College art classes were interesting. At least, my first one was.
As soon as the Drawing 101 room filled with students, the professor powered up his laptop and asked everyone to direct their attention to the screen at the front of the room for a showcase of his portfolio. Apparently, he wanted to regale us with his talents in the form of a PowerPoint presentation.
And although I was disappointed I wouldn’t be breaking out my new pencils just yet, I wanted to see what this guy could do.
Professors made good money, but was he able to turn his talent into a career he actually enjoyed? Or was he dying a slow, painful, soul-crushing death on the inside?
Those were legitimate questions. No one wanted to end up miserable at a job they thought they would love, only to find out they were stuck doing something they hated.
As an art major, my career choices were limited to teaching or some kind of design field. Neither appealed to me much. I couldn’t imagine standing in front of a room full of people staring at me all day. I was way too shy for that. And most design fields required some math, and that just wasn’t my thing.
I glanced around the classroom, but I didn’t recognize anyone. I’d hoped maybe someone from the frat would be in it with me, but no such luck. Too bad. I would’ve liked having an art buddy.
Then I realized someone across the room was turned in her seat, and she was waving at me. It took me a second to recognize her. Kayla’s roommate. I couldn’t remember her name, but I gave an awkward wave before Professor Drummond—AKA Ed, as he insisted—started the slide show.
“In high school, I won a few awards with these still-life drawings and this self-portrait. And here are some projects from my classes at the Art Institute of Cleveland,” he said proudly, clicking the mouse pad from one picture to the next.
His early stuff was good. Impressively good. Some were simple object drawings of eggs, shoes, and colorful glass vases.
It was intriguing to see how his skills evolved and as time went on, he obviously favored oil paints over any other medium. His landscapes were beautiful and bright. Then some were more complicated paintings, with floral-patterned drapery, some silverware, and a bowl of fruit.
After that… things got weird.
“And these are some oil paintings from a gallery showing I did here at McAdams several years ago.”
My eyes widened. Jaws all around the room fell open. A dreadlock-sporting dude next to me dropped the pencil he’d been twirling in his hand. Someone behind us made an audible gasp.
The paintings were beyond morbid. Naked, bloated corpses were strewn about in dark alleys. More of the same in sewers, some of the bodies floating in the water. Shallow graves in the woods with more dead people.
What in the actual fuck?
From there, it only got worse. There was an entire series of unborn fetuses with too many arms and umbilical cords in all the wrong places. Some were half-human and half-animal.
My stomach churned. Students squirmed uncomfortably in their chairs. Others were pale. One girl covered her mouth like she might lose her breakfast.
Seriously, though. What. The. Fuck.
It was like a switch had been flipped, going from nice and normal to downright disturbing.
And Ed was so proud, talking excitedly with wild hand gestures as he spoke of the technical aspects of his work—unity, color, proportions—all of which I had to admit were extremely well done.
By the time the horror show was over, it was just about time for class to be dismissed and I was thoroughly grossed out.
Was this what it meant to be a professional artist? I understood creative fields were often about getting a reaction and evoking emotion. But as clueless as I was about my goals in life, I knew one thing for sure: I didn’t want to make anyone upchuck their breakfast.
“Okay.” Clapping his hands, the eccentric professor powered down his laptop. “Before you leave, I’ll be giving out the first assignment. You’re all going to make your own PowerPoint presentations,” he announced, earning a few groans and gasps from other students. Giving the class an understanding smile—because he knew he’d scared the shit out of us—he continued, “It doesn’t have to be like mine. The only requirements are that you display no less than six of your artworks and at least two of those need to be new. Oh, and they need to be something important to you. Something that moves you.”
“When is it due?” someone in the front asked.
“Two weeks. You’ll have next studio class to work on it, and presentations will be the following Thursday.” Students began getting up from their chairs and shuffling toward the door when he spoke again. “One more thing—this will count for 25% of your grade, so make an impact.”
Maybe I’d have to put all my Kayla portraits to use after all. Something important to me? That was pretty much it.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I headed for the exit.
Kayla: Same meeting spot on the quad? I brought lunch from Rocky’s.
Just seeing her name on my phone caused my body to physically respond, my cock growing thicker in my jeans. Over the past day and a half, I’d spent as much time inside of her as possible.
She’d stayed at my place the past two nights, and I’d just been with her this morning. I woke her up with kisses to her neck, which I’d quickly learned was her spot.
My dick went from half-mast to hard as a rock when I thought about how I’d told her to spread her thighs for me, and she obeyed. How I’d ordered her to touch her nipples, and she did. How I’d asked her where she wanted me to come, and she’d said inside her.
She was making me an insatiable fiend.
I’d hated having to leave her this morning, but Pierre needed to go for a walk and I was trying to keep up with my exercises. Since leaving the retreat, I’d been slacking on my physical therapy, and I refused to let myself slip back to where I was before.
By the time I’d gotten back to my apartment, Kayla was gone but she’d left breakfast for me on the counter. Or what was supposed to be breakfast. The omelet she’d attempted resembled one of her Pinterest fails, charred on one side and hacked to pieces.
I ate it anyway.
Grinning, I discreetly adjusted my boner before I responded to her text and I didn’t bother telling her my appetite was gone from Ed’s presentation.
Me: Sounds great. Have I ever told you you’re my favorite?
Kayla: You can tell me to my face in a few minutes.
“Hey, Ezra!” A voice stopped me as soon as I made it outside, and I turned to see Kayla’s roommate. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember her name.
“Oh, hey, uhh…”
“Ashlyn,” she filled in.
“Right. You live with my girlfriend,” I said, putting a little emphasis on girlfriend. I didn’t want to be a dick, but I knew she’d been flirting with me the other night. Right in front of Kayla, too. That didn’t sit well with me.
That boner I’d been worried about was gone now.
“Yeah, I hardly ever see her though,” she sighed. “Kayla and I seem to have opposite schedules, and I guess we haven’t had time to get to know each other.”
“You should try to make time,” I told her kindly. “She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. She had a difficult time back at our old high school, and she could use a friend.”
A few months ago, I’d been completely blind to the internal struggles Kayla had been dealing with. From the outside, she seemed to have it all, but it was just a mask she’d been wearing to try to fit in.
Maybe Ashlyn had a similar experience, and I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.
So I was happy when she started nodding.
“Friends are good,” she agreed. “I don’t really know anyone here.”
“Next time you’re at a Pi Kap party, I’ll introduce you to my buddy, Jeff. He’s a cool guy.”
Her face lit up. “That would be great. So that stuff in class was pretty disgusting, huh?” Giving a full-body shudder, she said, “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or call the cops. I mean, maybe they should search that guy’s backyard.”
I laughed, because it was so true. “I’m surprised no one walked out.”
“Or puked,” she added.
The queasiness in my stomach vanished as soon as I saw Kayla sitting on our bench with two to-go containers and drinks in Styrofoam cups. Her hair was in a messy bun and she was still wearing her black Rocky’s T-shirt and jeans. I knew she didn’t enjoy smelling like the restaurant, but she’d skipped her shower just to spend more time with me.
Her expression was different, though. She didn’t smile at me like she usually would, her eyes narrowing at Ashlyn, who was still walking next to me.
Was my girl jealous?
Something about that made a thrill shoot through me, but at the same time, I didn’t like the thought of Kayla doubting my loyalty.
When I reached the bench, I picked her up like a rag doll. Squealing, her arms went around my neck and I planted a wet kiss on her cheek.
She laughed. “Happy to see me?”
“You know it.”
“Hey, I’ll see you later,” Ashlyn said, and when I glanced over at her, I realized she was talking to Kayla. “We should go do dinner or something soon.”
Releasing her hold on me, Kayla smiled as her feet landed on the ground. “I’d like that.”
With a wave Ashlyn left, and we sat down on the bench.
Kayla held up a white container and my drink. “I made you a grilled chicken salad with oil and vinegar, just like the packet said.”
“Packet?”
She blanched. “Uhh… the one in your kitchen drawer.”
I grinned at the thought of her going through my stuff and the chance to give her shit about it. “Man, first you bring your clothes and toothbrush over. And now you’re snooping through my stuff?”
“I was looking for the forks,” she defended, exasperated. “And I saw the thing about your anti-inflammatory diet, so I read up on it a little.”
“Psycho,” I teased.
“This psycho is hungry enough to eat two salads.” She started to take the container back.
“Let’s not be hasty now,” I backtracked. “Would it make you feel better if I said you’re my favorite psycho?”
Smiling, she quirked an eyebrow and handed over the food.
“What are you doing tonight?” I asked, hoping for a repeat of the past two nights.
She grimaced. “I have to write that paper for English. I shouldn’t have put it off until the last minute.”
“Wanna do it at my place? I promise not to distract you too much.”
Well, that was a lie and I knew it.
And the amused look on Kayla’s face said she knew it too, but I could tell she was tempted.
Just then my phone buzzed, and I balanced my lunch in one hand while digging it out of my pocket.
Max: Be at the frat house at 8 tonight. Dudes only.
Damn. There went my plans.
Disappointed, I frowned down at the message. Yesterday in sociology, Max told me I’d be hearing from him soon. He’d handed me a laminated notecard with the Greek alphabet on it and told me I needed to be able to recite it in my sleep.
With everything that had happened with Kayla, I’d totally forgotten about the frat. She was all I could seem to think about, but the text reminded me of what Jimmy said about constantly pursuing your girl. Getting Kayla was one thing; keeping her was another.
And being a member of the best fraternity on campus was an important part of that plan.
“Never mind,” I told her with a shrug. “I guess there’s a Pi Kap thing tonight.”
“Another party during the week?” she mumbled around a bite. “Don’t these guys have class?”
“I don’t think it’s a party. Says it’s just for the guys, so it’s probably a meeting of some kind. I’m sure all this stuff will slow down after initiation. Guess it’s for the best.” I smirked. “I had no real intention of leaving you alone tonight and I don’t want to be the reason for you getting bad grades.”
She sent me a heated look, her eyes roaming down my chest. “You have pottery this afternoon, right?”
“Yeah, until four.”
Picking at her salad, she made a “hmm” sound. “And then you’ll have a little downtime after?”
I recognized the overly nonchalant tone of her voice. It was the one she used when she wanted something but didn’t want to come out and say it.
“Why?” I pressed my lips together to contain my grin. I enjoyed watching her fidget as she tried to formulate her thoughts.
“Well, I could probably find an hour after that. Like maybe between five and six? I mean, if you have a small window of time…”
“Kayla.” Placing my finger under her chin, I tilted her head up and forced her to look at me. “Are you asking me for a quickie?”
“Yeah. I guess that’s what it could be called.”
“Consider it done.” Reaching into my back pocket, I wrapped my hand around the spare key meant just for her. “And you can use this to let yourself in.”
Five o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.