Travis
I should have suspected something was up when Laurel mentioned she had a surprise for me.
I was on campus preparing for yet another hour of flaunting my body in front of artists desperate to capture my image on paper. Apparently, I hadn't been doing too shabby of a job. The dean had approached me about potentially modeling some during the regular school year. I'd posed for several different professors' classes. It seemed they'd reached a consensus that I was the least squirmy model they'd ever had. The dean had been forced to explain to me that yes, that truly was a high compliment in the world of figure-drawing.
I'd said I'd consider it, but I really had every intention of saying yes. The money was surprisingly good for such an unintrusive job. I wouldn't be turning into a millionaire overnight, but I'd managed to stash away a decent savings over the first half of the summer.
I was still trying to figure out how to approach Ronnie about the elephant in the room—money concerns. Obviously, Gabby and Vinnie seemed to be helping her quite a bit. Just because Ronnie wasn't struggling didn't mean it wasn't still my duty to help out.
"You're gonna be late," Laurel taunted.
I'd gotten sidetracked by my thoughts, though to the casual observer it probably looked like I'd been staring at the detailed penis drawing posted on the wall in front of me.
Awesome.
"I'm going, I'm going."
The storage closet I changed in was open and waiting for me as I darted down the hallway. I posed for several different classes, but always in the same classroom. There was something nice about the familiarity. Out of my clothes and draped in my robe, I strutted out into the room. I almost tripped over myself.
Sitting front and center—was Ronnie.
A wide, teasing grin was plastered on her amused face. I tried my best to seem unaffected.
Ronnie had been quite the artist once upon a time, and I was surprised I'd forgotten about that. She's always had a habit of trying to act like it wasn't a big deal. I could still remember the way she bit down on her bottom lip when she was concentrating on a particularly difficult brushstroke.
"You may have a seat, Mr. Olson," the professor instructed with impatience.
My eyes stayed on Ronnie as I dumped the robe at my feet. Without ever looking away, I plopped into the chair that had been set up for me in front of the semi-circle of art students. I'd learned early on that comfort mattered more than posture.
"And begin," the professor instructed.
I didn't know the man's name, but I'd more or less figured out that the guy was a hard-ass. He didn't play around even with the students in introductory classes, and he rarely gave a compliment even in the upper-level classes. I had no idea how Ronnie had managed to earn a spot sitting in on the class—and with a front row seat, no less.
She lost the whole first minute of her time as we stared at each other. For once, I wasn't stuck searching the room for something to look at. Staring at Ronnie for a full hour certainly wouldn't be any hardship. Nor would it be the first time I'd done it.
The professor cleared his throat. I couldn't tell if it was actually directed at Ronnie since he was standing out of my line of vision, but it sent her into a flurry of motion.
I watched in awe as Ronnie let herself get lost in her work. Her hair was braided away from her face, which meant I had an unobstructed view of her every expression. Just like I'd expected, her teeth sunk into her full bottom lip. Her eyes flickered between me and her canvas. She didn't look at me objectively the way the other students did, she looked at me with every bit of the intimacy that was between us.
When the professor finally called, "Time's up," Ronnie reluctantly dragged her eyes away from her work. Her teeth released her bottom lip, allowing it to sink into a pout. She would have stayed working for hours if given the chance.
Some things never changed.
I stood up and slid out of the room as people started to pack up. At the door, I shot Ronnie a wink before disappearing into the sanctuary of my storage closet. I redressed quickly, assuming Ronnie was sticking around until I got out.
Ronnie was leaning against the wall just outside the door when I opened it. The first words out of her mouth were, "When you mentioned you were posing for art students, you didn't happen to mention that you were posing nude."
I flinched. "Yeah, I probably could have mentioned that part."
"So long as modeling is all you're doing for those hussy artists."
I grabbed the hem of her shirt to pull her to me. "Are you kidding?" I landed a kiss on her lips. "You're the only hussy artist for me."
"Ahem." We turned to find the professor—whose name I still couldn't remember—staring at us with judgment in his eyes. "Is this yours?" he asked.
He held up Ronnie's canvas. My jaw went slack as I got my first look at the work she'd done. I only occasionally got peeks at the pictures of myself, but none of them had looked remotely like the one Ronnie had done. She'd managed to capture details most people never seemed to notice.
"Oops, yeah. Thank you." Ronnie went to grab it but he held it back out of her reach, turning it back towards himself instead.
"This is really something," the man said. It was the closest thing to a compliment that I'd ever heard him utter.
"Oh. Thanks?" Ronnie shifted nervously between her feet.
"Will you be attending classes in the fall?"
"Ah, no. I'm not planning on it."
"Hmph." He thrust her painting at her, clearly put-off by her answer. "You should reconsider. We have good teaching staff, despite the fact that our current students are a pot of shit."
A group of girls that had come from his class overheard the comment. They shared an offended look amongst themselves. The professor had no interest in their mumbled complaints.
"Move along," he told them.
"Thanks for letting me sit in on your class," Ronnie said, drawing his attention back to her.
"See you next week."
"Oh, I wasn't planning to—"
He turned on his heel to go back into the classroom, the door slamming firmly closed behind him. I had no idea how he got away with being such a crotchety old man on what was generally a pretty friendly campus. Most of the professors were tough, but few came across as downright mean the way he did.
"Maybe he meant you," Ronnie said.
I literally laughed in her face. "No, babe, he definitely was talking about you. He's expecting you back and based on his reputation, you'd better show up. Otherwise, he's liable to hunt you down and drag you back to class. You should take it as a compliment."
"The creepiest compliment ever, maybe." She laughed it off.
I set my hands on her shoulders. "Look, I know you have a tendency to play too-cool-to-care or whatever, but you don't have to do that here. People here care about things."
"Like what?" She shrugged uncomfortably.
"I care about football—and you and Stella." She rolled her eyes at me, but I continued. "Laurel cares about the library, which is why she keeps showing up there every day even though she doesn't work there anymore. Hazel cares about keeping her bar open full time even though she hemorrhages money by having almost no customers before seven o'clock. Carter cares about this petting zoo on the outskirts of town, even though I'm pretty sure he's allergic to every animal. He comes home sneezing uncontrollably for days after every visit. And Wren. Well, Wren cares about just about everyone and everything. She goes a little overboard, actually. Let's maybe skip her as an example."
Ronnie snorted out a laugh.
"Anyway, my point is, you can feel free to actually care about whatever you want here. And if that's art—which I think it might be—then you should take that old guy seriously."
"That is both the weirdest and most inspirational speech I've ever heard." She threw her arms around me. "Thank you."