Summer's Temptation

by Ashley Lynn Willis

  “Tyler’s brother.”

  She seems relieved and shrugs. “It’s still cold. Is he coming back?”

  I shake my head. “Headed home.”

  “Where’s Tyler?” She takes another sip.

  My eyes go to his bedroom door, and I frown while imagining Tyler and Miss Freckle Nose. I doubt what they’re doing involves a sketchpad and charcoal pencils.

  Liz nods. “Come out back with me. There’s a tall delicious piece of ass out there you have to meet. I saw him staring at you earlier.”

  I cringe. The last thing I want is a conceited cutie who thinks he can woo me by doing a keg stand. “No, thanks.”

  She shrugs. “Well, if you don’t want him, I call dibs.”

  That’s doubtful. Liz likes her men short.

  She takes a last sip of beer and sets the now nearly empty bottle next to me. “Find me when you get bored.” She stands, smooths down her shirt, and strolls out the back door.

  I sigh and turn my attention to Tyler’s door. Taped to the wood is a sketch of a curvy girl, head tipped back, breasts thrust forward. Beneath her, penned in perfect calligraphy, is If you’re female, no need to knock. The drawing thumps a memory loose from my brain.

  I’m eighteen, heading home from class on an unusually warm day in February that draws everyone outside for a stroll. My fingers are intertwined with Wyatt’s, and I’m proud to be by his side. He’s only a sophomore, but he’s already a “mover and shaker” on campus, involved in student government as a Greek Life consultant to the Student Activities Coordinator. He’s also an Interfraternity Council Officer, and everyone expects him to be the Alpha Sig president his senior year.

  He’s wearing black chinos, a red long-sleeve polo, and a gray military jacket. His blond hair is stylishly messy. It looks natural, as if he rolled out of bed, ran a comb through it once, and turned it into a sun-kissed glorious mess. But I know for a fact he spent fifteen minutes shaping it that morning, because I helped him tame a cowlick.

  He smiles at me, and I blush because he’s immaculate and devastating and mine. I’m honored that out of all the girls on campus, he chose me. Hannah always says people watch us, even take their cues from us. I’ve never fully understood what she means, but I’m aware of being observed when Wyatt and I are together, as if we’re the Brangelina of Vandeveer University. I hate to admit I kind of like it because that would be shallow, but, well, I do kind of like it.

  On this warm winter day, we stroll by the Delta Tau Delta fraternity, a Tudor-style mansion that’s big enough to house fifty members. On the front patio, a dozen students surround an attractive guy who’s sitting in a wrought-iron bistro chair. He’s wearing a burgundy Henley under the kind of flannel you’d buy at a tractor supply store. His frayed jeans are torn at one knee. His dark hair is long in the front, almost covering his eyes, but it’s shorter in the back, giving him an edgy appearance. His barely visible eyebrow ring propagates the I’m-cooler-than-you-and-I-don’t-care image. I can’t help but think there’s a stylist in L.A. who’d charge a fortune for his look.

  A senior who I recognize as the vice president of the Delta Alpha house sits across from him. She’s pretty in a statuesque kind of way, with a Roman nose, stick-straight hair, and a long graceful neck. The cooler-than-you guy studies her and draws on a sketch pad resting on the table between them. His gaze goes up to her then down to his pad over and over again. A scattering of pencils, erasers, and sharpeners surround him.

  “What’s he doing?” I whisper to Wyatt.

  “Caricature drawing.”

  Curious, I let go of Wyatt’s hand and push into the crowd to stand behind the sketcher. Peering at his drawing, I see a comical version of the girl. Her neck is as long as a giraffe’s, her hair like straw, and her nose crooked like a witch. But her eyes have long lashes, her mouth is pouty and full, and somehow, even with the caricature’s cartoonishness, he’s still made her beautiful.

  He runs a finger over the paper, smudging the pencil mark outlining the curve of her jaw. The technique makes the perfect shadow, and I’m blown away by his skill, by how alive the drawing is even though it’s black and white.

  He holds the sketch up for his subject to see. “Worth it?”

  She beams at him and winks. “I would have paid double.”

  I get the impression she’s flirting, and his cocky smile says he enjoys it. He hands her the drawing, and she leans down to whisper in his ear, touching his broad shoulder as she does.

  His grin turns roguish. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  With that, she grabs her backpack and saunters toward sorority row.

  He watches her go for a few seconds before turning his attention to the crowd. “I’ve got time for one more before class.”

  Wyatt walks over and takes my hand. “Want one?” I nod, and he pulls out his wallet. He thumbs through the contents and slips out a twenty and a ten. “Thirty bucks to draw the both of us.”

  Even with his thundering voice, Wyatt has to talk over five other people who want to be next too. Attracting attention has never been a problem for Wyatt. He has an overwhelming presence that draws people to him.

  The artist turns in his chair to get a better look at us, and I’m rendered paralyzed by the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Caribbean sea blue. His thick eyelashes are a dark backdrop for a brilliant pop of color. He stares at me, not even casting a glance at Wyatt. I wish he would focus elsewhere. His gaze unsettles me.

  “Twenty bucks, and I only draw your girlfriend,” he says. “That’s all I have time for.”

  “You okay with that, babe?” Wyatt asks.

  I nod because I know if I talk, my voice will crack.

  “Have a seat,” the artist says, taking Wyatt’s money and pushing it into his front jean pocket.

  I sit in the seat the other girl vacated and try to relax, which is impossible on wrought iron without a cushion. As I squirm, Wyatt asks the blue-eyed guy if he’s fundraising.

  “Hobo dance,” he answers. “Raising money for beer.”

  I’ve heard about the debauchery of the hobo dance. The Delta Tau Deltas and their dates dress up like vagrants, light fires in oil drums, and get drunk out of their minds.

  “Didn’t know you were a Delt,” Wyatt says.

  “I’m not. I just like to go to the parties.”

  I finally perch on the edge of the seat, keeping my back rigid. I’m wearing indigo skinny jeans with black Ugg boots and a snug red sweater that’s been washed a few too many times. I wish I’d taken more care with my wardrobe this morning, but I hadn’t expected to be the focus of anyone’s attention. I pull self-consciously at a pill on my sweater.

  “Look straight at me,” the artist says. I do as he says, and he smiles, one dimple appearing on his left cheek. “I’m Tyler.”

  “Cassie,” I say, getting lost in his eyes again.

  “Nice to meet you, Cassie. Have you ever been drawn before?”

  I shake my head.

  “You’re a virgin. Nice.”

  I know I’m blushing furiously, and I peer up at Wyatt for moral support. He has his back to me while he talks to two guys from his house.

  “Tilt your chin up slightly.” I do, returning my focus to him as he says, “Good. Now keep looking at me.”

  Those blue eyes of his do things to my stomach I don’t want to analyze, but I keep staring.

  “Excellent,” he says.

  Then he’s quiet. I see his pencil moving over the paper while his gaze flicks from me to the pad. I wonder what he’ll focus on. Maybe he’ll see that my nose turns up a little too much at the tip or that my eyes are more almond shaped than round. Or maybe he’ll hone in on how my lower lip is a lot fuller than my top. I can’t imagine he’ll bypass accentuating my pointy chin.

  A few minutes pass, and I’m getting nervous watching his hand glide over the paper. Maybe he won’t be as kind to me as he was to the other girl. He might leave my lashes wispy and my eyes vacant. There’s a small gap betwee
n my two front teeth that he could turn into a subway tunnel. What if he draws me with a Dolly Parton figure? Having guys stare at my boobs all day is bad enough. I don’t need a picture that looks as if balloons are attached to my chest.

  By this point, I’m sure having my picture done is a terrible idea. I look to Wyatt again, hoping his friends are gone. They are, but as soon as I see him, I wish they were still there. His expression is rage filled.

  “That’s not what I paid for,” he says, his gaze going back and forth from me to the picture. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Tyler ignores him and keeps making long sweeps across the pad. I’m sure he’s drawing my hair, which is long with loose curls. I guess that means he’s almost done, and I’m positive I don’t want to witness how he sees me.

  “Ready for the reveal?” he asks me.

  I swallow hard, praying it’s not as bad as Wyatt’s expression insinuates. When Tyler turns the picture around, I don’t see a caricature. I see a realistic rendering, but it’s not me at all—at least not the way I see myself. I have no idea how he can make my skin glow in tones of black, grey, and white, but he does. My eyes shine, my cheeks are rosy, my lips are pouty and slightly parted. Tendrils of hair lay damp against my neck and temple, and I swear I can see the picture breathing hard.

  Oh my god! It’s me during sex. My lips aren’t pouty—they’re kiss swollen. My eyes are full of desire. And the sweaty hair… I’m too embarrassed to even think about that.

  “You think that’s funny?” Wyatt asks, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “No. I think it’s sexy as fuck,” he says.

  Wyatt is usually calm and collected even under the most stressful situations. I’ve seen him convince seasoned police officers that the Alpha Sig party they’ve been called to disband is just a harmless get-together gone a little rowdy. He’s a master at portraying the responsible student, even when he’s drunk.

  But right now he’s stone cold sober, and there’s nothing calm, collected, or responsible about him. “Give me the damn drawing.”

  Tyler reaches into his pocket and pulls out the twenty dollars. He holds it out to Wyatt. “I think I’ll keep it.”

  The expression on Wyatt’s face goes from enraged to murderous. To him, I’m a virtuous angel deserving of nothing but respect. Heaven help the man who disagrees. I should be afraid for both of them, but I know Wyatt isn’t stupid, even if Tyler seems to have a death wish. The Greek houses are on campus property, and if Wyatt gets into a fight here, it’ll be a nasty blemish on his school record. He’s all about maintaining a respectable appearance. Propriety wins elections.

  “Wyatt, let’s just go,” I say, finding my voice. I walk to his side, placing my hand over his forearm. It’s as hard as the chair I was sitting on.

  “Not until the asshat gives me the drawing.”

  Tyler places the twenty on the table and reaches into his backpack. With a smirk, he pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to me. The heading reads, ART 2343 Intermediate Drawing Concepts. Below that it reads, Capturing Emotions, and then it goes into several paragraphs on an assignment.

  “I have to turn in five examples of different emotions,” Tyler says. “I’m keeping yours for class.”

  Stunned, I inhale sharply. He’d actually give that to a teacher? “The drawing’s a lie. That wasn’t the emotion on my face.”

  He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “You sure?”

  My jaw clenches hard. “Positive.”

  He cocks an eyebrow, and a roguish smile ghosts across his lips. “We both know that’s not true.”

  Maybe I had noticed how good-looking Tyler is, and maybe I’d focused on his full lips for a split second longer than I should have, and maybe there had been a tiny spark of desire in my eyes, but he’s a jerk to call me out in front of my boyfriend. I step toward him, fists clenched. I hate being embarrassed, and being unjustly humiliated brings out the beast in me. I lunge for the drawing. I’m going to rip it into a hundred pieces and shove them down his throat.

  My anger must have sobered Wyatt’s because he grabs my waist and pulls me back. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “But the drawing!”

  “Forget it.”

  I glance toward the front door. A dozen guys have come outside to see what’s going on. I know their presence has changed Wyatt’s mind. Several are voting members on the Greek Council, and he’s a shoo-in for next year’s vice-president position as long as he can keep up his image. Being the good girlfriend Wyatt deserves, I take a deep breath and let him lead me away.

  A few weeks later, Hannah started dating Tyler’s good friend Dylan, and ever since, Tyler has hovered around the fringes of my life. He’s not a friend, but he’s definitely not a stranger. I like to refer to him as a close acquaintance, someone I see often but don’t talk to much. I have a feeling that’s going to change this year, and I’m not sure if I’m looking forward to it or not.

  “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Hannah asks, nudging my leg with her foot.

  I hadn’t realized she was at the party, but I guess I should have known she’d show up to see Dylan. “The scandalous drawing Tyler did of me freshman year.”

  Her cheeks redden as if she’s embarrassed for me. “Oh my goodness! I remember how mad you were. Do you think he still has it?”

  I stare at Tyler’s door. “God, I hope not.” He doesn’t seem like the type to keep anything but the clothes in his closet and a stack of Playboys.

  We chuckle. I can laugh about the memory now. I’ve learned that Tyler does what he wants when he wants and everyone else can be damned. “Now that Tyler and Dylan are living together, he’s going to corrupt your boyfriend. You realize that, right?”

  She sits next to me and threads her fingers through a long blond curl, separating it into smaller waves. “Nah. Dylan’s too sweet to get involved in his wickedness . Besides, Tyler’s got Josh to corrupt.”

  On cue, Josh tears through the front door carrying a mini-keg. “Time to get waaaaaasteeed!”

  A loud whoop rises from the growing crowd in the living room. The party tripled in size while I was lost in memory land.

  “I don’t think Josh needs any help,” I say. “I was at the lake when he and Tyler convinced last year’s pledges to strip down to their bras and panties.”

  “Oh, good Lord, don’t bring that up. We could’ve had a hazing lawsuit on our hands.”

  I shudder at the memory. Tyler is a wild card. When he went from drawing a caricature to a horny version of me, that was just par for Tyler. If you step into his world, even for a second, you can expect crazy things to happen. There’s no point in getting upset over it.

  “Speak of the devil,” Hannah says, tilting her beer toward the bedroom hallway.

  Tyler walks out of his room with the strawberry blonde. He looks the same as always: messy bedhead, shining blue eyes, and a crooked smile. His conquest has a dreamy, satisfied look, as if she spent a day at the spa getting detoxified, massaged, and buffed to a shine.

  I glance at my watch. “Thirty minutes.”

  I’m surprised he made her so happy in such a short time. I wish I could say I’m not intrigued, but I can’t help but wonder what he did to give her that glow. I also can’t help being a little jealous of her. She’s capable of enjoying sex without getting attached. Yes, it’d suck to be another notch on Tyler’s bedpost when he dresses without so much as an I’ll call you, but at the same time, she’s spared the heartbreak and pain of being betrayed by someone she loves. She gets her orgasm and an intact heart. I wish I could be more like her.

  When the strawberry blonde and Tyler hit the living room, he goes his own way. His conquest doesn’t realize he’s left until she turns to say something and he’s gone. Her mouth is still open as a dejected expression crosses her face. Oh. She’s one of those girls. The kind who thinks bedding Tyler will make him fall madly in love. Now I’m not jealous; I just feel bad for her. Watching her face crumble is heartbreaking,
but she should have known better than to think he’d stick around.

  Hannah clucks her tongue. “Silly girl. It’s like she’s surprised he didn’t ask her to elope.”

  I nod. I should despise his man-whoring ways—girls have to stick together—but I’m starting to respect his aloofness. Maybe I should ask him for lessons on how not to get emotionally involved.

  In a sing-song voice, Hannah says, “If there are only three truths in life, they are these. Women will always try to change a man. Men will always say anything to get a girl in bed. Tyler Mason will always have a long line of girls trying to domesticate him, and none will succeed.”

  At the same time, we say, “If one of these ceases to be true, the world will cease to exist.”

  We break into uncontrollable giggles. Liz penned that saying last year after a third pledge came to her in tears over Tyler. Liz was the pledge class leader, and it was always the same sob story. “Our night together was so beautiful. I don’t know why he never called.” Liz had already given the pledges a list of boys to stay away from, and Tyler topped the roll call. Obviously they didn’t listen.

  Poor Liz had been exasperated at her girls’ disregard of her advice, and she’d written her saying on the oversized dry-erase board on the sorority house’s second-floor landing. Hannah and I saw the saying every day for a semester. No wonder we still have it memorized.

  Hannah stands and takes my hand then pulls me off the fireplace ledge. “Come on. I know you have a date with your vibrator tonight, but that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt with the cuties out back.”

  “So that’s what you bought,” Tyler says from behind Hannah. He twists the cap off a fresh beer.

  Hannah blanches. “Sorry, Cassie!” She knows she’s in deep trouble for opening her mouth about my toy.

  In damage-control mode, I face Tyler and want to smack the smirk off his face, but I don’t know where that face has been during the last thirty minutes, so I keep my hands to myself. “Zip it, Mason.”