“Do you really think he’ll be there again?” I ask. “We all finished our drawings, right?”
I finished mine, and although I’d never let Martha know this, I’ve been looking at it every night before I go to sleep. I’ve never been into porn, but looking at the lines of Jay’s body that I drew get me just as excited as when he was sitting there naked in front of me.
So I’m attra
cted to him! I’m not going to deny that. Doesn’t mean I’m going to just jump into bed with one of the school’s most notorious ladies’ men. That would be silly. I don’t want to end up as another notch on his belt or number on his body count or any other expression they use these days. Maybe if I had already had sex with a few guys and thought I would be able to remain emotionally distant from him.
Maybe.
But I know that if I was to give in, go to dinner, and God forbid, sleep with Jay, I’d get attached. I don’t know how I know; I just know. Despite the fact that I really can’t stand him. Just thinking about that cocky expression on his face when he was standing in our door half-hard makes me twist my lips in rage. How can one man be that full of himself?
“Oh, he’ll be there,” Martha assures me. “It might have been a one-time thing before, but then…”
“Then what?” I ask.
“Then he met you.”
Grumbling, I get my things together and we leave the dorm. I realize my heart is racing all the way across campus to the art building. What am I going to do when he sees me? How am I going to be able to draw him again without completely losing my shit? Martha just looks at me as she opens the door. Taking a deep breath, I step inside.
To my surprise, there’s a different model at the center of the room. This time it’s a very healthy-bodied man who looks more like Santa Claus than Derek Jeter. He’s sprawled out on a dais like a sultan or Roman emperor, with a simple towel draped over his mid-section.
“Huh.” Martha shrugs. “Guess he didn’t come.”
I should be relieved. I’m not. In fact, I’m angry.
Why wouldn’t Jay come today? He had to have known I was going to be here; he’s not that dense. Right?
So if he knew I was going to be here, and he knew that he was supposed to be our model, why wouldn’t he show up? Mrs. Potter is doing something at her desk, so I stride right over to me.
“Where is he?” I ask.
She looks up confused, looking flustered. “He who?”
“Jay,” I say. “The guy who’s supposed to be modeling for us today.”
Slowly, a smile forms at the edges of her lips and she laughs gently. “Ohhh, looking forward to today’s class, eh?”
“I – I just—”
“Don’t worry,” she whispers, leaning in. “I doubt you’re the only girl in class today who will be missing that physique.”
Still smiling, she puts a finger over her lips and brushes past me as she goes to address the class. I’m fuming. My cheeks must be as red as Kool-Aid. I can’t even hear what Mrs. Potter is saying as I take my seat and get my supplies out. I’m barely even aware of my hand moving as I start my piece.
Why wouldn’t he show up today? Was it me? I thought he wanted me? Is he really going to give up that easily?
Questions, questions, questions. But the more I think them through, the more I don’t like the answers.
He didn’t show up because he didn’t want to, Emma. Of course it was you. He never liked you that much anyway. He has countless other women lined up to have sex with him; why would he hold out for you?
My drawing sucks. I want to crumple it up and throw it away, but I’m one of those people who always has to finish what they start, and even though this isn’t my class and I’m not going to be graded for it, I keep my butt planted in the seat until it’s time to leave, at which point, I feel like I’m ready to explode.
“Can you believe that!?” I snap at Martha as she steps out of the classroom. She just about jumps out of her shoes and glares at me.
“Jesus, Emma. Believe what?”
“He didn’t show up!” I hiss as we start to walk.
“I thought you’d be happy about that?” she asks. I just frown, drawing a smile from her. “Ahhhhhh, I get it. You don’t want him; you just want him to want you. Is that it?”