Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Had I arrived at this decision freshman—or even sophomore—year, I could have done something about it.
Now?
I’m stuck. An imaginary weight settles on my chest. Before I can get mired in thoughts of the future, Brayden yanks his shirt up his chest and over his head. The material lands with a soft whoosh near my feet.
When my gaze collides with his, he smirks. “Sorry, were you expecting more of a striptease? I just assumed you’d want me to remove everything as quickly as possible.”
This guy...
Sometimes I don’t know what to say to him. At every turn, he knocks me off balance. I should be used to it by now.
Clearly, I’m not.
Brayden grins before shoving the athletic shorts down his thighs until they pool around his ankles. He picks them up and tosses them onto the growing pile of clothing.
When his fingers hover over the elastic waistband of his black boxer-briefs, I blurt, “You can leave them on. I’ll use my imagination for—”
“Nah.” His smile widens, his expression turning predatory. “I’m not shy about the goods.”
Before any further protest can escape, the boxers disappear, leaving Brayden in all his naked glory.
Almost hastily, I avert my gaze as the atmosphere in the bedroom turns oppressive. It’s almost enough to choke on.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll have a hard time rendering a likeness of me if you refuse to look in my direction.” Even though his voice has deepened, traces of humor tinge the edges.
Ugh.
Why am I acting like this? I’ve sketched plenty of naked figures over the past three years. I’ve always been able to act professionally.
So why does this feel so different?
Why am I acting like such a newbie?
Snap out of it!
This isn’t any different than if you were sketching Marco. Or Leo. Or even Jon.
Except...it is.
“Where do you want me?” he asks, breaking into my muddled thoughts.
“Umm—”
“Like this?” He ambles closer before lifting his foot and placing it on the chair. With his leg raised, he positions his elbow on his muscular thigh before settling his chin on his fist and sending a broody look in my direction.
Oh, god.
I compress my lips and quickly shake my head.
“No?” He straightens to his full height and glances around the room. “How about something more along these lines?” He flexes his arms until both biceps bulge. My mouth dries.
Holy hotness, Batman.
When I remain silent, he says, “Not quite right? Okay, give me a moment here.” Then he saunters to the bed before bending over and throwing a heated look over his shoulder. “Better? More modelish? Are you getting Zoolander vibes from this pose? Because that’s who I’m channeling.”
His ass is totally on display along with his—
I jerk my gaze away.
Oh my.
It’s only been three minutes and I’ve already caught way more than an eyeful.
“Stop!” I can’t take much more of this before I totally self-combust. I set the sketch pad down and force myself to close the distance between us before grabbing his arm and towing him to the middle of the room. “Just...stand there.” I huff out a breath. “Okay?”
“What should I do with my arms?”
“Just let them hang at your sides.” My heart is jackhammering a painful staccato beneath my breast. If I’m not careful, it’ll explode right out of my chest.
“Sure, whatever you think is best. You’re the professional,” he says.
Well, that remains to be seen after this debacle.
Once he does that, I stand back and take him in, tweaking his stance until he’s exactly how I want him. At least for the time being. Positioning him allows me to remove myself from the situation and stop noticing things about him that make me think of the man he is instead of the beauty of his form and bringing it to life on paper. I’ve drawn good-looking men before. Silently, I admit that Brayden is in a class all by himself.
Michelangelo couldn’t have done a better job sculpting David. The artist in me can appreciate every slab of finely honed muscle. From a distance, he’s always looked to be in peak physical condition, but it’s so much more than that.
For the first time since we entered the bedroom, my fingers itch to pick up my pencils and sketch. I settle on the chair near the desk as Brayden holds his position. The silliness from moments ago vanishes as I study the lean lines of his body. That’s all it takes for the charcoal to fly over the thick paper. After about twenty minutes, I grab a different pencil and shade in the image slowly taking shape. I fill in the ridges of his chest, making sure to contour all of his musculature.
Once a good likeness of his front has been rendered, I stand and stretch, moving around to capture the tall football player from a different angle. Brayden watches me until I disappear from sight. He doesn’t move a muscle or say a word. I settle on my bed with the sketch pad and flip the page before getting to work. This project will be a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree perspective taken from several different angles.