I'm Not in Love

Tristan

Lunch is seeminglythe last thing on his mind, though I can’t say the same; I have a long day ahead of me, and I’ll need energy. As I put down my salad, Professor Santini drones on about my inappropriate relationship with Remi.

“As a classroom model, it is highly unprofessional for you to take up with Julian Remington—an LCC student.”

I wipe my mouth before responding. “We’re just friends, sir.” Even that’s a stretch.

“Well, when he looks at you as a subject to draw, it should be without the added dimension of personal feelings. He doesn’t need that kind of conflict.” Professor Santini has pushed his plate to the middle of the table, uninterested in eating. “Julian knows this, as do you.”

“Life drawing class is over.” I have no idea why I’m challenging him—it’s not as if I’m looking for a boyfriend. My life is way too full for that. “There’s really no conflict.”

“You’re interested in future work at LaCasse College, correct? I’m certain you are hoping for a positive recommendation from me.”

“Of course.” This sounds a lot like blackmail—do not continue to see Julian Remington socially if you want to make a living. “I’ll give what you said serious thought.”

“Excellent. I’m glad we’ve settled that issue, Tristan.” Professor Santini smiles the way Jared does when his favorite MLB team wins in a blowout. “I’d like to do some one-on-one work with you, as well.”

One-on-one work is my least favorite type—sometimes it feels too intimate and can be risky. Still, I do it because the money is good. “For drawing or painting?”

“Neither. You see, I’ve taken up photography as a hobby. I’d like to hire you as a model.”

“I don’t do nude photography modeling.”

He clears his throat. “I’m sure you’ll make an exception for me.” He flashes yet another triumphant grin.

“I… um, need to think about it.” I need to think about how to let you down gently. One day, I hope to be a grade school teacher. The existence of nude photographs of me conflicts with this goal.

Professor Santini slides his wallet from his pants pocket and pulls out a business card. “My personal cell phone number is on this card, as well as my college contact info. I’ll expect a call at some point tomorrow.”

And just like that, my appetite vanishes.

* * *

Remi

I pullopen the heavy glass door to the popular art center, The Warehouse Studio. I’ve attended class here a hundred times, and I know where the life drawing workshop takes place. I cross through the spacious waiting room to a long hallway lined with various types of art studios, and then I make my way to the back of the building. To a private room with curtained glass windows.

Pressing my forehead to the cool glass, I peek through a slivered opening in the dark curtains and see the backs of about a dozen scattered artists, all standing behind metal easels, adding volume to nearly finished drawings. The room is dim, and a tall studio lamp is directed toward the far wall. In the brilliant glow, a graceful male form in a sensual pose is draped across a pile of pillows on the floor. The single source of light casts stark shadows over his body’s hills and valleys.

Tristan lies on his stomach, chest pressed flat on a blanket covering the cushions, ass lifted erotically, and legs curled gently beneath him. Arms thrust forward enough to cradle his head in them, much of his face hidden by his shaggy, golden mane.

The sight is exquisite—too much so to find proper descriptive words. For this reason, I give up the search and focus on what I want… because tonight is the night.

I’ve waited two weeks to seduce this man. Now that there’s no longer a conflict of interest at school, there’s nothing to stop me from acting on my desire. Surprisingly, I’ve never waited more than a day—at most two—to make my move on a man I desire. And I don’t hold to the three-date rule—wine and dine him three times, and he’s fair game to fuck. In fact, I’ve rarely had three dates with the same man.

My transactional “love life”—in and out with no complications—has never presented a problem. I don’t hide what I want from the guys I associate with. I’m an open book about hookups being hookups. Sexual intimacy is the goal, in and of itself—and the men I date are rarely left disillusioned. With me, they seek simple hookups, as well.

“No complications” is the law I live by—life experience has taught me that heavy emotional involvement is a one-way street to heartbreak. I’m usually very upfront about this but have been less so with Tristan; I choose not to analyze the reasons.

It’s not as if I’ve wined and dined him even once—how complicated could it possibly be at this point?Not very, so I have no worries.

When class ends, Tristan stands and stretches, snatches his robe from the floor, and pulls it over his shoulders. After shaking one foot vigorously, he slides into his waiting moccasins and then heads for a folding screen in the corner. As the students gather their belongings, I step back from the window.

For a moment, I explore a lingering discomfort in my chest—the result of a tiny dagger that has lodged itself into a corner of my tinier heart. Am I uncomfortable with a dozen strangers inspecting the naked form of my soon-to-be lover? It certainly can’t be that, my rational brain replies. Because folks would call that irrational emotion jealousy, and it’s impossible to be insecure about losing someone I don’t want to keep.

I shrug, dislodging the knife from my heart. Then I lean against the wall and wait. Three women soon emerge from the studio, sighing in unison. I don’t have to strain to overhear their conversation.

“Today’s model—well, I’ve got no words.”

“I know, Amanda. I couldn’t find even a single flaw. And believe me, I looked.”

Muffled laughter.

“Lord, his body… I’ll admit, I did more than study the man’s anatomy.”

I fully relate to their awe. My hope is that after I’ve explored Tristan’s perfectly sculpted body in every way my dirty mind can imagine, I’ll rid my system of this odd obsession with him. He’ll be purged from my thoughts, like each man before him.

“I figured you’d be in the waiting room.” Tristan appears in the hallway, interrupting my thoughts.

“I know where the life drawing class takes place, so I came directly here.” I couldn’t wait to see you. “Are you hungry?”

He laughs. I’m not sure what he finds so funny until he replies, “I’m never not hungry.”

“Well, let’s head out. I stopped by Kala Kitchen on the way over. They’re going to have a table waiting for us.”

“Sweet.” Tristan leads the way to the exit, and I find myself scrambling to push the building’s front door open for him.

Once we’re on the street, I scrutinize my evening’s date. “You look exhausted.” Never before have I seen his shoulders slump.

“Yeah, I kinda am. Three jobs in one day—that’s a lot on the muscles.”