes, assuming it’ll be Zayne, but when I check the caller ID, I see Noah’s name and swipe my finger across the screen to accept.
“There’s that beautiful face I’ve been missing so much,” Noah’s voice says from the other end of the video call. He’s lying on his back in his bed with a hand tangled in his blond waves. The sight sends my mouth watering.
“Hey, babe.”
“How was your—” he cuts himself off, his gaze drifting over my shoulder. “Wait, where are you right now?”
I follow his gaze and glance behind me. “Oh, I’m at a friend’s place, painting.”
Lean muscles in his jaw flex. “I thought all your friends lived in the dorm with you?” His tone immediately becomes suspicious, which is weird. He’s never taken that tone with me before. We’ve never given each other a reason to. But then again, I’ve never really had friends outside of Noah’s circle like this before, apart from Alexis.
“Yeah, most of them do, but two live off campus together in this house. Zayne and Franco. Remember? I told you about them on Sunday,” I remind him.
His lips form a thin, straight line before he says, “So, you’re at a frat house right now—alone—without any of your other friends?”
“Noah,” I start in a warning tone. I’m in no mood to fight. Not right before I paint; it’ll ruin the vibe. “First things first, it’s a small arts college. There are no frats. Second, Zayne and Franco aren’t even home right now. In fact, Zayne is currently out on a date. I’m just here to paint a rendition of one of Zayne’s photographs. That’s it.”
“Did he ask you to do that? To try and trick you into coming to his house alone?” Noah asks, his suspicion continuing to rise despite my protests as he sits up in bed.
Well past my breaking point, I snap, “Spare me the toxic masculinity, Noah.”
He looks like I’ve slapped him; ocean-blue irises floating in a sea of white.
“This is a painting thatIwant to paint, so I asked Zayne if I could. Period. It has nothing to do with him, or with you. Justme,” I explain. “Okay?” A heavy beat of silence passes as he diverts his gaze. “That’s the truth. So, it’s your problem if you can’t decide whether or not you believe me.”
Noah doesn’t respond except to clear his throat. I’ve never spoken to him like this before, so it’s no wonder he’s uncomfortable. But I’m not sorry. I don’t regret saying what I said because it’sthe truth, and he needed to hear it. If he wants this relationship to continue, he has to respect me, my words, my actions,andmy art.
We stare at each other for a few tense moments before Noah finally sighs. “Well, let me see this photo you want to paint.”
I flip the camera around, happy to have won this small victory.
“It’s cool,” he admits, though his tone betrays his reluctance to admit it. “I get why you want to paint it. The photographer must be talented.”
