Chapter 6
Bentley
I castmy eyes around the studio, checking everything is in place, and nod in satisfaction.
I’m not sure who was more surprised when Gemma asked me to draw her—her or me. Something changed two days ago when the woman at the art festival commented on the rough sketch of Gem. That and working side-by-side. It was like old times when we hung out together, although Callum was usually around back then. I made sure we were never alone, not trusting my crumbling control whenever I was around her.
And now I get to draw her in the flesh rather than from my imagination.
The buzzer sounds, and I check the clock on the wall. It’s just before 7 PM.
“I hope I’m not too early,” Gem says as I open the door. “Traffic was bad tonight so I left a little earlier but it didn’t take me as long as I expected so I sat in the car for a bit and ate half a bag of bonbons …” She trails off as she realizes she’s babbling.
It's fucking adorable. She’s fucking adorable. But it’s also evident she’s nervous. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a white button-down blouse that hints at her generous cleavage, and she looks gorgeous to my greedy eyes.
“No, you’re right on time,” I say with a smile, leading her to the studio.
Her eyes widen, and I hear her visibly swallow as she looks around. “Wow,” she breathes, taking it all in. “It looks … beautiful.”
An enormous bed sits dead center in the studio, the silk sheets rumpled. The only light source is from the copious battery-powered candles with realistic flames, giving a diffused glow to the room. Rose petals are scattered on the floor and across the bed in a crimson contrast to the white sheets.
I agonized over the setup, wondering how much I valued my life to risk sketching my best friend’s sister. But Callum gave me his blessing.
You’ve always been good enough for my sister.
He opened the door, and I’m about to smash it off its damn hinges.
I’ve fantasized plenty about Gem over the years, sketching her from memory a thousand times. She’s been my muse for a long time, longer than I care to admit. From those early days of rough drawings when I couldn’t quite get the shape of her curls or the exact shade of her hazel eyes with their flecks of green to finally mastering the curve of her smile. In all the time I was away, I dreamed of the day I’d be good enough, worthy enough, to draw her.
“I want you to be comfortable, so how this goes is entirely up to you,” I tell her. “The main thing is that you’re relaxed. This is a safe, judgment-free zone. If you want to keep all your clothes on, you can. If you want to remove some or all your clothing, you can. If you want to change into an outfit you’ve brought, no problem. This is your time. This is for you, and you’re in control.”
Her nervous tension eases at my words, and her shoulders lower from her ears. She licks her lips and nods. “I-I’ll start fully clothed if that’s okay. You know, until I loosen up a little.”
“Whatever you want, Gem,” I reassure her. “The notes from my predecessor mentioned you wanted to wear your jewelry?”
“Yeah. Guess I was feeling a lot braver on the end of a phone before I realized it would be you drawing me.”
“Why?
“Why, what?”
“Why are you so nervous about me drawing you?”
Memories swirl in her eyes as she whispers, “You know why, Bentley.”
Fuck.Her answer is revealing. It means I still have a chance with her. It may have been her choice to come here tonight, but I’m not above using it to my advantage. Fate seems to be throwing us together, and I’m done fighting it.
“Why don’t you get comfortable on the bed while I set up.” I already have my supplies ready, but I turn away, allowing Gem to situate herself without me ogling her like a cartoon character with my eyes bulging and tongue hanging out of my damn mouth.
I hear the slither of fabric and turn to find her sitting stiffly in the middle of the bed like she’s about to attend her own execution. Yeah, that won’t work.
“Let’s do some exercises to get you warmed up,” I say, moving toward her.
“Um, exercises? I thought you were going to draw me, not make me do jumping jacks and push-ups. Which I can’t do, by the way. The push-ups, not the jumping jacks. I can do those, so long as I wear my bra with the built-in scaffolding.”
She’s babbling with her nerves. I need to get her to loosen up.
“Nothing that strenuous,” I reassure her. “Just some breathing to put you at ease. Close your eyes,” I instruct.