Hudson leans to look at the drawing, his eyes meeting mine with a question. Is it obvious that I think of her more than I should? Maybe. It's certainly obvious to me that Hudson has a crush on Luna. And Connor. And Jax.
It might be all of us, for all I know.
Stupid men, the lot of us.
She's too young for sure. All of us have at least a decade on her and a whole lot of life experience, much of which we'd like to forget. It's an indulgence to think about her as anything other than a client.
But we're away from home, and I haven't fucked anything except my own palm in three months. I can forgive myself for some inappropriate thoughts.
But inappropriate actions are something else.
When Luna finishes her conversation with Connor about the tour, she turns to me, spotting the folded paper of the menu in my hand.
"What are you drawing, Asher?"
"Nothing," I say, turning it over so she can't see and stuffing it into my pocket. "It's no good," I add, hoping she'll accept that as the reason I don't feel comfortable sharing it.
"Let me see." Luna holds out her hand expectantly. When I don't move to retrieve the drawing, she launches off her chair, throwing her arm around my neck and rifling in my pocket. My instinct screams at me to restrain her like I would a threat. In a second, I have my arm around her like a vice, hand gripping her wrist. Her mouth forms a stunned O, and as quickly as I grab hold of her, I drop my arms like the very touch of her skin has scalded me. Seconds tick past, her green eyes staring into my wide-open blue ones. I hope she can see how much I regret shocking her. I hope she knows that sometimes when you're trained in an action, the reflex overrides any other thought process you might have.
Most of all, I hope I didn't hurt her.
As she pulls back, I hold my hands up. "Sorry…Sorry, Luna. You just…you came at me."
"It's okay," she says, flopping back into her chair. I scan the soft skin of her wrist, searching for any sign of a bruise, but there's nothing visible yet. We're both breathing hard, her shoulders rising with each breath in the same rhythm as mine. Around us, the group is silent.
"Asher," Connor warns, but I shoot him a look that tells him I can handle my own shit. I know my mistake. I'm not trying to cover it up or make excuses for it.
"Did I hurt you?"
Luna shakes her head, gazing back at me. "You really are a machine," she says. "Reflexes like a ninja. I'll have to remember that." A smile tugs at her lips, and then, from her clenched fist, she pulls out the drawing, holding it up high so I can't get to it as she quickly unfolds it.
I'm still too shaken to react. Instead, I'm left to watch her open the drawing I did of just her. There's no one else at the table in my sketch. I ignored all of my friends and zoned in on Luna, picturing her alone and serene with a backdrop of busy Athens behind her.
Bringing it close so she can study the scribbled image, her lips part. They look so soft and sweet, and mentally, I wish away everything that surrounds us. I imagine a movie special-effect that could pull us out of this scene into our very own private space. I could tell her that she's beautiful and not have my six friends chastise or ridicule me. I could tug Luna into my arms, and we could dance to soft music played by the unusual-looking Greek guitar, sliding into another time, over two thousand years ago, when this place was filled with art and philosophy. Luna could be my muse, and I could sculpt her beauty into marble that would be preserved in a museum. Years later, people would speculate over which goddess she was – Aphrodite, goddess of love, or maybe Nike, goddess of victory. They'd never guess she was just a flesh-and-blood woman or that I was just a man with a crush on a girl so far out of his league that it's a joke.
"It's beautiful," she says, smoothing it more firmly against the table. "I'm so sorry I crushed it. I didn't know."
I don't fucking know what to tell her. All eyes are on me, waiting.
Standing, I shove my chair backward. "I need to use the bathroom."
At the mirror, I reach to scoop water into my palms so that I can cool my face.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Why the fuck did I draw Luna that way?
Why?
Because my heart never lies. What's inside of me always has to pour out through my drawings or my body. I can't hold in my feelings. I can't resist what inspires me.