Ace
Ace took extra care in picking out his clothes. Even though he wasn’t going to be near the art itself, Phoenix worked with charcoals, and there was always a chance he would get a smear on his clothing. At the same time, he didn’t want to walk into the studio looking like something Lucy had dragged in. He wanted to make an impression—a good one.
I want Phoenix to notice me.
The thought wormed its way into his mind before he could stop it, but it was true. He wanted Phoenix to see him and think he was attractive. Ace had wracked his brain, trying to remember if Phoenix had ever dated anyone in high school, but he couldn’t think of anyone. That wasn’t particularly surprising, since he only remembered Phoenix when he was prompted.
How stupid he was for forgetting him—especially those eyes. Most people normally went for blue or green. Ace could get lost in Phoenix’s onyx eyes, if only Phoenix would ever look at him directly. He’d caught Phoenix staring at him, but he’d carefully avoided eye contact with Ace.
He finally settled on a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans. His clothes were tight enough that they hugged his body and showed off his muscles, without being three sizes too small. He’d seen that look on some of the guys at the clubs in Boston, and it wasn’t one he particularly loved. Sometimes showing less was more.
Grabbing his bag, he slung it over his head and let the strap settle across his torso. He swiped his keys from the bowl on the entry table and headed out the door, making sure to lock up behind him. It wasn’t strictly necessary here. One of the benefits of such a small town was since everybody knew everybody, it made people a lot less prone to taking other people’s stuff. Not that Ace had much to take. His dad hadn’t exactly been rich, and he had barely been making it in Boston. A journalist’s salary in a city like that didn’t exactly make for comfortable living.
He climbed in the truck and headed down Brook Street, then took a left out of town at the light by St. Jerome. As he drove, he allowed himself to appreciate the scenery this time. The leaves were just starting to change colors, making the ponds and horse farms he passed on his way look even more splendid. He could say what he wanted about the negatives of small town life, but this was definitely one of the perks.
As Ace pulled off onto the gravel drive leading to Phoenix’s house, he was surprised to see Phoenix sitting on the front porch, in an old-fashioned rocking chair, staring at the road. He drove up to the loop in front of the house and killed the engine, then shoved open the door, not bothering to grab his bag. That could wait.
Ace approached hesitantly. Phoenix still wasn’t looking at him. In fact, it didn’t seem like he was looking at anything. The only thing keeping him from worrying was the fact that Lucy was right by his side, and she didn’t seem too upset.
“Phoenix?” he said gently. He didn’t want to spook him, after all.
Phoenix didn’t move, so Ace let out a slow breath and took a seat in the rocking chair beside him. He wished now that he had stopped for coffee. There was a chill in the morning air, the first signs of autumn.
How long they stayed like that, Ace wasn’t sure. He might have closed his eyes and drifted off at some point, because the next thing he knew, there was a hand on his shoulder. He blinked awake, looking up at Phoenix.
“I’m sorry,” Phoenix said quickly. “I didn’t know when you were coming.”
He wrung his hands, looking like he had done something wrong, and Ace felt strangely protective toward him.
“It’s okay,” he assured him. But the curiosity was still there. “You mind telling me what you were doing? It was like you were in a trance or something.”
Phoenix nodded, the guilty look even more apparent. “Sometimes, especially in the morning, I don’t function well. Not the kind of not functioning that most people go through, where really they just need a cup of coffee. It takes me a while to be able to speak.”
“Oh.” That didn’t sound too strange to Ace. Some people just didn’t do well in the morning. “Thanks for letting me know. Do you want to go ahead and get started in the studio, or…”
“Yes, I think that would be good.”
He turned on his heel and walked down the porch steps, leading the way to the studio. Ace wasn’t entirely sure what the deal was with him, but it didn’t bother him. Some people were just quirky. He’d certainly run into enough of those in Boston. Maybe Phoenix was just one of them.
There was some new art that Ace noticed on the table, and he drifted over to look at it. It looked like an abstract forest scene, but the texture on the trees was more realistic than any he’d ever seen before in a piece of art.
Phoenix walked up behind him, nearly pressing against his back, and Ace’s breathing stuttered. He was acutely aware of just how close they were standing. Any closer and he would be able to feel Phoenix’s hips against his ass, his chest against Ace’s back. Phoenix could wrap his arms around him and pull him closer and… he forced his mind away from that train of thought.
“This is a beautiful piece,” he said, his voice coming out just a bit huskier than intended. “How did you get the texture on the trees?”
“Frottage.”
Ace’s mouth went dry. “F-frottage?”
He distinctly did not think about the two of them, naked in the studio, doing just that.
“It’s a technique where you rub charcoal across a surface to get the texture you need. In this case, tree bark.”
Put that way, it was decidedly less sexy, but Ace couldn’t help pushing just a bit further.
“Maybe later you could show me,” he said, pitching his voice lower.
Phoenix pulled away, and for a moment, Ace worried he had gone too far. But instead of walking away, Phoenix just walked around to stand in front of him. “I could if you want. I don’t have any pieces that require it at the moment, but I’m sure I could show you the theory.”
Oh. So he hadn’t gotten the hint after all. He pressed his lips together and tried again. “Might need to stay a bit later for that. It could take a while.”
“Not really,” Phoenix said, shaking his head. He still didn’t look up at Ace. “It’s a simple enough process. Showing you wouldn’t take anything more than a textured surface and a piece of paper.”
Ace took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Maybe he had misread things. Maybe Phoenix wasn’t actually interested in him. He had read signals wrong in the past. Likely, this was one of those instances.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling just a small pang at the thought that he had gotten this wrong. There was something about Phoenix that intrigued him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It wasn’t the quirkiness, or his artistic nature. No, it was something that ran deeper than those things, and Ace was determined to figure out what it was.
“If you’d have a seat on the sofa, we can go ahead and get started,” Phoenix said.
Ace realized then that he’d left his bag in the pick up. “Actually, I need to run back out to the truck. I left my notebook.”
Phoenix nodded. “I’ll get things going, then. Just come back in quietly.”
That was one rule he wasn’t likely to forget soon. Phoenix had been pretty adamant about maintaining his concentration while he was working, and Ace didn’t want to interrupt him. After grabbing his bag, he slipped back into the studio as quietly as possible and took his seat on the couch.
Phoenix was already working on another project, but from his angle, Ace couldn’t see it. He would have to get up to take a look later. Instead of the art, Ace focused on the artist. Phoenix’s hair was pulled back into a low pony tail, but a few strands had broken free and curled around his face. He looked young—younger than twenty-six, even.
Ace swallowed hard and tried not to focus too much on that. The last thing he needed was to get involved with someone, especially since he was determined to get out of Wilmingson sooner rather than later. And as much as he found Phoenix attractive, he couldn’t just use him and then leave at the first chance. Phoenix deserved better. They both did.