Page 5 of Fast Currents
Volunteer status for the win. Otherwise, I’d be fired in a hot minute.
Asking about secret orgies at the lighthouse seemed like a good way to destroy what remained of my poker face.
“That’s a very creative interpretation,” I stammered, not sure what else to say.
They were adults. They didn’t have to stick to my instruction. Part of art was exploring your own themes. And apparently, Gran’s themes were over-the-tophorny.
“I think the naked form should be celebrated for its natural beauty, don’t you?” Gran asked.
If I didn’t know her, I might buy her innocent expression. She knew she was winding me up.
“Absolutely,” I said calmly.
“I bet it’ll raise a ton of money when we do our show in October.”
A ton of money or a ton of eyebrows? My bet was on the latter. While some people might welcome an orgy in their living room, they might draw the line at one they couldn’t directly participate in.
San Juan Island residents fell into a few camps: the everyday citizens with jobs and livelihoods and the ultra-rich with second, third, or thirteenth houses on the island. Somehow, I doubted the snooty crowd or the gallery owner, Chaz Underwood, would welcome Gran’s idea of artistic expression in our fall show. Even the locals familiar with Gran might not be amused. However, as only a volunteer art director, I’d lay that decision at Clay’s feet. Let him suffer, either the wrath of Gran, or the wrath of the town.
Every student who lingered behind Gran’s painting, getting an eyeful, increased the odds of drama. I just couldn’t figure out in whose favor.
“Great first class tonight. We’ll pick it up again next week with a sculpture project.”
Clay emerged when the coast was clear. Together, we folded tables. He carried them into the supply closet. If he caught my gaze lingering a little too long on his strong arms and broad back, I’d play it off.
After Gran’s idea of art, I deserved an eyeball cleanse. And Clay always provided that. Some men looked bulky and awkward when they were packed with muscle. He managed to make it look like poetry. Sleek. Smooth. Every motion an economy of movement that only emphasized his strength and power.
Cool. Cool. Cool. Love this for me.
If I was ready to sketch Clay, it was time to find some fresh batteries. Maybe in bulk. Or one of those toy subscriptions.
Yes, he was gorgeous. But not what I needed. Apparently, Gran’s horny art had more of an impact on me than I realized. I was already forgetting my taste in men was crap.
Mentioning Gran’s masterpiece to him was tempting, but since he’d bailed on me to hide out in his office, and hadn’t even bothered to inspect the drying projects, I decided he deserved the surprise.
“Are you hungry?” Clay asked when we’d finished picking up.
His eyes creased at the corners, only making his smile seem more open. Real. Mind-melting.
The rat bastard.
“Starved.”
For so many things. Sometimes, my vow of honesty was a curse.
“Then let me take you out to dinner.”
Chapter 4 – Clay
Lucy weighed my invitation. Her eyes narrowed.
I held up my hands. “Just dinner. I want to say thank you for volunteering for this art series. I couldn’t do it without you.”
“I’ll drive myself.”
She said it grudgingly, but she’d agreed. Pleased, I smiled. Baby steps.
“Sure. Do you want to meet me in town? I’ll lock up behind us and then meet you there. What sounds good?”
