Page 35 of For a Goode Time Call…
“What, Ink? Did you think I’d be mad you drew a nude of me?”
“I didn’t set out to.” I wasn’t sure why I said that. The words just sort of tumbled out. “I was…I don’t know. Out of sorts. I don’t fuckin’ know. I just started drawing, and that was what came out.”
Her eyes flitted from the drawing, to my shorts, to the bathroom. To my eyes. “You…is this how you see me, Ink?”
I moved closer. Struggled for words. “Couple different ways to take that question, Cass.”
She stared up at me. Patted the couch beside her. “I don’t bite, Ink. I’m not mad at you for drawing a nude of me.”
Hesitantly, I settled on the couch next to her. “Glad you’re not upset with me.”
She remained sitting with her elbows on her knees, chin in her hand, head twisted to look at me over her shoulder—her hair was down, loose, staticky, tangled. She was wearing fire-engine red yoga pants, skin tight, and a tank top knotted up high just under her breasts, the knot at her diaphragm, leaving her belly bare, exposing shredded abs.
“Why would I be upset about that, Ink? It’s a hell of a flattering drawing.”
I shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Don’t you wimp out on me now, Ink. Why would I be upset?”
I sighed. “That I was…thinking about you like that. We’re friends. I value your friendship. And I guess I was worried you’d be…I dunno. Grossed out by me…um. Thinking about you like that.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at me, chewing on the inside of her cheek, pensive and thoughtful. “Well, to be fair, one could argue that, as an artist, you have a bit of leeway or license or whatever to pursue your inspiration, and if I’m your inspiration, then it’s art, and not…what could be considered lewd or inappropriate. Further, this drawing—” she tapped the pad still resting on her knees, “is not, in any sense, to me or objectively, lewd. It’s just not. It’s a classic nude pose, and a beautiful work of art in any objective sense.”
“It’s a quick sketch. Barely any detail to it.”
She nodded. “I know. But still, I think that enhances it, in a way. It’s…raw.”
I smiled, a tight, curious tilt of one side of my mouth. “Thank you.”
She looked down at the drawing yet again. “But, if I consider it from an angle of it being more than just art, or less than merely art…I don’t know. It’s very personal. Trying to look at personally? You’ve given me a sensuality, a look in my eyes that’s…intimate. What’s funny—funny interesting, not funny ha-ha—is that despite it being a nude, you’ve rendered my eyes with more detail than my body.”
“I’ve seen your eyes,” I said. “Had to guess and use my imagination for the rest.”
She eyed me. “Your imagination, hmmm?”
I swallowed hard. We were in uncomfortable territory for me. “Yeah.”
“Meaning, imagine me naked.”
I exhaled sharply. “Yeah.”
“And this is how you imagined me? Like this?”
I nodded. “I mean, it’s how my pencil interpreted what was going on in my head.”
Her quicksilver hazel eyes pierced mine. Drilled hot and fierce and intimate into me. “What was going on in your head, Ink?”
I shrugged. “A lot.”
She glanced at the drawing. “Give me the story behind this moment,” she said, tracing the lines on the paper.
“Cassie, come on.”
“I’m curious. This feels…specific. Intimate. Sensual.” She looked at me. “And I’m curious.”
“What is it you want to hear, Cass?”
“The story.” Her voice was pitched low, a murmur, smooth and melodic.
