Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Fortunately, when I get to class, Professor Reger’s still sitting at her desk in the art studio. Everyone’s set up at their canvases around the platform where the model will pose, so I take my place in the same spot as last week, catching my breath from rushing to get here.
“Now, everyone,” Professor Reger says, “our model should be here in a few minutes. He’s running a little late.”
Guess I’m not the only one with that problem this morning.
“But please remember the etiquette we discussed last week.”
I can’t imagine anyone being stupid enough or so sex deprived as to be an ass to a model who’s helping us for class, but I assume the reason they have to make those dumb rules is because someone did something shitty. Probably better that she say it than not.
I take a breath, thinking how lucky I got to get here before class really got started.
Kind of been an amazing morning, actually.
Well, as amazing of a morning as it can be for me.
The studio door creaks open, and a guy I assume is the model walks in—
Oh, fuck no.
This isn’t some random-ass model. This is Alpha Theta Mu’s Dax fucking Armstrong.
The ease from the fuck and my joint transforms into a tight knot in my chest.
Ever had someone you just can’t fucking stand? Like their very existence—the way they talk, the way they laugh, the way they move through the world—burns at something primal within you? Or is that just something someone fucked up like me feels?
Dax and I are total opposites. He’s all ease and confidence, makes everyone he interacts with laugh and smile. People light up when they see him. Me? I’m the guy who wants to put that damn light out, make everyone suffer in the dark with me. And for some reason, especially him.
I’ve seen him a few times since school started, but I avoid him the best I can. So it feels like a messed-up punishment from the universe as he breezes through the room in this relaxed way he has, running his fingers through his thick, dark-brown—nearly black—wavy locks, looking around like he’s totally oblivious to the fact that I’m here. It would probably be better for him if he didn’t notice me, but given that there are only ten students in this class, that’s not gonna be possible, and it’s only a moment later when his gaze catches mine.
His relaxed expression quickly shifts, his eyes widening, evidently surprised to see me here.
Is he still thinking about that night last spring after the party, wondering why this random guy—who looks at him with disdain at every TaskFrat Challenge, every frat party, even just passing in the hallway—helped him back to his place when he was too drunk? Or is it just me second-guessing my motives?
I don’t like the guy, but I wasn’t gonna leave him on the side of the road. Anyone would have done the same. But…anyone else wouldn’t have been following him to begin with. Does he know I was following him?
We stare at each other for what feels like for-fucking-ever before Professor Reger greets him. As she introduces him to the class, I avoid looking at him, and when I cave, he’s watching me. He winks, in sharp contrast to my thoughts.
Why were you following him like a psychopath?
My chest is so fucking tight, my breaths constricted as my thoughts scramble in a familiar way, taking me back to the darkest of memories. The ones that are so dark, you do whatever you must to keep them at bay.
I can’t fucking do this!
I grab my bag and rush for the door.
There’s gotta be another time slot for Figure Drawing because I sure as fuck am not drawing his naked ass for the next few months.
2
Dax
Grumpy-Ass Miles is an artist?
Maybe this is something everyone knows about him, but it hasn’t been on my radar. Aren’t artists supposed to be chill? Though I guess a lot of them are brooding, and he definitely has that down to an art form, but…I don’t know. Thinking about him being in a class like this just doesn’t make sense to me, like the wires are getting crossed and I can’t untangle them.
Seems his dislike for me has no self-preservation mode if he walks out of the classroom rather than what? See me naked? I look fucking great naked. Lots of men would tell him so, but clearly he has no taste.
“Um…” I look at the door as it slams closed, then at the professor. I could go after him, but it’s not as if he wants anything to do with me. He ignored me all summer as we worked on the builds with Troy and Atlas, this silent agreement between us to stay away from each other. Every time I so much as looked his way, I was greeted with a scowl and anger, which I’m sure is exactly what he’ll do if I try to talk to him now.