Sips & Strokes: Love wasn't part of the deal

by Sarah Skye

  I groan. “You mentioned the connection, right? You told them I knew Nate Wallace, the owner, right? And that I learned the difference between a sherry cask and a rum barrel before I had my first kiss because I lived and breathed that distillery growing up? That Nate and I were best mates as kids and I’d already contacted him about how I’d be a perfect brand ambassador here in the U.S.?”

  Stella laughs. “Of course I mentioned it. Come on, Cal, give me some credit.”

  “Ah, Stell, I’m sorry. I just need something different, and I think this is it. Know what I mean?”

  Her usual cajoling tone softens as she says, “I get it, hon. This means a lot to you, and yeah, you’d be a perfect face for a new whisky label. But you’ve already made such a name for yourself. I don’t want to see you put all your stock in one opportunity.”

  I glance at the clock, and then out the windshield at the small brick building a few yards in front of me. “Right, fair. I’ll take the underwear gig, just text me the details. Got to go for now—be in touch if you hear anything.”

  “You know I will. Take care.”

  “Cheers.”

  A yellow visitor tag sits on my dash; a similar sticker is affixed to my shirt, somewhat ironically given my purpose here. The campus is a typical university, with trees and greenspace and students walking here and there. Inside the squat brick building, I’m sure the classroom is bland, with a linoleum floor and chairs in a circle. Just thinking of it melts a little of my frustration. There will be nothing flashy, no bright lights or people rushing to greet me, and yet this is my favorite kind of job.

  I enter the classroom expecting to find Ms. Maldonado already there but stumble to a stop as soon as I’m inside. There is no middle-aged professor dressed in a long skirt and cardigan. Instead, there’s a young woman seated on the pedestal in the center of the room. Her legs swing idly as she stares up at the sunlight streaming in from the windows close to the ceiling. An overstuffed blue velvet armchair sits on the pedestal, providing an interesting backdrop for her.

  Her serenity, the graceful ease of her posture, and the faraway expression on her face make me wish I had my camera. It’s a moment, absolutely beautiful in its simplicity.

  Shame no one’s capturing this.

  She blinks and hops to her feet when the door shuts, her gaze focusing in on me. Her dark eyes give me a full-body scan, brows rising as she goes for round two. She shakes her head and swallows hard. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I was just having a moment.”

  “I hate to interrupt. Are you modeling for this class too?”

  Her lips curve as a blush sweeps her cheeks. My attention snags on her mouth. Her full, pink lips are fucking lush. She’s got the kind of mouth that women kill for and men daydream about. I’m not above daydreaming a bit myself, and with the way that blush makes her skin glow—

  “I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head, sure that I was too distracted to hear her correctly.

  “I said no, Mr. Ross, I’ll save everyone from that horror and stick to teaching, thanks.”

  Well, fuck me running. This stunner in blue jeans and a white t-shirt is Ms. Lily? Where is my buttoned-up professor? I look around, taking in the space. The linoleum is there, sure, but this room is a proper studio. The walls are draped in warm cloth to enhance the soft lamps glowing in the corners. Easels are at attention around the dais with a teacher’s desk off to the side, but everything about this place has been set up with creativity in mind. Impressive.

  I stick out my hand and abandon all presumptions I’d had about this gig. “It’s Calder, please. And I am sorry to interrupt, but I’m also sorry I’m a bit late, Ms—”

  “Lily.”

  “Ms. Lily.”

  She laughs as her hand slips into mine. I’m hit with a double whammy of sensation. First, the warmth of her soft skin sliding across my palm and then the muted sound of her mirth, which she hides with her free hand.

  Her eyes squint as she shakes her head. “Just Lily. If that’s what you’re comfortable with.”

  “I could be very comfortable with it.”

  The words I’d meant to keep in my head tumble out without warning. What the fuck is with you? Is this amateur hour? Pull your shit together and be a professional for a second.

  Lily’s blush deepens, so I release her hand and flash an easy grin. “No need for formality in my opinion,” I clarify.

  She exhales and nods, and I take that as a decent recovery. I watch her go to her desk, shuffling a stack of papers as she says, “We’ll start with some short gesture poses if that’s good for you?”

  “Of course.” I tug off my tee as I head to the pedestal. Once I hop up, I drop my sweatpants and toss everything on the armchair.

  “Great, so if you need any suggest—oh!” The papers flutter to the floor as she turns and looks at me. “Oh my god, you’re already naked.”

  My brows knit. “Just getting comfortable. Was I meant to wait for a specific moment?”

  “Well, I just, I mean class hasn’t started and we—or, no, but it’s just that you’re… so naked.” Her eyes dart around the room, landing on me at regular intervals as a blush paints her cheeks all the way down her neck now.

  I bite the inside of my lip, glad I’m not the only one off their game today. “You could get me a robe.”

  The obvious suggestion makes her palm her forehead. “Oh, of course. Gosh, I am so sorry, I don’t know where my brain is right now.”

  She hustles to the cupboard in the corner and fetches a burgundy robe. I drop down and cross to accept it, but this seems to be the wrong move, too. Her eyes go round as she freezes mid-stride, the robe thrust away from her body.

  “Are you alright?”

  “You’re just so naked,” she breathes.

  I laugh. “It’s an art class, isn’t it? Is this unusual for you?”

  “Well, no, but… but…” Those dark eyes sweep me again, and I have to think of cricket and my grandmother’s knitting to keep this professional. I accept the robe and throw it over my shoulders.

  She swallows hard and rolls her eyes once I’ve got it cinched. “I’m a mess today, Mr. Ross. Please, don’t mind me.”

  “Calder.”

  “Sorry.”

  There’s a note of defeat in her tone that erases my amusement. For whatever reason, I want to ask her what’s wrong, but obviously I don’t. Instead, I nod and go back to the pedestal.

  Students begin to filter in shortly after, and that seems to snap Lily out of her fluster. As she greets them, she’s relaxed and smiling, quick with replies to their questions and feedback as they set up their space. I sit cross-legged on the dais and wave at the students who throw me intrigued glances. When they’re all ready, Lily begins the lesson by reviewing their objectives and explaining how we’ll warm up with gesture drawings.

  While they nod along, I run through a set of potential poses and decide on a logical succession of four. By the time she says, “Okay, so if our model is ready, we’ll begin,” I’m in my professional headspace, game face on. I toss the robe on the ground and get into position. There’s a palpable pause in the room as I drop into a runner’s lunge, but then the whispers of pencils on paper begin.

  Lily calls time after a minute, and I rise and shake it out. “Is a minute okay, or should I cut it to thirty seconds?” she asks me.

  I grin and strike a new pose. “What, you think this is my first rodeo?”

  The class laughs as they resume sketching. Without moving, I slide my gaze to see Lily’s look of surprise melt into a giggle.

  “If it’s not your first rodeo, can we assume you’ll be striking a bull-riding pose next?”

  “Planning to straddle this armchair first chance I get.”

  “I’ll see if I have a cowboy hat in the cupboard. Time!”

  All the students are laughing as I drop the pose and allow myself a chuckle too. Then, I do indeed throw one leg over the back of the armchair and raise a hand into the air as if I’m on a bucking bronco.
Every one of them loses it, but it’s the melodic sound of her laughter that my ears pick up best. I can’t begin to erase my grin, although I do a hell of a job keeping still for the minute.

  She’s left my line of sight when she calls time, but when I relax, she says, “Let’s try that one again, only now with a prop.”

  I turn to see her holding a cowboy hat with a ridiculous ostrich feather jutting out of the brim. A cheeky grin purses her lips, and I laugh and scratch the back of my head. “Sure, why not?”

  She waves the hat at me, but I shake my head. “No ma’am. If I’m to wear that awful thing, you better come arrange the scene.”

  I have never flirted with an employer. Not even when I was eighteen and full of piss and vinegar did I have the balls to be anything but completely professional on a job, but there’s something about this room and this woman that is just so damn fun. It’s harmless, of course, and something about her tone when I walked in makes me suspect she needs this, too.

  Or maybe not. Lily freezes, the smile slipping quick. “Oh, um, well I…”

  “Do it, Ms. Lily!” one of her students shouts and is seconded by everyone in the circle.

  She casts her gaze around at all of them, eyes narrowing. “I hate all of you,” she growls with no malice, then huffs and stomps to the pedestal and clambers up.

  I cross my arms, grinning again, and await instructions.

  “Um, the chair.” She points.

  “It is a chair, yes.” I’ve lost my mind, but I want to hear her boss me around.

  “No, um if you could… straddle it.”

  She’s instantly red, and I’m again needing to think of all the most boring things in life as the word straddle slips from her lips. I throw my leg over the chair again. Lily nods, fiddling with the hat, and then takes a deep breath and walks to me.

  The class applauds as she sets the hat on my head and arranges the positioning, but her black-brown eyes are locked with mine, and for a moment I forget we’re not alone. Her light, sweet scent hits me and makes my mouth water. Fuck, man, calm down. A woman like this has got to be married. The last thing you need right now is to get a rep as a skeevy prick on the job.

  I throw her a wink to assure her this is all just good fun, and a spark lights her eyes. That cheeky purse returns to her mouth, and suddenly I’m half blind as she tips the brim low over one of my eyes and hops off the dais. “I’m setting a three-minute timer this time, Mr. Calder. I trust you can handle it.”

  “Yee-haw,” I reply, getting another round of laughs.

  The hour flies by. As I rise from my long pose—seated in the chair, that silly hat still on my head—the students begin to pack their things. I’ve just stepped into my sweats when Lily speaks.

  “Thank you so much for being our model today, Calder. Before class ends, do you mind taking a minute and telling us about yourself?”

  Shit. Didn’t see that coming. My throat closes a bit as everyone looks at me. I plop back down in the chair and unconsciously dig my thumbnail into my pinkie cuticle. Biting your fingers is nasty, but tearing them is a habit I’ve had since childhood and cannot manage to break. I’ve tried everything short of hypnosis.

  So I tear at my skin and try to come up with something to say. Sitting naked in front of 20 people is no big deal. Speaking to them? Another story. “Erm, well, not sure what you’d want to hear. I’m Calder Ross, been modeling since I was about eighteen. Mostly do underwear and romance novels. I do a lot of naked things for a living.”

  There’s a burst of laughter, which eases my nerves the slightest bit.

  “You, ha, you can check me on social media if you want.”

  Plenty of them are already nodding, clearly familiar with my profile.

  “Erm, anyway, I love beautiful things. Art is one of the finest things people are capable of if you ask me. And it comes in so many forms. Whatever’s created out of human passion and inspiration can be art, if you ask me—shit, sorry, said that bit already, huh? But yes. Art is incredible, and I think all of you are tremendous for developing your craft. Happy to be working with you this semester.”

  I’m mentally kicking myself for rambling so badly, but they’re all smiling and nodding. Most importantly, the lovely Lily has a shine in her eyes that makes it hard to care about sounding like a fool.

  “That was beautiful, Calder, thank you for the introduction,” she says softly, then clears her throat. “Class, I’ll see you Tuesday, when we’ll work on analyzing the pieces we did today.”

  They all thank me and hurry out of the room. I toe into my shoes and take the hat over to Lily’s desk, where she’s sat on the edge.

  She tosses the hat on her chair. “Thank you for being such a good sport.”

  “I don’t usually laugh so much on a job. Hope it was what you wanted.”

  “It was better than what I wanted. It was fantastic.”

  “Yeah, it rather was, huh?” Relief loosens my shoulders.

  Lily nods. “Honestly, I was having a terrible day before this. So, um, thanks for turning that around.”

  She bites her lip, and I want to sit beside her and ask if she wants to talk about it, but here’s nothing to indicate she wants to elaborate. She must have a host of friends to unwind with and a good bloke at home to rub her feet and let her pour out her day later.

  Instead, I flash a commiserate frown and take a step backwards. “Well, glad it helped. I’ll see you next week, then.”

  A tiny light extinguishes in her gaze, but she nods silently and waves as I take another step and turn toward the door.

  My phone is full of notifications when I check it on the way to the car. Most I can ignore since they’re just noise from social media that I don’t need to respond to. Fans send me everything from selfies to phone numbers to fire emojis. I’m used to it.

  More importantly, I’ve missed a call from Nate Wallace, my childhood friend and the man who holds my ticket to a huge career shift. I drop into the car, ready to tap the contact despite the adrenaline clenching my gut, but before I can, a text pops up.

  Lucy: Rumour has it you’re looking to partner with Sonce. The town’s buzzing. I want the details.

  And then a gif of some creep peering through hedges. My sister closes every text with a gif so perfectly chosen that I never fail to laugh out loud.

  Me: No details yet. Trying to do business now, but you’re bothering me.

  Lucy: What’s a little sister for? Tell Nate I say hiiiiiii ;) :P

  Me: He’s married, you pervert. And don’t you have a boyfriend?

  Lucy: Oh look at that, Mum’s shouting for me. Gtg, byeeeeee!

  And then a gif of Forrest Gump running away.

  I quirk a brow, shake my head, and refocus on the business at hand as I return Nate’s call.

  “Calder Fucking Ross.” Nate laughs into the phone on the second ring. “I was sure I was dreaming when I got an email from you last month. How in the hell are you, mate?”

  “Looking for a bit of a change of pace and hoping you’re hiring. Congrats on taking the label international. You must be very damn pleased with yourself.” Already I can hear my accent getting heavier just talking to someone from back home.

  “Aye, we are for sure. Heard you interviewed with my partners this afternoon. Wanted to be the one to call you back, didn’t feel right otherwise, but, ah, sorry to say they don’t think you’re the person for the job.”

  I slump in my seat, every last bit of amusement from the class long gone in my mind, and gaze blankly through my windshield. Lily appears, striding out of the building with a bag on her shoulder. A line creases her brows as she stares down at her phone, but I barely register the image. I’m too busy having my goals wash down the drain.

  There’s no sense in going down without a fight. I clear my throat and sit up a little straighter. “I’ve been modeling since I was a kid. Since I came to the States, my client list has—”

  “You don’t have to tell me any of it. It’s not that you�
�re not good at what you do. It’s that you’re a little too well known. You’re practically fucking Fabio of the modern age, Cal. That’s impressive, no doubt, but Sonce’s target market is trendy millennials, parents just starting a family. There’s a certain prejudice against sexy Instagram playboys who grace the cover of every newest Fifty Shades of Whatever.”

  “That’s a punch in the balls.”

  “Not meant to be. Just the truth. We need someone with a chicer and more wholesome image. Looking for the sexy dad, if you know what I mean.”

  “I can do that.” I’m practically shouting, but I don’t care. “Don’t know how I can borrow a baby, but—”

  Nate laughs. “Don’t kidnap anyone for Christ sake. Listen, the contracts aren’t done for a few more months. I’d love to give you this chance, but I don’t have a leg to stand on with someone who’s oiled up half the time and partying with C-listers the rest.”

  “That’s not me anymore, hand to god. I’m revamping my image, have been for a while now. I’ve settled down, I’m dating someone, and… and she wanted me to grow up a bit, you know? That’s why I thought this would be great. We’re already talking about family in the future, and it just seemed to fit so well with Sonce that I thought…”

  I trail off and let the silence hang between us. What the fuck did you just say?

  “That makes things a bit different,” Nate murmurs, so whatever I said mustn’t have been as crazy as it sounded to me. He exhales. “That’s a good bit different. Cleaning up the image, huh? Already got some new jobs that aren’t underwear or condoms? That could change their mind. Listen, this is what we’ll do. You shift that image, and I’ll get your foot in the door at promo events just as a guest. We’ll see what we can do before it’s all signed and sealed, alright?”

  “Perfect. Swear you won’t be sorry.”

  Nate laughs. “Either way it’s no skin off my ass, mate. Sounds good, though. See you soon. Oh, and of course—bring your girlfriend.”

  “Of course.”

  The phone goes dead. It takes several minutes of sitting and staring into space before I can fully comprehend the level of bullshit I just shoveled.