She led him into her classroom, her heartbeat starting to pound furiously in her ears. For a few seconds, the kids continued their typical self-involved teenage chatter. The first pair of eyes that moved, widened and stuck acted like a catalyst for the other nine.
“Okay. Move over to your sketch pads. Our model is here.”
She could have heard a toothpick drop at the back of the room in the silence that followed. Joy clapped.
“Come on, you guys. If you don’t move, we’re going to have to cancel the field trip tomorrow and do your project then. Now,” she added loudly when Everett continued to be the object of stunned, pale-faced incredulity. A few of them started to stand hesitantly, then the rest of them seemed to come out of their trances.
“Lacey, put that cell phone away, please. I’ve asked you to leave them in your backpack during class a dozen times,” Joy said in a beleaguered tone as she set a high chair with a cushioned back before the students’ drawing pads and easels.
“But . . . but, Miss Hightower . . . that’s . . . isn’t that . . .” Lacey trailed off, at a loss.
“It’s Everett Hughes, yes,” Joy said calmly. Everett gave the kids a friendly wave. “I don’t want a lot of silliness. We’re very lucky that he’s volunteered to do this for us, but he only has so much time. If you guys waste too much of it gawking and trying to text your friends, you’re going to flunk your final project. Not to mention miss the chance
to own a personal sketch of Mr. Hughes,” Joy added sharply when her previous threat had no effect whatsoever.
All ten of them sprang up like she’d set their seats on fire. “But . . . what’s Everett Hughes . . . I mean”—Chad transferred his attention from Joy to Everett—“what are you doing here, dude?” Chad asked dubiously. The tension broke. The girls laughed nervously, and Everett smiled.
“He was here for his premiere of Maritime yesterday,” Joy said innocuously as she moved the chair a little to get better light.
“I’m a friend of Miss Hightower’s,” Everett said. “I stopped by to see her just now, and she said the model she’d hired didn’t show. I offered to fill in.”
“Wow,” Meg Brown said succinctly, staring from Everett to Joy and back to Everett again.
Everett approached Joy and the chair, his eyebrows raised in silent query. Joy silently mimed removing his cap and then pointed to his T-shirt.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this.
She turned toward the clock on the wall, pretending to check it, not wanting Everett or the students to see her blush. Even her young art students were used to seeing partial nudity in the classroom. Learning to draw the human form was a crucial skill. She couldn’t believe she was acting so ridiculous. She pretended to be searching for something on her desk, but glanced around when Chancy Orbus made a sound that sounded like grrrgh.
Everett had removed his shirt and sat in the chair. Chancy—with all her piercings and tattoos and nothing-can-touch-me teenage armor—was looking completely flattened.
“Can’t we at least get a picture, Miss Hightower?” Shelby Ryan begged.
“Oh, please,” Lacey whined.
Joy sighed. “This project is forty percent of your final grade. I suggest you try to focus. You have . . .” She glanced at Everett in query and wished she hadn’t. His lean, golden six-pack obliques and negligent, somehow graceful pose were really something to see. “One hour?” she asked him, keeping her voice neutral.
“Works for me,” Everett said.
“Can’t he at least wear his hat, Miss Hightower? He’s famous for his hats,” one student said.
“And couldn’t we at least have one picture?” Chancy persisted, entreating Everett directly.
He shrugged, smiling. “It’s up to the boss,” he said, glancing at Joy.
The kids looked to her hopefully. “Hair is a big part of your final project, so the hat stays off. As for a picture, there isn’t going to be any time for one if you don’t get to work. If there should be a minute at the end, you’ll have to get Everett’s permission.”
“Fine by me,” Everett replied pleasantly when ten pairs of eyes zoomed over to him. She normally would have arranged the model in the position she wanted in order to highlight certain muscle groups for her students to sharpen their skills, but she couldn’t bring herself to instruct, let alone touch, Everett in front of all the rapt teenagers. Besides, she rather liked his pose.
“Begin now,” she said. “You have until twelve o’clock. Just get done what you can with the time you have.”
She had to hand it to her students: They went to work with a concentration she’d never before witnessed in them. Joy picked up her grade book and the half-empty coffee she’d picked up at Harry’s that morning and walked to the back of the classroom, sitting in a desk where she could observe the students draw.
She could also observe Everett, and that made focusing difficult. Every once in a while, she’d feel his gaze on her like a tickle on her cheek. She’d glance up and see just the hint of a smile on his lips. It was more than likely some combination of her overactive imagination and libido when it came to him, but even at this distance, his eyes appeared warm . . . seductive. His nipples looked very erect. He must be getting chilly due to the air-conditioning. Why, then, did she feel so hot all of a sudden?
Joy shifted uncomfortably in the student desk and forced herself to concentrate on the task of entering the grades from a quiz last week in her book. After several minutes, she told the students to work on any corrections they might have while Everett took a break. Chad was the only one who worked during the next minute, however. Most of the girls were too busy gaping and drooling as they watched Everett stand up and flex and stretch his pectoral and arm muscles while he paced.
He was back in his chair almost immediately. The models she’d worked with in the past could take lessons from him.