Love Me Like A Rock Read Free Page B

his easel, his packing up was postponed by the mess his laughing, long-haired neighbor had left on the floor beneath her own work station.
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake…”
    He squatted and swept up bits and pieces of charcoal sticks with his fingers. His hands were a filthy mess already that he’d need to wash before touching anything. The crumped sheets of newsprint the girl hadn’t bothered to pick up were pitched into the nearest trash bin.
    By the time he left her station as neat as it had been when she’d arrived—making a mental note to point the girl out to Knapp next time, because a lecture about studio manners from Austin didn’t carry nearly the same weight as a stern look and half dozen sharp words from Knapp—Austin already knew he’d missed his window for a discreet departure.
    “Can I see?”
    Austin didn’t need to turn to know who it was standing behind him. He could damn near feel the body heat radiating off the guy, and that voice was drilled into his bones after only a handful of words. But with his mind still insisting on imagining Sean naked, it was imperative he turn around and stamp the image of the man in clothes on his sex-obsessed little brain.
    Except…fuck.
    “See what?” he asked after clearing his throat, because Sean hadn’t gotten dressed yet and was just standing there with his feet bare under the hem of the navy robe.
    “I figure there’s gotta be about seventeen sketches of my dick in there,” Sean said, lifting his chin at the newsprint pad, that damn hint of smile back on his beardy face.
    Austin shook his head, his curls bouncing enough that he could feel it. “No way.”
    Sean arched an eyebrow.
    “Seven or eight. Tops,” Austin drawled out, flipping the used pages and the cover over the top of his easel without pausing to show off any of his drawings.
    “I’m Sean Campbell,” the mostly naked dude said, holding out his hand until Austin gave in and shook it. Sean’s hands were broad, his palms rough. Not like rowers’ hands, which were always ripped to shit from the oars, but like he used his hands for more than typing on a computer or jerking off, like most students.
    “Austin.”
    “I know. I asked Knapp.” Sean’s quick smile was a flash of white.
    “About me?” Why did that give him a thrill?
    Because it’s flattering, knowing he asked about you? This is not rocket science.
    “Yeah. After the first time I saw you at one of these.”
    “Last month?”
    “No,” Sean said, full-on grinning now. “Last year.”
    “Last year?” Austin heard his voice rise to a squeak and winced inside. Being the little guy in almost every crowd had made him hypersensitive about things he could control, like the tone of his voice. He lowered it out of dolphin-range. “When last year?”
    “I don’t remember. In the spring, maybe? You were here a few weeks in a row. Then I didn’t see you again before summer break, and I was bummed I’d missed my chance.”
    “Yeah, I spent most of my studio time last semester working on a sculpture project.” He’d been really excited by his insectoid portraits of friends and other people. Irritation with Vinnie had sparked the first idea—irritation with Vinnie sparked lots of things in Austin—but the end result had been a much more introspective set of pieces than he’d anticipated. “Plus, once the spring racing season gets going, I’m on the water almost every day. I don’t usually have time for much studio work. Crew is pretty time-consuming. But it’s worth it. Pretty exciting stuff.”
    “I know. I watched you guys.”
    “You did?” Spectators at the local races were usually limited to BFFs and people who were currently sleeping with one of the rowers. Except for the Head of the Charles, crew didn’t exactly have the draw that football or basketball, or hell, even rugby, did.
    But apparently aspirational lovers— fuck buddies or hookups, don’t get ahead of yourself —showed up from time to time