“Are you sure you want to know what I really think? Maybe you should just tell me what this is all about.”
“Answer honestly, Michael. It’s not a test or something I intend to use against you in a court of law. I just want to know where the artist begins and ends. Where in the process of artistic creation does the actual man get involved? If you tell a woman to turn until her pointy hard nipple is aimed at your chin, do you see the pointy nipple or not? I just need to know the damn truth.”
What the hell? Michael snorted as he glared at her. It disappointed him to think of his stepsister as someone so judgmental. It was like trying to defend art to his mother.
“It’s not like an artistic mindset is generic, Brooke. I’m on the far extreme of people with an artistic soul. Somehow I don’t think my facts are going to support whatever strange argument you have running in your head, Dr. Daniels. Luckily for you, Shane’s frequent interrogations have taught me not to overreact to questions worthy of the Spanish inquisition. But just what the fuck did you do today? Go to one of Drake’s classes?”
“Yes. Actually, I did. And I’m not expecting you to speak for his mindset. I’m just asking a person I mostly trust to give me his honest opinion about how such a situation can affect a male artist. I’m trying to understand if the experience is artistic or physical or both. Damn it, I shouldn’t care, but I do,” Brooke declared, twisting her sweating glass as she talked.
Michael stared at her for a few heartbeats while he contemplated what kind of answer to give her. He did not for one moment envy Drake being in Brooke’s hot seat of judgment. In this mood, she almost reminded him of his mother. And that was a scary thought for all of them. One staid conservative was enough for the Larson family and even his mother was finally coming around.
“Okay. So let’s say we’re talking about just me. Carrie knows I’m a guy who gets hard just thinking about a beautiful woman. But no—I never lusted for a model in any of my art classes—at least not openly and during their posing. Why? Because when I go into the zone of seeing them with my artist’s mind, I see them through different eyes. My genitals shut the hell up when confronted with my creativity.”
“Bull and shit too,” Brooke swore. She followed it with a long sip of soda and rubbed the sweat from the glass across her forehead.
“No—I’m completely serious. Shane and I have talked about this. Okay, joked about it is probably a better way of putting it. We think it’s like what happens to male gynecologists. Think about what they do all day long. Sure, there are those who get jaded by all that beauty as well as those who constantly starve for the sight of it. Real artists see beauty as art. Maybe it’s a talent or maybe it’s something you teach yourself. It’s innate so I never thought about it before. It is just something that sort of happens, and I think of it as normal.”
Brooke nodded, even though it didn’t really make her feel better. Michael’s explanation was more or less what she had expected to hear from him. If she had asked her mother or Will, no doubt they would have given her a similar speech. Michael might not think artists were generic, but she certainly saw the similarities.
“Okay. Thanks. I guess I’ll head back to campus now.”
Brooke rose and took her still mostly full glass to the sink. Taking a final sip, she quickly poured the rest down the drain. Afterward, she rinsed the glass and loaded it into the dishwasher because Michael was a fanatic about keeping kitchen chores done.
“What happened today? You’re leaving more upset than when you came. Tell me that at least,” Michael ordered.
Brooke shrugged. “Nothing happened that wasn’t inevitable. I went to one of Drake’s classes, thinking to catch him after it and talk. I guess I wasn’t prepared for the reality of what he does as an artist. Naïve of me since he painted his wife in the nude so many times,” she said as she turned.
“Okay. But what happened? Did you get jealous of the model when you saw her posing?”
Michael’s gaze meeting hers was sincere and compassionate. It made Brooke as mad at him as she was at Drake.
“No. I know what you’re thinking, and I was not jealous. I was. . .I was. . .well disgusted…I suppose. It was worse than feeling jealous. No thirty-year-old woman—hell no one over twenty-five—wants to compete with a bunch of naked twenty-year-olds for any man’s ideal of female perfection. Maybe the woman he ordered to point her breast at his face was just ‘art’ to him, but she was very damn real to my eyes. All I saw was her, fully nude, and maybe even aroused by him. I still see her fucking breast in my head. Drake might as well have been having sex with her because that’s how I felt while I watched him looking at her and pointing out her curves and lines. And I don’t give a shit how uptight it makes me sound. It was how I felt.”
“I hate to state the obvious here, but you’re talking to the wrong person about your concerns. You should talk to Drake about your reaction. Give him a chance to explain what he feels.”
Michael sighed with genuine regret over Brooke’s head shake, and not just because her reaction was so much like the one his mother would have had. It was obvious Brooke’s female insecurities ran deep. What else could cause a woman who looked like her to worry about competition?
“Brooke—you’re a beautiful woman—more so than most women. You’re too self-confident not to be aware of your beauty. Why are you so insecure about Drake being attracted to other women? The man was teaching a class. He wasn’t making out with the model. The woman’s body was just an example of lines and curves. That’s all she was—I promise.”
“You’re right. I’m not insecure, Michael. I’ve never been insecure. But I know what I saw. Her nipple was hard. I could see it from a million miles away in the back of that stupid cavernous room. The woman was either cold or aroused. Those are the only two explanations. I’ve seen the way Drake’s students look at him. Hell—two of them stood in the hall and told me they had propositioned him. Apparently he told them he had some booty-call woman in Louisville. Why hasn’t he mentioned her to me during all this time we’ve been flirting and trying to date?”
Michael congratulated himself on not laughing, but couldn’t help smiling. He’d never seen such a possessive, jealous woman in his life—well none he had ever acknowledged. Brooke’s reaction was shedding some light on things his mother had often said.
“Let me ask this again and see if I can appeal to the very logical Dr. Daniels that I first met. Why are you talking to me about this and not Drake? I’ve been on the ass-biting receiving end of your directness, so I know you’re not an emotional coward.”
“No, I’m not—not usually. But I’m practically having an anxiety attack over this. Why the hell am I lusting after some guy almost my mother’s age anyway?”
Brooke sighed as she headed out of the kitchen and to the door.
“Thanks for answering my questions, Michael. I know I seem a bit irrational right now, but I just wanted to see if I could get a different mental handle on the situation. Apparently, I can’t. The more I learn, the worse it becomes. I guess this is just something I’m not going to be able to deal with well.”
Huffing out a frustrated breath, Michael got up and followed Brooke. It truly was like hearing all the arguments between his mother and father over art. Brooke’s reaction did seem irrational. Just like his mother’s reactions always did. He’d never really been able to see the other side—hell, he didn’t really in Brooke’s case either. The man was teaching his students how to draw.
“You really need to talk to Drake. Ask him what you asked me. His life has been a hell of a lot different than mine. For a long time, I had the luxury of being a selfish jerk, but Drake didn’t. He watched his wife wither and die from a horrible disease. Cut the man a break and talk to him about your feelings. The art thing—my mother felt like you do. Look how badly it turned out for her and Dad because of her negativity about what she didn’t understand.”
Brooke stopped at the door and turned back. “Right. But isn’t
your mother happily married now to a man better suited to her? Isn’t your Dad happier with Jessica? We can both agree on those situations as well, but that still didn’t stop your parents from screwing up you and Shane on their way to what was best for them. Sometimes it’s better to cut your losses and move on before you torture your entire family with trying to love the wrong person.”
Giving up trying to soothe a hurt he would never be able to understand, Michael sighed softly. “Are you going to be okay to drive back? You really do seem more upset than when you showed up.”
“Of course. I’ll be fine,” Brooke said flatly. “I just…I just thought maybe you might make feel…oh never mind, it was a stupid idea. Sorry to interrupt your day. Tell Carrie I said hi and that I hope she’s feeling better.”
“She is. The morning sickness is almost completely gone now. Her skirts aren’t fitting anymore, so she’s been shopping for sexy preggie clothes. I’d tell you about how wonderful things are between us, but I’m not sure how you’d take good news at the moment.”
Hanging her head, Brooke groaned. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump my pisser of a mood out on you at your kitchen table. I’ve had a hellish week and just wasn’t prepared for the uncomfortable reality about the man I was planning to seduce. I promise you, I will survive this. There are a ton of other men in the world. I’ve just been silly about my infatuation with Drake.”
She let go of the door and turned to hug Michael. When he froze in her arms, his surprise made her laugh.
“I am truly sorry, Michael. I’m not like this usually. I’m rational and sane and…well level-headed about most things. It was the naked woman. I just…Drake and I hadn’t gotten to the point of seeing each other naked yet. And now I can’t even imagine ever getting naked with him. It was a bit much to take in when I wasn’t expecting it.”
“You might just be in denial. I really think you should give the jealousy thing some thought,” Michael choked out, wincing at her glare. “Seriously. It’s perfectly understandable. You want him and…okay, forget it…never mind. Call Shane and ask him to explain it. He’s owes you after you rescued Chelsea.”
“Brandon rescued Chelsea. I was the sidekick that drove the hero’s getaway car,” Brooke said, smiling as she remembered. “I guess Drake can’t be total scum warmed over if he was able to raise a son like Brandon.”
Michael blinked and warned his mouth not to open, but the ‘oh hell’ side of him won. “Do you think Brandon saved Chelsea, and never had any reaction to her? The girl is turning into a woman. A man is just a man, Brooke. Be careful of putting people on pedestals. It hurts to fall off one. Trust me—I know.”
Brooke raised a hand to the ceiling and let it drop back to her side. Men. They were a united front about their insane beliefs. They all felt they had some biological imperative to indulge in the debauchery of every female who crossed their path.
“Why did I bother coming here? I should have known you’d take Drake’s side. You’re a guy.”
“Side? What side? I’m taking no one’s side. I simply think you should talk to Drake, not just me.”
“Come on, Michael. There are a ton of women on campus who would lay down at Drake’s feet and let him walk all over them for the hope of sleeping with him. It wasn’t just the naked woman today. It was everything leading up to it—like his dead wife’s pictures, which he still paints and sells. I was already worried about competing with his ideal of her. I didn’t know he had regular access to all the beautiful women a man could want to look at and a damn booty call. Do you really think Drake walks around completely obtuse? Do you really think Drake never has any reaction to all those naked women he sees?”
Michael shrugged. He knew it was the wrong response when Brooke all but screamed. The explosive look in her eyes made him step back a couple steps.
Brooke raised her arm and swept it towards the ceiling. “Well, you know what I think? I think I’m done. And I say fuck all masculine rationalizations. These are my feelings, and I damn well have them. I don’t believe Drake’s oblivious to any of the female attention he receives and really that’s what matters. He’s been playing a mind game with me, but I’m done playing.”
Michael stared at his door as it slammed shut behind Brooke. Exasperated about the drama always hitting his front door first, he thought about calling Shane and dumping it on his head. But he didn’t because his younger brother had enough going on in his life. He and Reesa had one teenager in college and another about to leave the nest, plus a third coming up quickly behind them. Then there was the little one who was so cute she had them all dancing to her tune.
He shook his head as he tried to talk himself out of caring. “This is none of my damn business anyway. Fucking hell, Brooke. Why am I making this my business? Why did you have to come and grill me for answers? My wife understands the artist in me.”
Snorting and resentful, Michael grabbed his car keys and headed out the door. Brooke and Drake were his mother and father happening all over again. Maybe it wouldn’t work out. Who knew? There were certainly no guarantees—but damn it—the unsuspecting man deserved to know his stepsister had gone ape-shit crazy over something so stupid.
He could well imagine a stunned Drake being blindsided by a cold-shouldered Brooke. He’d seen his Dad struggle to understand his mother’s crazy accusations about his fascination with the human form. Spousal understanding had never happened for his father when he had been married to his mother. Divorce hadn’t mended anything. It had just brought relief from it.
Frowning, Michael backed out of the driveway. Maybe it was better Brooke and Drake had never started anything. But why wasn’t his gut buying that rationalization?
Thinking of Carrie’s proud gaze on him when he talked about his inspirations, he realized again how insanely lucky he was. Somehow he had landed in love with and married to the absolute right person to share his creative life.
“Thank you, God—I love my wife. I freaking love everything about my smart-mouthed, bossy, artistically supportive wife.”
Michael continued to chant his gratitude as he drove to campus.
Chapter 7
“I don’t understand,” Drake said, rubbing his chin. “Her mother is an artist who makes glass vaginas. How can Brooke be such a prude?”
Michael snorted. “Have you met my mother?”
“Oh, right. I remember you telling me that was why your mother didn’t come to the gallery opening.”
Drake rose from his chair to walk around while he thought.
“But Brooke didn’t even flinch at any of the art. I watched her all evening. I couldn’t help myself. We went out afterward.”
Being conservative was one thing, but Jessica Daniel’s daughter being prudish was a tough one for Drake to fathom. The concept of her being jealous of his class model was also a mind-blowing concept. The girl was barely half his age. What was Brooke thinking? Dating someone Brooke’s age—someone already a decade his junior—was about as far as he could consider for any kind of a genuine relationship. Damn. He couldn’t seem to get inside her mind well enough to even feel empathy for her reaction today.
“What the hell am I supposed to do about this, Michael?”
Michael shrugged. “Beats me. I’m just grateful I don’t have to deal with it myself. Look on the bright side though. At least Brooke was insanely jealous. Has to mean she cares.”
Drake chuckled dryly and shook his head at what Michael Larson considered a plus.
“I couldn’t even tell you what the model’s breasts looked like. They were proportionate to her body. That’s about all I recall.”
“I know. Dude—I tried to tell Brooke that’s how it works,” Michael exclaimed, lifting both hands to the ceiling of Drake’s office. “But if you go to talk to her about it, cover your head and your man parts. Brooke was on some feminist kick and ranting about ‘all men’ when she left. She also said she’d never gotten to any naked stuff with you and was glad.”
Dr
ake winced at the news Brooke had made public.
“Well, I’m not glad. I can’t seem to get my son to leave the house and Brooke refuses to let me come home with her.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Hell—what am I supposed to do? This is my job.”
“I truthfully don’t know,” Michael said in sympathy, rising from his seat. “I just wanted you to be aware of what the crazy was all about when Brooke started dishing it out to you.”
Drake sighed and pinched his nose. “Being with her is all I think about, Michael. My fantasies are so bad, I can barely look her mother in the eyes when I go to the gallery.”
Michael snickered at the most honest comment he’d ever heard from the man.
“Yeah—it would suck to have to see Carrie’s mother so often. I’m just glad my mother-in-law likes me. If she ever finds out what I do to her daughter with those yogurt bars in our freezer, she’ll never speak to me again.”
“You really have no boundaries when it comes to talking about sex, do you?” Drake demanded, his face flushing as his imagination ran with the images Michael had planted in his brain.
Michael laughed wickedly. “No—not a single one where my amazing wife is concerned. Carrie is the perfect woman for me. I’m going to go home and tell her again this evening for the millionth time.”
“I guess all I can say about your bragging is damn you…and thanks for coming by,” Drake said stiffly. It was impossible not to feel envious of Michael’s life.
“Here,” Michael said, standing up and holding out his hand. “I lost this today. Maybe when you find it, you can return it to me.”
It was Drake’s turn to snicker when he looked at the key in his hand. It didn’t take much to figure out whose door it unlocked. Brooke probably didn’t realize Michael even had a copy of Shane’s key.
Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series Page 6