Forbidden

by Skyler Snow

  It was almost like looking at the world differently. I caught new details about Scott that I hadn’t paid any attention to as my mind was racing with how I might capture him. My hand itched just thinking about drawing him. How would I be able to capture the thin silver flashes in his hair? Or how his muscles bunched when he crossed them. How would I capture his expression, both kind and intimidating? His skin tanned from years spent outdoors as well as his time traveling the world. What about his eyes, with the faint lines that just reminded me of how amazing he looked when he laughed?

  “I should draw you sometime.” I finally spoke up. Scott glanced up at me with a strange expression on his face before taking a drink from his can. I could feel the tension from the morning creeping back into the silence, and I desperately hoped that Scott would say something. His distant attitude didn’t bode well for us.

  And for some reason, the thought of Scott being mad at me was like an itch I couldn’t reach to scratch. I searched my brain, trying to figure out why he would be mad at me. Had I done something to make things awkward?

  I want to draw you. Nice going, Elliot. He probably thinks you’re being weird.

  “Why?” His voice was a little odd, but it was an odd request out of the blue that I had blurted. I rubbed the back of my neck before shrugging, trying to make my comment seem as casual as possible. In reality, I found myself staring at him, trying to commit to memory every detail of his face. I could probably draw him without reference. His body was becoming a familiar one. My mind wandered to the parts I hadn’t seen and my cheeks flared in response.

  “It’s good to draw different body types. Especially, your—you know—huge build.” I gestured to him. He easily took up half of the couch without trying, and I could only imagine what he was like in his younger days. I couldn’t throw him in the bodybuilder category because he didn’t have the over exaggerated muscles they did. But he was still very built. Like that model Nick Pulos, if he’d gone salt and pepper. Then a model I’d seen on Pinterest flashed into my head: Anthony Varrecchia. Yup, that was who Scott reminded me of, although maybe Nick Pulos’ body was more accurate.

  Scott chuckled and that had me focusing back on him, ignoring whatever that feeling was in my belly.

  “What are you trying to say about me?” His eyes were dancing and his lips twitched. “I guess I am pretty big.” He nodded thoughtfully, finishing off his beer and setting it aside. He was going through his drinks faster than last night. It seemed to take the edge off whatever strain had been put on our conversation earlier today, so I let him drink in peace.

  Scott was wearing black and red flannel, his signature look. With the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his arms caught my attention as he drank. I tried to memorize the way that his muscles flexed and his tendons strained as he moved.

  “So, you and your friends made some art? How’s that all going?” Scott’s voice snapped me out of my trance yet again. I found myself glancing up, meeting his eyes. He had caught me staring, and I felt an uncomfortable prickle of heat in my face.

  “It went pretty well, I think. They work as a team and they live together, so it might be a little awkward to work with them at first. But overall, I think I’ll be fine.” I dropped my gaze to my hands again, trying to break the feeling that I had done something inappropriate. I had been studying Scott, which was a strange thing, but not for artists. It was something that I did often enough without much embarrassment. So, why were my cheeks so hot? I ignored the voice asking and added, “They all do different things, mostly. Like, Connie does the colors and Isaac does action.”

  Probably not best to tell him that Tom usually just draws porn, I thought to myself, letting my sentence trail off awkwardly. Scott nodded, and I could tell from the look of concentration on his face that he was genuinely paying attention.

  My father was the same; he just didn’t really get what my new job would be about. His own job was based on some art, since he was an architect, but I thought designing video games was a bit beyond him. He didn’t quite understand it, but I loved what I did. It made me happy.

  “So… It’s kind of like an assembly line for art?” Scott finally said, with a hint of understanding in his voice. I nodded, surprised at the comparison. Not the best for art, but it worked well enough. “So, what do you do in the assembly line?”

  “I’ll be the one drawing bodies.”

  Scott’s tongue darted over his bottom lip. “Drawing bodies? That’s... interesting.”

  “It’s fun,” I smiled. “I love the human form, so being able to capture it is exciting.”

  “So, you draw while looking at a model or something?”

  I shrugged and polished off my beer. “Sometimes. In college, for sure. Other times, I just use references, but it does help to have the real thing in front of me. A reference doesn’t live and breathe, it doesn’t flex and rotate before your eyes.” I chuckled and was suddenly nervous. “Sorry, talking about art always gets me excited.”

  Scott's eyes pinned me, “It’s a good thing. You should be passionate about your work.” He cracked open another beer and leaned back against the couch. “The fact that you light up like that just means you’re doing something you really love. As long as you love what you do, you’re on the right path.”

  My heart jumped at his words. No one really understood what it was like to be supported like that as an artist. So many people thought it was a foolish career choice, so to hear Scott’s words, it made me so grateful knowing that he was supporting me. I could barely put it into words.

  “Thank you, Scott.” I smiled softly. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

  Scott tilted his head. “You’re welcome, but I was just telling the truth.”

  I smiled at him. He didn’t even know; that’s what made him so amazing. Scott spoke so honestly, and I really liked that about him. I raised my beer and drank it as his eyes lingered, and my body heated all over.

  What the hell was that? What was going on with me?

  “I still want to draw you, although it’ll have to wait till I get some good supplies, maybe after I get paid, then…” My voice trailed off because I could feel Scott’s eyes studying me.

  “And what position would you want me in? Would I have to strip down and pose for a nude?”

  My eyes widened at each word from his mouth. My brain almost overheated, thinking about Scott naked, posed on my bed for me. I swallowed thickly and tried to mumble some words that sounded coherent, but they weren’t. The corner of Scott’s lips ticked up, and I realized he was messing with me.

  Ah yeah. What I really needed was a heart attack.

  6

  Scott

  I should probably have stayed away. Clearly my brain and my dick were not communicating… or maybe they were. The moment I saw Elliot wringing his hands and talking about getting more supplies after he got paid, my brain told me what to do.

  I couldn’t have my b— I shut that thought down before it even formed. I was simply being a good host, I told myself. Or helping out Jack. Thinking of my friend right now didn’t help, so I buried that too.

  “You really don’t have to do this, you know,” Elliot said, for what felt like the tenth time in the past hour. He’d said it when I told him our plans for the day. When I led him to my car, a couple of times in the car. And now as we stood outside the store I’d found.

  “Again, I want to,” I replied, with a gentle nudge pushing him into the upscale arts and crafts store.

  He let out an exasperated breath. “Fine.” Elliot sounded like he was pouting. Although I didn’t miss the excitement in his voice. “Okay then, let's do this, but just a couple of things. I’ll get the rest myself when I get paid.”

  I let Elliot take the lead as we wandered around the store, grabbing the things he needed. He was almost like a kid in a candy store. I couldn’t help but smile at the excited look he had while going through the shelves. Whenever he touched something but didn’t add it to the basket, I
snuck it in when he wasn’t looking. Bit by bit, the basket was filling, but he was too focused on the shelves, his eyes filled with wonder.

  Elliot’s hand slid reverently over a wooden box with a lot of colored pencils. Then he looked back at me and shook his head. “Do you know how amazing it would be to have this?” I watched the grin on his face. “We had them at school, but they’re not cheap.”

  His eyes wandered to the price and he winced, “Yeah, this is definitely not a ‘right now’ purchase.”

  Elliot let his hand drop and moved forward, and like the last time, I picked one of the unopened boxes up.

  “I drive past here all the time on my way to the gym,” I replied, picking up some paint mindlessly. He turned and looked at me, the smile on his face reminding me just how vibrant he was. Just how much I wanted him.

  “Why don’t you show me how all this stuff works.” I hadn’t planned on saying that, but I would take any chance I had to spend time with Elliot. Even if that meant art for dummies, taught by him.

  Elliot looked back at me, waving a paintbrush in my face, “This stuff is pretty self-explanatory, wouldn’t you say?” His lips twitched as he picked a tube of paint, at least I was guessing it was. “You use this”—he held the brush up— “and this.” He was holding up the paint. “And you make a pretty picture.”

  Elliot teased, but his lips were curved in a smile. Fuck, he was stunning on a normal day, but when he smiled, he looked absolutely radiant.

  I snorted at the smart-ass. He was asking for a spanking with that tone, but I loved seeing this part of Elliot’s personality. “And yet, I still need a lesson or two. My art experience begins and ends with Pictionary.”

  “I guess, I could give you a little lesson.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got everything.” Elliot tried to look in the basket, but I turned before he could.

  “Come on then, let’s go check out,” I said.

  As the cashier scanned the items, I took the time to check my emails. Work and more work. My friends had sent me some emails as well, and I realized I hadn’t really met up with them in a long time. Not since Elliot had come around for sure. It was hard to pull my head out of the sand with him around.

  “Whoa, this can’t be right.” Elliot’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “What can’t be right?” I asked, looking up from my phone.

  “This is way more than I picked out.” His eyes went to the screen as the cashier scanned and widened, “That’s too much, I didn’t pick all that.” He looked up at me. “This is too expensive… Whoa, whoa, whoa... stop.” He looked at the cashier, who had frozen at his words.

  Elliot began picking items out of the basket. “I didn’t put this in.” It was one of the things I had snuck into the basket because I saw how much he wanted it.

  “I thought I put this back on the shelf; what is it doing here?” he asked.

  The cashier looked between us and said, “I just scan whatever is in the basket.”

  Elliot’s eyes met mine. He narrowed them, and I could see the accusations there. I shrugged. “I put the stuff back in when you weren’t looking. It's nothing. I could tell you wanted them, so why not?”

  I nodded to the cashier, “Carry on please.” Then pulled out my wallet.

  Elliot put his hand over mine, to stop me before I pulled out my card. But the feeling of his hand on mine sent a tingle down my spine. I looked down at our hands, before looking at him.

  “It’s really too much to ask,” he said quietly, looking me directly in the eyes.

  “You didn’t ask,” I replied gently, untangling my hand from his and handing the cashier my card. Elliot didn’t say anything, but I could tell he didn’t like me spending more money than whatever he had agreed in his mind. But tough, if he was mine then…

  He’s not, though.

  Okay, so he wasn’t mine yet. That didn’t mean I couldn’t do a nice thing and spoil him this one time.

  Clearly, the brain to mouth pathway still wasn’t working. I should have done my best to spend less time with him, not more. Still, I added, “If you reconsider that art lesson, then maybe we can call us even.”

  “I don’t think one art session can be enough to call us even,” Elliot said, shaking his head at me. His eyes kept returning to the bags that had piled up.

  My eyebrow instantly went up, before my reply came out, “Oh, so you’re offering a series of sessions? Be warned, you will most likely regret that offer when you see what you're working with. I deal strictly in stick figures.”

  Elliot chuckled, and my heart fluttered. I always wanted to make him smile.

  My lips curved too. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though. Like I said, I’m pretty sure my artistic depth begins and ends with Pictionary. Last game night my partner called me a series of curse words, too R rated to repeat. So, trust me, I have a feeling teaching me will more than make up for this.” I made sure to hold his gaze when I added, “Not that you have to.”

  Elliot was the first to look away, and I was glad because I would have done something as silly as leaning in. My eyes lingered on his lips, the soft plump lines that begged to be kissed and nibbled.

  “Well, maybe they have no imagination,” Elliot said, not looking at me. “I’m sure that your Pictionary game is just fine. They were probably being douches.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell my friends that, next time we meet up.” I smirked.

  He whipped his head toward me, slightly horrified.

  “Don’t worry, they are kind of douches, but I love them anyway.” I smiled, walking past him to pick up four of the paper bags, leaving what looked like the smallest two for him.

  When we got back to my apartment, he wanted to start setting up right away. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t a check that needed to be cashed immediately. To be fair, I mostly wanted to spend time with him. I was sure I’d never be a great artist, but the fact that art lit him up like the Fourth of July did things to me. Not to mention the fact that he looked so relaxed and organized, putting everything in its place and happily getting everything prepared. If I could do that for him all the time, I’d do it.

  He moved some furniture to lay down the drop cloth then set up the easels and canvases. I stood back, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his every move. I knew he could feel my gaze when he sent a small smile my way whenever he looked up.

  “Do you mind helping me with these stools?” he asked, gesturing to the breakfast bar in my kitchen. I nodded, moving across the room in a few strides. I picked up two of the black-oak breakfast-bar stools and set them in front of the easels. Elliot was right behind me, with one more stool and my fruit bowl. He set the stool in front of the easels and placed the fruit bowl on top of it.

  He smiled at me and raised his brows, to check if I was ready.

  As he sat down, he spoke, “The truth is, art is subjective. It’s not about perfection. Just like with everything else in life, perfection doesn’t exist in art. Most masterpieces by the greatest artists are technically unfinished. To me, successful art is when the viewer understands even the smallest part of the story, or your emotions.”

  “And if you're drawing a fruit bowl that has no story or emotions?”

  Elliot snickered before he gestured at the fruit bowl with a pencil in his hand. He leaned across me, quickly sketching the bowl and a few pieces of fruit. Fuck, I could smell the sandalwood of his shampoo.

  “There’s always a story, always emotions,” he said as he picked up the paint tubes and started mixing. “You can adjust mood just by playing with lighting. It can be dark and moody or light and serene. Like...” He twisted his lips as he thought of how to describe what he was thinking. “Is the bowl of fruit sitting on your table on a Sunday morning, while you cook breakfast and someone you love is with you? Or is it the last fruit someone you love bought before they left and never returned? See what I mean?”

  Surprisingly, I did know what he meant. I’d never t
hought about it, but even mundane things took on so much meaning. Like a paintbrush in Elliot’s hands or the way he lounged on my couch when he watched TV. Simple things that took on so much more meaning just because it was... him.

  “This is acrylic paint, which is best for beginners.” He got a medium-sized brush and started painting the bowl. He’d outlined a color close to the actual pale blue it was in reality. As he brushed the paint over the canvas, he spoke again. “The way I’m moving my brush across the canvas is relaxed, casual. The fruit isn't perfectly set up either, they aren’t fresh. That’s the story—calm, imperfect, and casual. I’m not saying it’s Rembrandt, but it’s a story,” he said, giving me the paintbrush. His soft hands slipped against mine. He was still leaning slightly across me while painting, and I could still smell his incredible shampoo and even some of his cologne. “Just draw what you see and paint it how you feel,” he muttered as he moved slowly back toward his easel, catching my intense gaze. He was still for a moment, his eyes on mine, before he looked away and cleared his throat.

  I set the paintbrush down and picked the pencil up. As I mindlessly drew the other pieces of fruit, or something supposed to resemble fruit, I could feel his eyes on me every so often, and it took everything I had to concentrate on my canvas.

  “So why painting?” I asked.

  Elliot looked my way then shrugged. “Is it surprising? Dad is an architect, so I grew up watching him sketch and design.”

  “Did you do it for him?” I hoped he would say no. “Because I know your dad, and he would never want you to do anything you didn’t love.”

  Elliot’s head tilted to the side, and he looked thoughtful. “I liked sitting with him. He would give me a large sheet of paper while he sketched, and I would draw whatever came to mind.” He smiled. “The older I got, the more he saw it wasn’t a passing phase and he kept buying me more and more supplies. I fell in love with art because of him.”