Page 49 of Center of Gravity

“Are you surprised?”

“No. Yes. Maybe a little, I suppose.”

“Why?”

“I guess I always think of artists as moody, broody types.”

“I am, sometimes. The way you are apparently capable of being incredibly charming, sometimes.”

He prompted me to continue with a lift of his brows.

“At dinner, what was that? You banter back and forth, you know a ton about cars. You’re funny. It’s very different from the guy I work next to every day. The uptight one who says he doesn’t have a favorite color.”

“I don’t.” His eyes returned to the paper as he flipped a page then stopped short, his mouth slackening as his lips parted. I knew which one he’d gotten to. Another abandoned project idea. The paper was filled with my thighs and my cock rendered in charcoal, Alain’s unmistakable lips wrapped around me, his eyes wide and wicked as he sucked me off.

Rob’s eyes darted all over the page.

“This is…”

“Want to volunteer to be my live model sometime?” I teased. Yep, definitely over the threshold of tipsy now.

Rob slowly turned the page, chasing a charcoal line with his fingertip as I drifted closer until I stood in front of him and he had to look up at me.

“You know,” he said, closing the cover of the sketchbook and setting it aside. “I think ninety percent of your persistence is a conquer mentality. You just want something because someone has told you you can’t have it.”

I’d considered this possibility. It might even have been true, but I’d had part of him and I still wanted more of him. And he didn’t. Or wouldn’t let himself. The latter was the sticking point because I thought he wanted it too, so why wouldn’t he just let himself go with me?

“At least thirty-five percent of it is for the joy of frustrating you.” Gently, carefully, I slid onto his lap.

“I don’t need to be more frustrated than I am, Alex.” His gaze drifted up from my legs straddling him to meet mine. He didn’t push me away, but his hand closed over my thigh in a way that felt more like a warning than an invitation to shift closer.

“I think ninety percent ofyourstubbornness is because you’ve convinced yourself you shouldn’t have something you want. You’re just going to keep on feeding your misery, shoveling it in by the spoonful because you’re punishing yourself for something that didn’t work out.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” There was agitation in the way he raked his fingers through his hair.

“It doesn’t have to be. You’re just afraid. But there’s no reason to be. I’m not asking you for anything.”

He was hard. I could feel him beneath me like steel. His hand dropped from my thigh when I leaned in to run my open mouth across his jaw. He inhaled a shaky breath and I darted my tongue out, tasting him just beneath his ear lobe.

“I like you, Alex. I want to keep liking you just as you are and just as I am.” He spoke deliberately. Like he didn’t want me to misunderstand. “I don’t want to get off on a cheap thrill with someone I like but who, at the same time, I’d sooner leave behind when I finish this fucking house. Do you understand?”

I understood the heat that crawled over my cheeks and behind my eyes. And that he was being unnecessarily rude. I swallowed and leaned back, confronting him with a hard gaze. “Funny, I never minded cheap thrills.”

“That’s the beautiful thing about your twenties.”

“Oh fuck you.” I stood, latching onto the back of his chair when I swayed. At first, I wasn’t that wound up, but I kept thinking about what he’d said and felt my blood pressure starting to rise because who the fuck did he think he was talking to? “Just because you want topretendyou’re older and wiser and have all your shit together doesn’t mean you have to be a dick. And maybe you’re not so wise because you’re using this stupid argument and you know—youknow—what’s going on in my life right now. You just sat down in the fucking middle of it.”

I lefthim in the garage to his monastic lifestyle and his fucking high and mighty, and I didn’t care how he made his goodbyes to the rest of my family or if he did. He must have, because from the basement, I heard him come in upstairs, then a murmur of voices, some laughter, and he was gone. Mom opened the door to the basement and peered down.

“Rob said you weren’t feeling good? God, I hope it wasn’t the roast. It was only one day past expiration. Did he feel okay?”

“He’s fine, Mom. I think it’s something I ate at lunch.” I closed my eyes, willing her to go away as my head swam. Too much wine. That’d been a bad idea.

“Whew. I mean, not that you’re feeling bad, but it’d be incredibly embarrassing to food poison our guest.”

“The roast was great Mom, really.”

She lingered. “Can I get you anything? There’s Alka Seltzer in the hall bath.”